#its undeniable that he was set to be the main start of the band

[glutenfreeharold]

. 

#I rmr when I first got into 1d and started actively using social media based around them I would see older fans getting so mad about how new #fans didn't know as much and would say things so off base without actually knowing what they're talking about #and it would make me mad bc let people enjoy things and what not #but after all these years I finally get it #I still would never say anything to anyone bc again im just gonna let people enjoy things and think whatever they want #bc it obv has no effect on me and doesn't matter #but sometimes some of the shit I see is so irrationally enraging #saw someone say that it makes them mad when people say Harrys the most successful bc he was set to be since 1d and that zayn and Liam are #the ones that dominated the first two albums #that Harrys first album didn't even do that well and he was less spoken about than Niall and Liam at the time #and the thing is I agree with some things like them saying he had to work hard to get to where he is and that it wasn't just handed to him #which true but that doesn't mean anything else was #harry and Liam were the main vocals for every song with zayn as a close second with his vocal range #harry had practically every main solo #he was always front and center during perfornances #he was a main topic in every interview and clearly favored by fans and media alike #and in every since of the term except officially he was the front man #its undeniable that he was set to be the main start of the band #the Justin Timberlake or Beyonce if you will #his first album didn't have his current popularity #but that doesn't mean that it didn't do well especially considering his first single was a very risky almost 6 minute ballad and the rest of #the album was largely different than what could have been expected of him and of the time #yes you can maybe say Niall and Liam had a little more buzz around them than harry did at the time but in comparison harry just didn't need #as much again considering that he was the most famous and paid attention to of the band anyways #he was and always will be at this point a mainstay for the media #its not that he didn't work hard to elevate himself to where he is #no one is denying how much he has put into the success of his career #its just that he was already put a couple steps ahead of the other boys #and there's nothing wrong with that #people act like its a fault of his but in reality what matters more is what he was able to do with it

[blackyote]

"On three?"

Hunter flexed his hand on the mic and gave Luz a nod over his shoulder. It was just a practice session, but still, the venue was technically open, which meant a couple employees bouncing between tasks and some people who had seemingly wandered in off the street, perhaps having heard the bass thumping and gotten curious.

The next song on their setlist was one they hadn't performed together yet. It was a cover of an older pop song, basically their bread and butter, and Hunter had made sure to listen to both versions, starting with the original then moving to the punk rock cover. He had practiced at home (singing in the shower, singing into his computer's microphone so he could play it back) and rehearsed the lyrics in his head as he walked downtown. Honestly, he preferred the original, but the cover undeniably had more punch, suited the Bad Girl Coven's style better.

Luz tapped her drumsticks, one two three, and the band came alive around him: Amity jumping into the main riff, Willow strumming the bass line at his side, Luz setting the rhythm, and Gus working his synthesizer.

"Kiss me, out of the bearded barley Nightly, beside the green, green grass Swing, swing, swing the spinning step I'll wear those shoes and you will wear that dress"

His voice started out a little warbling and uncertain, maybe just to his own ears, but that's what practice was for. No one down on the floor stopped what they were doing, but continued to mill around, consigning him to background music. As the first verse bled into the chorus, he intentionally loosened up, let himself sing as confidently as he had to the showerhead.

"Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight Lead me out on the moonlit floor Lift your open hand Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance Silver moon's sparkling So kiss me"

For a split second he caught Willow's eye and almost froze like a deer in the headlights. No no no. He wasn't ready to sing this to anyone. Least of all her. On reflex he glanced the other way, at Amity, who smiled encouragingly. The band was sounding flawless. He didn't want to mess this up.

"Kiss me, down by the broken treehouse Swing me, upon its hanging tire Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat We'll take the trail marked on your father's map"

He let himself pretend the lights were dimmed, that the floor was packed with people singing and bouncing. While Amity had been coaching him on his singing, Luz was the one to remind him to go out and have a good time. How could the audience have fun if he wasn't? Maybe it was an oxymoron to focus on having fun, but he tried to let the self-consciousness slip away, replaced by the music filling his bones. He moved around the stage, let all of him be part of the performance.

"Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight Lead me out on the moonlit floor Lift your open hand Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance Silver moon's sparkling So kiss me"

He was feeling it now, gesticulating striking up the band, pointing to the imagined moon, rocking forward with the end of the chorus, pumping the mic along with Luz's drums as the instrumental bridge took over.

Then he made the mistake of looking over at their bassist. It was like her whole body moved with every strum of the strings, her skirt swishing around her legs. This came so easily to her, and with the lights making her hair a beautiful indigo, the brightness in her eyes, Hunter was transfixed.

"Kiss him already, jeez!" someone down near the bar shouted, just for a laugh.

It worked on Willow, her teeth flashing prettily, and Hunter felt his whole face heat up.

Distantly, he realized the band had stopped playing, with only Luz still working the drums. Willow gave him a quizzical look.

"Hunter!" Amity called, trying to get his attention.

"Dude, you were zoning out again. You forgot your cue." Gus seemed equal parts concerned and amused, perhaps noticing who had snared their singer's attention.

Hunter started, shaking himself out of it. "Sorry! I got... distracted."

"Maybe Willow and I should trade places," Gus teased, which did nothing to help the embarrassed flush on Hunter's face.

"Leave him alone, Gus," Willow said. "He's still adjusting, that's all."

Hunter attempted a laugh, but it was more a squeak. "Uh. Sorry, guys." He rubbed his neck, chagrined. "From the top?"

Luz counted them down. This time, Hunter nailed it.

---

Inspired by Sol's awesome Band AU art! It's so cute, I'm obsessed!

#the owl house #hunter toh #toh hunter #willow park #gus porter #huntlow #my writing #band au

[imaginedreamwrite]

Watch My Heart Burn: Part 9

Johnny had been accused of being immature, selfish and spoiled, he had been accused of being a man-whore who used women as if they were a commodity.

He had even been accused of lacking the ability to be able to take care of a mate at any age and he hadn’t cared to. No part of him had wanted to put in the effort to try until he had met you until he had been driven so wild and crazed by your scent and your fire.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t dare rule his affection and adoration to one simple favourite, one characteristic that made him addicted to you. There was far too much about you that he loved and desired.

He wasn’t even afraid to call it what it was because he knew that avoiding the truth was a painful and blatant disregard for the way you affected him. Trying to deny his feelings for you would have been as underminingly poisonous as trying to deny his need for air.

He needed you, with every fibre of his being, he needed you. You made him feel perfect and whole, you made him feel as if he had always been enough.

You could handle Johnny; you could handle his flame.

That neediness, that impending want and supplication, had driven him to make this date the best he could. He wanted to prove that he could be a good alpha, a good potential mate.

He started the date at the fair with wristbands, the brightly coloured and fluorescent bands secured around your wrists with the name of the country inscribed in the material.

After the wristbands were secured, Johnny grasped your hand and pulled you into a semi-private space and turned your hand over to expose the inside of your wrist. With it exposed, Johnny lifted the inside of your wrist to his mouth and started suckling on the skin, his tongue lapping against your flesh to scent your neiguan pressure point.

He had raised his steely blue eyes and locked his gaze with yours, slowing the act of scenting your wrist to draw out the pleasure you were undoubtedly feeling. As he had parted his lips further and prodded your wrist with the edges of his teeth, primal urgency pulsated through him with every whine that was ripped from you.

Your eyes had fluttered closed and your heart was thrashing against its cage, warmth and desire were pooling between your legs with every stroke of his teeth against your flesh and his tongue against your veins.

“Johnny,” you gasped his name before you started whining at the heat, at the pressure mounting in the apex between your thighs, “you need to stop…”

It was as if you could feel the same sensations of his tongue on your cunt, his teeth against your clit.

“Omega,” Johnny groaned and let your wrist go, only to cage you against a structural wall of the trailers you were hiding between, “do you feel good?”

He trapped you in his arms and ground his throbbing erection against your belly, the hard head nudging your stomach as a reminder of how deep it would be inside you.

“We can’t do this here,” you shuddered, shivering beneath him, “not here-“

“Just remember firefly,” Johnny leaned in, his plump lips grazing the shell of your ear as he huskily crooned, “that’s not even a taste of the pleasure I’m going to bring you.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” You mumbled against his lips, electricity buzzing between you two after he had stolen another kiss from you.

When Johnny had finally moved away, he had grabbed your hand in his and pulled you from the private corner to the main flow of traffic. He had stopped and glanced at the various amusement park rides and the games set up in a way that had created an alleyway of sorts, then he had directed his attention toward you.

He had looked you over, the corner of his lips twitching as he studied you. He had watched the rise and fall of your chest with every breath a feeling of undeniable affection and connectivity settling over his entire body like deep warmth that was different than his fire.

This warmth was like no other he had ever felt. It was as if Johnny was having an out-of-body experience and had been hovering above the clouds watching the exact moment that he had lost a little more of himself to an omega who was his perfect counterpart. It was as if, at this moment, he could feel himself falling into the bottomless depths while he was helpless to stop it.

He had never, would never, wanted to stop it.

“Where to first, firefly?” Johnny questioned you and as you had turned your head and locked eyes with him, he felt his breath catching in his throat.

His blue eyes were captivated by your own, by the emotions that were conveyed in your gaze and the tightening of your hand in his.

He was lost in the smile that was starting to build on your face and your scent as it started to reach a peak, teeming with eagerness and the need to expel your energy on the rides. He felt it, the excitement that had stirred his own and the lingering gratefulness that was hovering under the surface.

It was more than a date, it was a chance to step away from the craziness of his fanbase and the alpha that was bothering you. It was a chance to be free and enjoy yourselves, to act like young kids again.

“The rollercoasters.” Your smile was bright, unkempt by the stress of the job, and Johnny was eagerly following you when you tugged him behind you, a laugh falling from your lips when you nearly tumbled into an older couple with their child.

You apologized profusely over your shoulder while still holding his hand, tugging him behind you as the two of you made your way to the lineup for the ride. When you had come to a stop at the back of the queue you leaned into Johnny, pressing yourself against him with your hands still entwined. You laid your head against him with your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you stood and waited, subconsciously brushing your thumb against his hand to the tune of the music playing from one of the rides.

Johnny had looked down at you, he had studied you as you pressed yourself against him and cracked a small grin when he compared the moment you met to the moment you were at now, with the two of you able to share a space without biting each other heads off.

“You’re not scared are you?” Johnny slipped his hand around the small of your back, his fingers brushing against your hips bone, heat radiating from his fingertips. “If you are, I can hold your hand.”

“Scared? Johnny, if anyone is going to be scared, my money is on you.” You angled your head giving you a better view of him, your eyes sweeping along his neck and jawline, studying the shadows and highlights of his face in the mid-day.

You had glanced at the bridge of his nose and the sweeping curvature of his lips, you had become encapsulated by the beautiful shades of blues in his eyes that were framed by thick, dark lashes and then you sighed peacefully.

“Scared? Babe, I’m Johnny Storm. I laugh in the face of fear.” The corner of Johnny’s lips had twitched as he feigned confidence that was unhindered and you raised your free hand then pressed the pads of your fingers against his plump lips, feeling the softness of the swells of his flesh against your own.

You wished you could have had a rebuttal but you were silently watching him, silently studying him as he stood with your pressed against him while waiting for the line to move up. Instead of speaking in return and firing off a comment in retaliation you squeezed his arm and cast your eyes on the queue in front of you, a small smile of your building on your lips.

He had forgotten how to breathe at the moment that followed the first crack of fireworks and the bright colour illuminating the dark skyline. He had forgotten how to breathe when he had looked at you as another firework followed the first, the flash of colour and light casting you in unbelievable and angelic beauty.

How was it even possible for someone like you, for an omega like you, to be real? How was it at all possible for you to be a living, breathing person when you were perfection personified?

Johnny didn’t fully comprehend what it felt like to fall in love until he had felt himself falling with every breath he took and every small parting of his lips while he watched the display.

Johnny had never known or had wanted to know, what it must’ve felt like for his mother and father to fall for each other so deeply and so madly. Maybe it was maddening and perhaps it made no sense for Johnny Storm to have fallen so deeply and so quickly but at this moment right here he knew that he was no longer his own.

You had taken every piece of him in such a short time, and you held it without knowing what you possessed. You weren’t aware of the power you had over Johnny, of the unredeemable hold you had over every part and piece of him without even trying.

This was the first date if you even considered it a date, and Johnny had already lost himself. It was innate the way that his hindbrain and his instincts as an alpha were telling him to protect you at all costs, to provide the best possible life for you in every sense of the word. You were, or he wanted you to be, his omega and he would’ve given you the world if he could have.

Johnny would give you his very life if you wanted it, if only he got to see you look at him the way you had earlier. If only you would cast your eyes upon him like that again, he could die a happy man.

“I think this is my favourite,” your voice had drawn him from his thoughts, his eyes sweeping over your frame as you sat on the grass beside him while one of the many stuffed animals he had won you today at the fair, was sitting in his lap, “the brightly coloured ones are pretty but there’s something extraordinary about the way the plain fireworks look against the sky.”

Johnny’s attention flitted between you and the stuffed monkey in your hands, the brown fur short yet soft pairing well with a light beige patch on the stomach and the interior of the ears. He had studied the stuffed prize in your hands the monkey you had aptly named Johnny, after him, a grin forming on his face.

The prize was one of many he had gotten for you and yet it had appeared you already had a favourite of the mini-zoo stuffed into his vehicle, and he had wondered if you would take all the prizes to your nest or just this one specifically.

“I’ve never been to a fair,” you had drawn his attention again both by the sound of your voice and the way you had shifted closer to him, “but this was amazing. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun before in my life.”

“You need to have more fun,” Johnny’s fingertips brushed against the top of your ear while he was pushing the few pieces of your hair that escaped its hold out of your face, “firefly.”

“You have suggestions for fun?” Johnny had sworn the earth stopped moving when you turned your head and looked at him, he had sworn that everything had come to a complete halt and faded entirely when you leaned in and rest your chin against his bicep.

“Fun?” Johnny felt so exposed like this, he felt as if you had cracked every defensive wall and crevice open with a pry bar, leaving him at your mercy. “You and I will have loads of fun, Firefly.”

“Without sex?”

“Baby,” Johnny groaned dramatically, “what kind of guy do you take me for?”

Johnny didn’t wait for an answer. He had pulled you deeper into his side and pressed his lips against your temple as your eyes fluttered closed and your breath had become shaky.

Then, only after you had melted against him, had he sworn to himself that he would find out exactly what that bastard Morris had made you so afraid of.

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#alpha!johnny storm imagines #alpha!johnny storm x reader smut #alpha!johnny storm x reader angst #alpha!johnny storm x reader #alpha!johnny stom x reader #johnny storm imagines fluff #johnny storm imagines angst #johnny storm imagine #johnny storm imagines #johnny storm x reader smut #johnny storm x reader fluff #johnny storm x reader angst #johnny storm x reader #watch my heart burn series #watch my heart burn masterlist #watch my heart burn #watch my heart burn part 9

[orionwhispers]

Swan Song// Thomas Shelby 🍸

(A.N )- holy shit. holy shit. you guys... its finally finished. it took months but its finally done!!here is the long awaited and highly requested lolita wedding. im so happy you guys finally get to read it! i feel like my baby has all grown up lol. there might be errors and stuff bc its 16k words and im exhausted but hopefully you enjoy it. thanks for being so wonderful and patient. ily) also sorry for all the pics in the moodboard being white i try and be inclusive but smh pinterest sucks sometimes, anyone is welcome here. we are all hoes for tommy)

Trigger Warnings; so much fucking fluff, implied smut, some angst and mention of past injury.

PART 1  PART 2

It was one of those dreamy midsummer nights.

When even the sun didn’t want to retire for the evening; the sky a rich, milky blue, and the air still thick and warm like honey. You were on the window seat, clad in one of Ada’s many wedding presents, a blush silk slip and matching robe, a gift she had brought back from her week in Boston.

You were happy. Irrevocably so. The floor and love seat crowded with the people you held closest to your heart, the room smelt of expensive vanilla candles and strawberry wine, and the deep throaty rumble of laughter filled every empty space.

It was perfect. Well - almost.

You missed him.

It was only one night apart, you had spent longer times separated when he went out of town for business or you had a rambunctious girls weekend with Ada and Esme - but still you missed him entirely.

You knew he missed you too. That much was obvious from the disdain on his face when Arthur and Polly laid bare their plans for the night before your wedding. There hadn’t been time for an engagement party let alone a bachelor party - a few weeks after announcing the news Tommy had been due to attend to some business in New York, and he was adamant that you were to come along. He wanted to treat you, show you the vibrant city and all of the glitz and glamour of Broadway, but you knew that was only part of the reason. He didn’t like you out of his sight for too long, the wound on your chest might have been puckering into a scar but the pain was still fresh in his mind and his overprotectiveness had tripled.

After a brilliant few weeks away in the big apple, filled with passionate, breathless kisses and red satin dresses and driving hand in hand down the Brooklyn bridge, you finally returned home - but much like the city you had just left, Thomas Shelby had no time for sleeping. He was knee deep in new deals and navigating his partnership with Alfie Solomon’s, as well as his new venture of manufacturing gin. Despite the long nights and the early mornings, you never felt neglected. You loved him, all of him, and that included his workhorse nature and tenacity. And besides, he struggled being away from you, finding himself noticing the lack of warmth in his office, when at home you would be perched on his lap, pressing dizzying kisses to the base of his neck. He missed the sound of your laugh and the way that you giggled, biting your lip innocently, making him want to bite it even harder.

He loved you, and that god awful summer had shown him that all he truly cared about was having you by his side. So for every night he was at the office, or every morning he was out of bed before you woke up, he made it up to you with a weekend away, or a signed first edition of your favourite book, or a piece of jewellery he had made for you. They might have been material things, but the meaning couldn’t be clearer, he was hopelessly, dangerously, completely, in love with you.

His main present to you though, arrived a few days after his sudden proposal in his office.

He originally wanted to take you into London, show you the finest jewellers by the water and let you choose anything that caught your eye - only the best for his best girl - but, after everything, his plans had changed.

Truthfully, marriage had been on the tip of his tongue since that very first day he locked eyes with you in the Garrison. He knew he had to have you, even before he knew your name, and by the time the two of you first kissed, tasting like sweet strawberries and cigarettes, he knew you would be the woman to take his.

But things got in the way. Marriage wasn’t as simple as it might have been for the people you passed in the streets. Marriage to him was like putting a target on your back, it meant your entire life being intertwined with his, the whole world knowing that you were the woman that made him fall to his knees. It would take everything from you, and the darkness would slowly start to seep into the light that surrounded you, and he needed to keep you safe for as long as he could. He knew he was going to marry you, it was just as clear in his mind as it was that he was the leader of the Blinders, you were the missing piece in his puzzle.

But of course, his plans were blown to smithereens when the bullet shattered your collarbone that summers eve. His visions of red roses and rich wine and getting on one knee, feeling like a goddamn kid again when you gave him that smile as he pushed the ring onto your finger, were flung to the wind. And instead, his honeyed words were swapped with breathless desire and need, whispered in your hair as you were cradled in his arms, in the afterglow of such a dreadful day.

The one thing he knew he could get right, however, was the ring.

It had to be special. It had to be you. Something soft and sweet and gentle, but with an edge - sharp and strong and beautiful. Of course, it would be impossible to find any diamond or pearl that could compete with your beauty, but he wanted you to have the best.

That wasn’t the only reason though.

It had more to do with the jewel that had hung around your neck that day at the ball, the one that haunted him when the sky got dark and you were fast asleep beside him. He had come so close to losing you, only a hair away from the girl he loved being buried, and the thought was driving him mad. He controlled every aspect of his life, but this was something completely out of his grasp, and he needed to stop his dangerous thoughts.

He hadn’t been superstitious since he was a boy chasing his brothers through fields of wildflowers and listening to Polly’s ramblings by the fire, but he had to rule out every possibility. So a few days after he proposed, and with the best doctor in Birmingham giving you the all clear (and triple checking that the house was secured and being watched by practically a small army of Blinders - and a stern warning to Michael, Isaiah and Finn that if even a hair on top of your head was misplaced by the time he got back, none of them would be able to have any children)- he set off.

He told you he was signing a deal in Manchester, but he was really only a few miles away, at the campsite where he had spent the majority of his youth. It was all rolling hills of deep emerald and jade, and fog that curled and twisted around his ankles, and for the first time in a long time, he felt out of place. He had chosen the ring with the help of Polly, who was adamant she knew your taste better than him, something he vehemently denied.

It was beautiful and unique, just like you, and he never felt such a profound rush of love quite like when he pictured slotting it onto your finger. It was big, but not overly so - nothing tacky or too much, Tommy knowing that you never wanted anything glimmering or gaudy and that you’d probably hit him and then faint if you knew the price. But, in his eyes - nothing was too expensive for his little girl. Besides, he particularly liked the way the ring shone in the light, imagining all the men that would fuck off and leave with their tail between their legs when they saw it and realised that the most beautiful woman in the room was already spoken for.

The diamond was brilliant and a “Princess” cut, something that made him smirk because it was one of his favourite pet names for you, and he couldn’t imagine anything more fitting. The band was solid gold, two different paths that intertwined and curled like summer vines, making him think of the lightness and whimsy you carried around you. What really sold him though, were the soft, twinkling rose quartz gems that cocooned the diamond.

“For protection.” Polly had muttered as he twisted the ring between his fingers under the dim lighting in the store. He had rolled his eyes when she spoke but secretly the meaning behind them made his gut twist. Protection was something that he needed you to have in abundance, even if it came from small crystals the size of a half grain of rice.

The ring was so perfect. So rare and alluring and undeniably you, and he walked out the door with the feeling of pure content, something that only even happened when he thought of you. But he knew there was more for him to do. He sent Polly home, ignoring the raised eyebrows she gave him and brushed off the sixth sense his Aunt had always had. And with the ring safely nestled in its plush navy box in his breast pocket, he drove off.

The campsite felt like the past. It felt as though he was visiting somewhere deep in the confines of his mind, somewhere that he had locked and stored away and forgotten about, only now being able to see through the thick haze of smog. He met the elderly woman by the doors of her caravan, noticing the difference between his sharp suit and the furs and shawls she had covering her body. She smiled and invited him in, pouring him a cup of something that smelt like sap and crisp autumn apples.

“It’s been a long time, Thomas.” She said, eyes so dark they almost looked black as she watched him curiously.

“That it has.”

“What brings you to this part of the woods then? I thought you would have forgotten about the rest of us.”

It was a dig, but he refused to rise to it. He wasn’t in the mood for petty jibes.

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I hear.” She exhaled, stirring her tea meticulously with a golden spoon. “They tell me you’re practically running the country.”

He smiled softly and falsely, digging his hand deep into his pocket. “Let’s cut to the chase, eh?” He pulled out the small box, opening it in his palm, and twisting it round so that the clear cut diamond was twinkling right before her.

She grinned, leaning forward on her elbows to get a better look. “It’s beautiful. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“The woman it’s for is worth it.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I know why you’re here,Tom. The boys told me what happened at that party of yours.”

He cleared his throat, not liking the lack of control he had over the conversation.

“Right, well then. Just tell me what I need to know.”

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, and Tommy sat back on his haunches, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Was he really fucking doing this? Sitting in a caravan in the middle of fucking nowhere getting his jewellery cleansed by some batty old woman he knew as a child? It went against everything he believed in, and was the exact opposite of the calm and level headed way he ran his business.

But then he thought of you. And your light. Your sweetness and the sound of your laugh, the curve of your lips and the flowers you wore in your hair and the grass stains on your little white dresses. He thought of the scar that ran along your collarbone, and the feeling of white hot desperation that had coursed through him when he that you might not wake up.

You were worth it. Fuck sensibilities and rationality. He’d drive to the fucking ends of the earth if it meant that it would keep you even just a little bit safer.

After what felt like an age, the woman opened her eyes and raised her head. She used the edge of one of her many colourful scarves to wipe the surface of the gems, her hands moving in quick, rhythmic circles.

“It’s clean.” She said. “There’s nothing bad on it. At least, not that I can see.”

Tommy felt the anvil strapped to his chest suddenly fill and float like a balloon, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he brushed off the relief flooding though his body, and straightened up. “Well I came to the best.”

She smiled, both smugly and bashfully, the way most women felt around Tommy. “That you did my love.”

His fingertips merely brushed the top of the roll of money he had stuffed in his pocket, and the elderly woman sat back, shaking her head at him.

“It’s on the house. Maybe you can bring your girl around one day, I know we’d all like to meet her.”

Not fucking likely he thought. No way in hell would he bring you to a place like this, whilst he still had good memory’s of his youth, he didn’t trust the people that still lurked in the fields around this place.

Wanting to settle the score, he held out a wad of notes. “I insist.”

“And I decline.”

He didn’t like the way the conversation had ended, it didn’t sit quite right with him. He liked to make his deals as open and closed as possible, money was the best way to seal a deal, he didn’t work with favours. “Right, well. Thank you for everything.”

He looked out of the windows of the caravan as he gathered his things. It was starting to get dark, the sky blushing like summer strawberries and freshly sliced peaches, the air still a little thick from the heat. All that he wanted now was to get home to you, everything else had faded to static in his ears. He bit back a grin as he thought of how you would smile, all teeth and round cheeks and wide eyes when he showed you the ring. He imagined it sitting pretty on your finger, the nudge of the jewel against his when you intertwined hands and the way it would dazzle at night, not nearly as beautiful as you as you laid beneath him, sweaty and breathless and ethereal.

As sudden as a gunshot, sharp words from behind him cut through his daydreams like a blade.

“Have you ever considered, Tom?”

He merely paused, not even bothering to spin on his heel and face her. He knew what she was going to say and yet it still felt like a knife digging into a fresh wound as she continued speaking.

“That maybe it’s not the jewels? Maybe it’s you?”

He wasn’t the type of man to back down from a fight, and he was the unrivalled champion of maintaining his composure and remaining calm under every type of pressure, but even he couldn’t deny the shivers that twisted around the bottom of his spine at the implication of her words.

“Yes. I have.”

He could feel her shifting behind him, ready to lure him in, tell him the thing that kept him up at night and clawed at his throat when he watched you sleep; that perhaps he was the poison that seemed to follow you like a dark cloud. He was much too selfish, far too infatuated with you to keep you at arms length. The deafening ache that perhaps you were the reason he finally felt alive, and that maybe he was the reason you would end up buried. 

He didn’t allow himself to think any more, tossing his cash towards her, not even bothering to check if she caught it or if it landed on the floor, instead he raised a hand and walked off, murmuring under his breath. “Keep the change.”

He waited until he was back in his car, with a cigarette between his lips and the sour smell of petrol and ash filling his lungs before he finally inhaled, glad to be out of the fucking fresh air.

—————————————————————

Your reaction was even better than he imagined.

It was dark by the time he eventually got home, and he didn’t miss the buzz of warmth that pulling into the driveway brought. It was bizarre, he had spent so long feeling nothing that meeting you had reignited everything inside of him, he felt like a boy again, nervous and elated to see the girl he loved.

The lights were on, reflecting through the windows like flickering candles, and a pleasant yellow glow engulfed the shadows in the gravel. He could hear voices, (mainly Arthur’s), deep low laughter and the sound of music all throughout the halls. He winced slightly, hoping that whatever ruckus his family had brought wasn’t keeping you from resting. He was certain that this impromptu gathering was his brothers idea of raising your spirits, but Tommy would have felt much more comfortable knowing that you were peaceful and recovering somewhere safe, knowing that you were far too polite to send his family away.

“What the fucks all this noise, eh?” He shouted as entered, his tone was sharp but even he couldn’t stop the tiny grin making its way onto his face as he watched Arthur and John drunkenly dance in the living room.

“Ay! You’re back? How did it go?” Arthur asked, holding out his arms in greeting as his speech slurred.

“Everything’s in order.”

“Hurrah!” Arthur swayed on unsteady legs like a sailor on the rough seas, and

“Bloody hell Arthur, what the fuck are you on?” John laughed,

“It’s a celebration, brother.”

Tommy pushed him aside playfully, tuning out the sound of their bickering as he strode further in the living room, eyes brushing past all of the faces crowded around, his heart stopping when he finally found the one he was after.

You were curled up on the sofa by the fireplace with your legs tucked underneath you, your face flushing deliciously, the spark slowly reigniting inside of you - and Tommy swore that he had never seen something so beautiful. Michael, Isaiah and Finn were crowded around you, looking much younger than their years, playing cards in their hands and big, toothy grins, occasionally accusing the other of cheating. Polly watched from beside the fireplace, something that had once been the beating heart of the house, a place where the two of you coexisted so magnificently. He thought of the flames from the logs and also from deep inside of him, devouring you completely on the hardwood floors, the sound of your moans mixing with the crackle and snap of the kindling. He hadn’t looked at the fireplace since you had been shot, it was too intimate, too personal, memories of early morning laughter and pure carnal hunger when the sun set, his fingertips pressing against the softness of your throat as you melted like paper under him.

Now though, it had been filled with empty wine bottles stuffed with candles, wax dripping and melting down their green glass necks, the room smelling like cherries and lavender. He knew you had put them there, and it made him exhale, because it no longer hurt to look at it, and he knew that eventually, the fireplace would be yours again.

Polly caught his eye from over the sofa, hers glittering and twinkling with suspicion of where her nephew had been, taking a long, poignant drag from her cigarette. He ignored her. He had no doubts that she was completely aware of what he had been doing, and that imagining him back at his roots was conjuring a particular mental image in her head, but right now that was the least of his concern.

He tore though the living room, almost colliding with a dozen bodies, it seemed Arthur had dug up every close acquaintance within twenty miles and invited them over. The room smelt like sour whisky and spilled wine, and he swore he could see his expensive furniture lowering in price by the minute.

He loved his family, he would do anything for them, but God he wished to the highest heavens that they would fuck off so he could spend some time with his girl. If it was up to him the house would be completely empty, nothing but the sound of your laugh and the thump of your heart, fuck everything else.

You were wrapped up in your poker game, head tilted back as you laughed at something Finn had whispered to you, the small creamy corner of your bandage poking out from the collar of your dress. Tommy swore inwardly, the sight making him falter. As quickly as the feeling came, he brushed it away, not wanting you to see him worry, not wanting himself to fall into old and dangerous habits.

Finn saw him first, his youngest brother looking impossibly boyish and playful as he laughed with his friends, a world away from the man he tried so hard to be. One look and he was on his feet, quickly swatting Isaiah and Michael and gathering the cards in his hands. Tommy patted his shoulder fondly, his eyes fixed firmly on you, watching your pupils dilate and sparkle when you finally caught sight of him.

“You’re back.”

Breathless. Angelic. Innocent. It took everything in him to not gather you in his arms and take you upstairs all for himself.

“And you should be in bed.”

He sat down next to you, his knee brushing against yours.

You smelt of home.

Of sweet cinnamon and strawberries and wildflowers, messy hair and woodsmoke. You finally smelt like yourself, not like the chemicals and disinfectants that now filled the halls, making him want to set his whole damn estate alight because the reminders of what they caused were too painful.

“I’ve been resting for weeks, Tommy. Let me have a little fun.”

You gave him that smile. The one that made his knees buckle. The one that would have made him sign his company over to you if you asked - not that there would ever be a time he would say no to you. It was bizarre, how you were sitting there with no makeup on, your hair tied back with a baby pink ribbon, and you were undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Alright, alright, enough with the pouting.” He winked at you, making a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt in your stomach. If it had just been the two of you he would have leant in and kissed you stupid, but he didn’t want to give his drunken brothers something else to whoop and tease about. He would save his romantics for later, when you were alone, and he could take his well earned time and leisure to ravage you.

He pulled you close to him, wrapping an arm around the edge of the sofa and over your shoulders, keeping you as close and protected as he possibly could, the simple action comforting him immensely. You snuggled into him, his body so warm and firm and safe, and he pressed a kiss to your neck as you relaxed, his lips scorching you like a brand. He felt his whole body exhale, feeling at ease because he was with the people he loved most in the world, with you tucked into his side like you were carved there, and the feel of your fingertips ghosting over his chest. His life was so fast paced and hectic and his mind was whirring a mile a minute, but at that moment, the there was no where else he would rather be.

His patience lasted exactly 47 minutes. His composure and lenience with his family finally snapped when Arthur bet John that he could do a better handstand than him, proceeded to leap onto his hands, flail about disastrously and then crash right into the console table, shattering an array of fine china and imported vases.

“Oh John, look what you did ya’ stupid cunt.” He said when he got to his feet, his hands slashed to ribbons and blood dripping onto the carpet. Esme rolled her eyes, grabbing her brother in law by the collar and dragging him out of the room to bandage him up before he inevitably passed out from all the alcohol.

Tommy straightened out next to you as Mary quickly rushed in and gathered the glimmering shards with a dustpan and brush. He heaved himself to his feet, reluctant to withdraw from your side, and he cleared his throat once before speaking. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight, everybody fuck off.”

You rolled your eyes at his terrible bedside manner, tugging on the edge of his rolled sleeve playfully, making a small smile cross the edge of his lips. Polly pressed a hand to your shoulder as she herded the boys out of the room, each of them mumbling drunken goodbyes and pressing whisky stained kisses to your cheeks, mindful of the placement of their hands and your scar, mainly because of Tommy’s sharp, warning glare.

Johnny Dogs grumbled something along the lines of parting, but instead passed out face down on the carpet, his body rising and falling with heavy snores. Tommy waited rather impatiently as you said goodbye to the remaining guests, wanting nothing more than some well earned solace with his girl.

When you were finally alone, the moon dancing across your skin through the large open windows, soft music filling the room and the smell of sticky split wine following you both, he pulled you into his arms. He looked at your face and smiled. You were ethereal. Golden and glowing in the twilight, eyes sparkling like diamonds. Your face had changed a little in the time you had been together, your body and mind maturing and adapting, but you still looked so young. A breath of clear, fresh air amongst all of the smoke.

He lifted his hand to wipe a few specks of shimmering rose rouge from your cheeks, evidently left from where Esme hugged you goodbye, but you got there first, playfully taking his finger in your mouth and gently sucking and biting at his fingertip.

He felt a fire ignite in his stomach and his trousers tighten. How were you - so small and sweet and innocent, able to control his body like you were a master puppeteer and he was nothing but wood and string? It was baffling to him, an enigma that he craved to solve but knew that he never could. He was completely and incurably love sick.

You were going to be the death of him.

He pulled you even closer, freeing himself from your grip and taking your head in his hands, smashing his lips onto yours. You melted into him, practically putty in his hands. His teeth clashed against yours, the kiss was messy and desperate, as though you were two kids determined to make the most of the time you had alone. He felt everything wash off of him, all of his stress and tension melting down his spine like candle wax. Because, with your body flush against his and his mouth pressed up against your own, he was home.

You pulled away shyly and reluctancy, and he felt the absence of your warmth immediately. He moved to drag you back, not done with you just yet, but he followed your gaze to the man on the floor. Johnny had somehow managed to roll over onto his back, still asleep and snoring, but with his eyes half open, his gaze focused on the two of you. Tommy let out a rare, genuine laugh, and it made you feel like somebody had lit a firework in your chest. He wrapped his fingers against your own and tugged softly, his voice deep and rumbling like the ocean.

“Let’s go upstairs, princess. I’ve got something to give to you.”

Your room was safe and it was warm. It smelt like ripe peaches and fresh mint and rolling tobacco, like leather and lace; innocence and sin. It had finally become yours again, interlocked like your fingers, intertwined like your hearts, something so precious and belonging to just the two of you. It had broken his already shattered heart when you were separated, and looking at you now through heavy eyelids as you sat on your knees in bed, waiting expectantly for him to reveal his present, he took a moment to thank whoever was listening for giving him a goddamn angel.

“You need to stop buying me things, Tommy.” You scolded gently, shifting on your legs.

“I’ll do whatever I bloody feel like.” He replied, undoing his cuff links and loosing his tie. He liked to always be properly dressed and sharp, but around you he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in your sweet comfort.

You watched him, so beautiful and angelic looking under the yellow lights. You smiled to yourself at his mussed hair and natural pink pout; the side to him that only ever flared up around you. You kept your eyes trained on him as he rummaged around the room, taking off his jacket and folding it over a chair before turning around and pointing a finger at you.

“Close your eyes.”

You huffed. “Is that really necessary?”

“Close ‘em.”

You looked up at him teasingly, exhaling loudly before closing your eyes. You felt him moving around the room, listening to the soft creaks of the wood and the sound of his footsteps as he approached the bed. He lifted your arm and you giggled as his fingertips ran down your skin, stopping at the middle of your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could he pushed something onto your ring finger. Even with your eyes closed you could feel his smile.

“Open.”

It took you a moment to register what you were seeing, the surprise knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your eyes flickered from him back down to your ring, your mouth agape. You hadn’t really thought about an engagement ring, flashy diamonds weren’t really up your alley and with everything that had happened tradition seemed to have flown out of the window, but you should have known Tommy would always be one step ahead. It was beautiful. So brilliant and classic and totally you, and you could feel tears pricking behind your eyes, your mouth going dry.

“Oh, Tom! Oh, Tommy it’s beautiful!” All of your restraint was gone, and you leapt onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he caught you effortlessly, like he always would. He let out a laugh, slightly stunned from your reaction, and the feeling of your lips pressing hot, quick kisses all across his skin. He held you tight, burying his nose in your hair and pulling you impossibly closer.

He felt your lips at the base of his ear, brushing against his flesh as you spoke. “This must have cost a fortune!”

He shook his head, not even needing words to convey his feelings. To him it was obvious. Nothing would ever be too much for you.

You admired it from over his shoulder, watching the hypnotising way that it glimmered in the light. He gently walked forward, leaning you down so that you were in contact with the bed, tilting up your face so that you were looking him in the eye.

“There’s something else.”

“Tommy - ”

He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and you sat back and watched as his nimble fingers looped down his torso, finally grabbing something underneath and holding it towards you.

You inhaled sharply, feeling yourself floating.

He had your name engraved on a silver dog tag, much like the ones he had thrown into the cut with Freddie along with his medals of honour. This was what mattered to him, your name carved into the metal, dangling right next to his heart, because it was only you who owned it.

Your eyes met, filled with love and lust and true happiness. A week ago you had been lying in bed, terrified that Tommy might not be in love with you, but now it was clear that the two of you were bound together, that you were the safety of a lighthouse to his wandering ship.

He kissed you - greedily and open mouthed, and you fell into him, letting him devour you. His hands worked quickly, desperate to see all of you, everything laid bare for him, with nothing but the ring glinting under the pale light of the moon. He kissed your neck, collarbone, throat, his hands and calloused fingertips brushing your flesh.

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said and you melted. You never felt short of love around him, but hearing those three words was like a hit of heroin, and you were desperate for more. You knew that he was as well, that he craved your stability and the sweetness you gave him, and you pulled his head from the crook of your neck, getting lost in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, Tommy. I love you.”

—————————————————————

The weeks passed, and the ring on your finger still gave you goosebumps when you saw it - a reminder of the man you loved. Life continued, business slowly dripping back into your days, the hazy bubble of love you had entered starting to pop but never fully dissolving. Tommy was adamant that you shouldn’t start back at work, making it very clear to you that he didn’t want you doing anything until he was beyond certain that you were completely healed.

You hated being stuck in the house however, and still managed to find a way to get a very reluctant Michael to sneak in some accounting work for you to do. Something that made Tommy see red when he found out, only to have you pout and preen and make all of his anger subside, although Michael wasn’t as lucky.

Wedding planning hadn’t been on your mind, not with business booming or the wonderful trip to New York. You were happy with everything, dizzied with love and lust and laughter, and whilst your finger had gotten much heavier, there was nothing in your relationship you wanted to change.

That didn’t stop Polly or Ada however from trying to plan the best party England had ever seen.

You remembered a sleepy Sunday morning with the two of them, and the shrill sound they both made when you said that you didn’t want a big wedding.

“What? Finally something bloody good happens to this family and you don’t want us to celebrate?”

You rolled your eyes, dunking your biscuit into your coffee with a smile. “I’m not saying we can’t celebrate, I’m just saying that I haven’t really thought about it, I just want something small.”

“Small? Every woman has dreamt of her wedding day!”

You looked over at Ada, wanting her to back you up against such traditionalist views. Instead, she held up her hands and laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “I hate to admit it, (Y/N) but I agree with Pol! It’s about time this family had something good happen, and you and Tom deserve a bloody wonderful day. I’ve never seen a love story quite like yours.”

You smiled at her kindness but didn’t let up, stirring your tea with your matching spoon.“I don’t want a fuss! I don’t need a big wedding to be happy, I just need him.”

“Well that’s sweet.” Polly interjected. “But I want to buy some new furs and get drunk and wake up next to a man who likes to buy me diamonds.”

You laughed out loud.

“Since when do you need a man to buy you diamonds?” Ada snorted, staring down her aunt over her strawberry filled pastry.

“I don’t. But they always look better when they’ve been bought by someone else.”

You sighed, watching the two of them playfully bicker, feeling so grateful that the stars had aligned and they were now your family.

“So you don’t have any plans? Not even a date or a dress in mind?” Polly asked, her brisk voice cutting through the banter.

“No.” You smiled. “The only thing I’m sure about is the groom.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Well that’s going to need to change.”

——————————————————————

Slowly but surely you started to fall back into old habits and patterns, picking up where you left off at the Garrison, and meeting Michael and Isaiah for drinks in the city. Tommy was reluctant to loosen his grip at first, so used to having you all over him in the comfort of your own home, safe and warm under the protection of his watchful gaze and gentle hands. He knew that he didn’t own you, and that he couldn’t keep you under lock and key like a prisoner, but he spent those first few weeks anxiously pacing in his study, dreading the phone ringing and finding that you had once again been hurt because of him.

He kept his work as separate from you as he could. He knew you wanted to be by his side through everything, but the wound was too fresh for him, too raw, and he needed to know that you were safe. So he kept his sins and misdemeanours away from you, making his home his sanctuary and you his oasis, finding religion in your lips and solace in your touch.

You were in no hurry to arrange anything. As much as you loved the idea of Tommy being your husband, you were happy to just let things slowly fall into place and try to regain whatever normalcy you had lost - but your future in laws had different plans.

Polly was a whirlwind. She spent the majority of her free time writing letters and phoning different market vendors from all over the world, her office filled with sugar icing and the finest loose leaf tea that money could buy, all gifts from those wanting to cater what was set to be the “wedding of the century.”

You didn’t mind - even when she stole you away for an entire work day to pick out cutlery and matching table runners, or you came back from the department store with pin pricks up and down your body from hours of having dresses fitted. She was happy, and when darkness seemed to follow the family like a storm cloud, you were adamant at grasping at whatever you could get, even if it wasn’t quite what you envisioned.

You knew Tommy found the whole thing hilarious. How his stoic and level headed Aunt had been swept up in lavender and lace, snapping at bakers over mango whipped frosting and arguing about the best way to cook lamb. It made him so damn happy though, when you came home after a long day - eyes tired but sparkling, face flushed and glowing, the way that he always wanted you to be. The distraction was what you needed, something sugar coated and dreamy to blur everything that had happened, and he knew that you were in great hands with Polly.

He couldn’t even deny that he was looking forward to the day. He knew more than anything that he wanted you to be his wife, and whilst he loved shiny, expensive things, all he truly needed was you by his side. He didn’t want a fuss, he wanted whatever you did, but imagining you all wide eyed and honey lipped at the alter, rings forever symbolising your connection, the sound of your first name with his last.

Well, that he liked.

Even though you were feeling a little out of your depth amongst all of the wedding planning, there were some things that you knew that you wanted. Like, the powder pink roses from the bushes Tommy had gifted you for your birthday to line the stairway, and ocean blue forget me nots in the bouquet - to match his eyes. You even had a hazy vision of what you wanted your dress to be, the hours spent walking through boutiques in London with Ada paying off as you debated A line, trumpet, and ball gown style dresses.

The main thing you were certain about, however, was who you wanted by your side throughout the whole thing. You had a feeling he knew something like this was coming, he always did have a way of knowing what you were thinking, but even Michael wasn’t expecting you to leap out of his wardrobe hand in hand with Finn, holding out a small cupcake with a candle on the top one rainy evening.

“Holy shit!” He squealed, watching as you and his cousin broke down in fits of laughter, clutching each other as you toppled onto the floor, jackets and shirts trailing behind you.“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Surprise!” You managed to say in between deep throaty giggles. “We wanted to catch you off guard!”

“Well you fucking did.” He tutted, “Hiding in my wardrobe! Nearly fucking shat myself.”

Your laughter was infectious, and soon all three of you were close to tears, your bodies exhausted and elated, gripping onto one another to stop from completely collapsing.

“So what was the point of this ambush, then?” He asked finally, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air, his face slowly returning to its normal colour.

You thrust the cupcake under his nose, the tip of the flame narrowly missing singeing the little hairs on his upper lip. “I want you to be my maid of honour! Well, man of honour.” You corrected quickly.

“You want me to be your what?”

Quick to silence his objections, you added - “Finn’s going to be flower girl!”

“Flower boy.” He interjected, “Katie’s flower girl. I’m just doing you a favour.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You and Michael locked eyes for a moment, challenging the other with your gaze. After a tense minute of silence, he broke out in a smile, one of the classic, cheesy ones that you loved so much.

“Do I have to wear a dress?”

You grinned. “Only if you want to.”

He threw his arms in the air in mock defeat, and he seemed so much younger, reminding you of running barefoot with him through raspberry fields, and throwing pennies down a pretty little well.

“Alright. Okay. Yes! Bloody hell.”

You leapt into his arms and Finn whooped triumphantly, partly pleased for you but mostly happy that he wasn’t the only member of the family who had somehow been talked into something he was bound to be teased over.

You felt Michael press a kiss to the crown of your head, his words getting muffled by your loose hair. “God, does Tommy even know what he’s got himself in for with you?”

You smiled, as sweet as spun sugar.

“Nope.”

—————————————————————-

As much as you wanted to stay in the rose tinted bubble that wedding planning had created, more and more problems with the business started to arise, and everything had to be put on the back burner - but it never dampened your spirits.

The hot summer days bled into crisp autumn nights, and you were trading your short lavender dresses for fur lined coats and boots. You celebrated Christmas with everyone, and discovered that a day you never used to enjoy was now your favourite, all because of the man you would up beside.

New Years passed in a flurry of drunken kisses and gold dresses and dancing until the sun rose. You vaguely remember finding Arthur passed out in the bathtub, surrounded by ice and champagne, the gramophone shaking the paintings on the walls. Your main memory was Tommy pulling you down the hall with him, away from the rest of the family, kissing you right as the clock struck midnight with hands tangled in your hair and a smile on his lips.

He often left for weeks at a time, work taking him up and down the country, and that meant that every morning and night you spent together was treasured.

One particular spring morning, when the air was starting to warm up and the days getting a little longer, you were sprawled on Tommy’s lap in the garden, reading from your novel whilst he read the paper. The day was less than half way though and you had already spent the entire morning in bed, making up for all the time you had lost. Now you leafed through your book with strawberry stained fingers, the curl of cigarette smoke twisting around you both.

Tommy had made it certain that he was not to be bothered that day. It had been almost an entire month of nothing but speaking over the phone and stolen kisses before he had to up and leave again, and the only thing he goddamn wanted was to do absolutely nothing with you. He was exhausted, not that he would ever admit it, but because you knew him better than absolutely everyone, you forced him to take a break before the man you loved completely crumbled like a bourbon biscuit.

So when you knew that he was coming back, you gave Mary strict orders to ignore all phone calls or mail regarding the business until the weekend was over. She had happily obliged, so you and Tom were both confused when you saw her running through the grass in her wingtips, her hands still soapy and wet from doing the dishes.

“Oh Mr Shelby! And Mrs Shelby!” She called, her voice so shrill that a few birds even took flight. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tommy sat up as best he could with you on his lap, his arms snaking around your waist to stop you from toppling over. You could feel the cigarette moving with his lips as he spoke, his accent deep and throaty in your ear.

“Mary? What is it?”

She didn’t reply, instead thrusting a sage green and gold piece of paper at you. You caught it before it fell to the floor, and let out a loud, genuine laugh when you read the script. You felt Tommy leaning over you shoulder, and felt the rumble of his body as he laughed with you.

“Well,” He said finally, pressing his lips to your neck. “Guess we know what we’re doing next month, Princess.”

On July 20th

Please join us for the union of Mr Thomas Shelby and (Y/N, Y/L/N).

The wedding of the century!

————————————————————————————

Polly had organised everything. Whilst you had been dealing with the accounting from the Garrison and Tommy had been building his business, Polly had managed to do her job, and single handily plan a wedding.

Everything was full steam ahead. The house was a flurry of florists and caterers, the grounds were picked and preened and polished by gardeners that had sailed over from Italy and the south of France. It was wonderful, if not a little overwhelming, but it was worth everything to see your future Aunt beaming as she supervised everything.

Tommy had pulled you aside a few times, determined to make sure that this was what you wanted, ready to pull the plug if he even caught a whiff that all of the glitz and glamour were out of your comfort zone. But Polly knew you well - not that you ever doubted her - and everything was beautiful and muted, classic and beguiling, just like something out of a fairytale.

You tried to be as involved as you could, picking out flowers for the bouquets, letting Esme try out a million different hairstyles on you as you sat barefoot and cross legged on the floor like a child, running around the kitchen with Katie, taste testing all of the frosting you could find. More than anything though, you were excited, elated for the day and it had nothing to do with all of the smoke and mirrors, instead it was the man you would meet at the end of the aisle.

You could tell that Tommy was getting antsy for the day as well. He was softer, calmer, his touch on your skin gentle but possessive, calling you “Mrs Shelby” as you came apart under him. He found himself falling asleep a little easier, his breath not getting caught in his lungs, his mind wandering and imagining his favourite girl in a pretty white dress, waiting for him under an arch of blush coloured tulips.

The real surprise though, came the morning before your wedding. You were curled up on the sofa drinking strong coffee and eating honey toast as Tommy finished some paperwork. He was trying to get everything done before the end of the day, wanting tomorrow and the weeks that came after to be nothing but the two of you.

You told him you never felt neglected. You had been by his side through it all, you knew just how demanding his job was, but that still didn’t ease the niggle of pressure at the back of his neck when he had his nose in his books for too long. He truly couldn’t wait until he could shove everything and everyone else aside. All he wanted was his girl in his arms with his ring on her finger, and a bottle of sweet gin.

Everything seemed so within reach, until the front door banged open like a whirlwind, and you heard the sounds of Polly’s stilettos against the hardwood floor.

“Alright you two, no time to lose!”

You and Tommy lifted your heads quickly, your eyes meeting across the room. “Polly?”

“- and Arthur!” An voice added, accompanied by the familiar face of the eldest Shelby.

You smiled, shutting the cover of your book. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tommy shot you a sharp look that said, don’t encourage them, but you ignored him, getting to your feet to greet them both.

Polly kissed you quickly on both cheeks, leaving you covered in a light layer of sticky red lipstick as she surveyed you both.

The study was the only place the two of you could find solace amongst the craziness of the wedding planning, every other room in the house filled with servants and buckets of flowers, the floors freshly waxed and polished. You could practically feel Tommy rolling his eyes behind you as Mary pushed open the double doors, holding your pastel pink overnight bag.

“Mrs Grey, I’ve packed all of Mrs Shelby’s things like you asked.”

“You did what?” Tommy said, rising to his feet.

Polly brushed him aside, reaching for the bag in the maid’s hand.“Ah. Thank you Mary, but it’s not Mrs Shelby yet, not till tomorrow. Let her be Miss (Y/L/N) for one last night.”

“Polly?” You asked, “What are you up to?”

She winked at you, her eyes catlike and beautiful, filled with the mischief that always hung around her. “You’re coming with me, love.”

“And you Tom, are coming with me.” Arthur said, pointing a finger at his brother.

“No. Fuck off, both of you.”

Polly put her hands in the air, but you could tell she had been expecting his resistance. “No Thomas. She needs a night as a free woman! Lord knows after tomorrow you’ll be keeping her all to yourself.”

Tommy straightened his back and crossed his arms, never one to back down from a fight, especially with his Aunt. “She’s staying here.”

“It’s tradition!” Arthur interjected, his voice already slurred despite it not even being noon yet.

“Fuck tradition.”

You moved forward, blinking up at your future husband. You knew why he was being so stubborn, the day before your wedding would be the prime time for something to go wrong, or something to happen with you, and keeping you within reach was what he wanted. As much as you loved spending every second with him, you also loved his family, and knew that perhaps a night of drinking and laughing and exhaling, was what you both needed.

He looked at you, his eyes unmoving and stern. You didn’t falter though, mimicking his frown and knitting your eyebrows together, trying to knock down the walls he was so insistent on putting up.

“It might be nice, Tom.” You said. “You deserve to have some fun, and it’ll make seeing each other tomorrow all the more special.”

A moment passed and you felt him falter, the corner of his lips moving ever so slightly.

“Alright. Bloody hell, fine.”

“Good decision brother.” Arthur said,

“We’re not leaving town.” Tommy stated simply, laying down the law.

“We wouldn’t dream of it! Johnny brought his caravan down, all of you men are camping in the woods. Us girls are staying here.”

“Aberama Gold doesn’t happen to be one of these men does he?” You said playfully, nudging Polly with your arm. She rolled her eyes but pulled you closer, her fingers toying with the satin ribbons on your blouse.

“Cmon, love, lets go.”

“Wait.”

You felt Tommy approaching you both, his large hands cupping around your face. You melted into him, his touch so soft and so warm. His eyes were so very blue, cobalt and icy, but they made your stomach infinite. He pulled you into him, smashing his lips against yours, not caring who was watching as he dug his fingers into the roots of your hair, dragging you against his body. Breathless, he pulled away, smiling at the frown on your face from the lack of contact.

“Be safe. Alright? I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Alright you two.” Polly said exasperatedly, but you could hear the happiness in her tone. “Let’s go.”

You let her lead you away, smiling at Arthur as he bounded towards his brother, filling him in on the multitude of activities he had planned for the night.

Every single one of them involved drinking.

As you left, Tommy shot Polly a look, one that told her to keep you near and to keep you safe, and she nodded in response. As soon as you made it into the hall she laughed genuinely, squeezing your shoulder.

“You will definitely fit in with this family, (Y/N).”

“Hm?”

“Yes. You have the Shelby woman’s gift.” She leant down, her lips to your ear. “The power to control a strong man like a puppet.”

———————————————————————

So there you were. Wrapped up in satin and lace, a glass filled with blood red wine, your friends happy and tipsy, swapping stories under the moonlight.

Bea and Violet, two of your closest friends from back in the little village had arrived to be your bridesmaids, their eyes wide and glimmering when they had seen the life you now lived. You watched as they sat with Polly, telling her tales of when you and Michael had been young and stupid - not that much had changed.

Polly had invited all of the girls from work and your friends from in the city, and the laughter bounced off the walls and engulfed you. Ada was enchanting, completely beaming as she sat next to you, telling you every embarrassing thing about her brother she could remember as she downed shots of vodka and cinnamon whisky.

Michael was lounging on the floor with one of Polly’s fine fox scarves draped around his neck. Charlotte was curled up in his side with a cigarette, her hand intertwined with his as she watched him with dopey, loved up eyes. You caught his eye and smiled at him, and he winked in response, joining in with the girls’ as though he was one himself.

You had told him to enjoy the night with the boys, but he refused. You partly suspected that it had something to do with Tommy, and that your fiancé had wanted you to have more protection, but you also knew that Michael wanted to spend tonight with you. Things hadn’t changed per say, but there was no denying that the both of you were getting older, and soon you would be a member of his bloodline rather than just his best friend.

You still had all of your wonderful memories, like running through sunflower fields and swimming in the river until the sun set, but they seemed further away now, almost out of reach. Part of you still clung to the past, the innocence of your youth, all peach skies and daisy chains, but there was no denying that your vision was cloudy, blurry, only focused on the future, and the only man that you wanted to be in it.

Somebody flipped the record over. You listened to the thump and rhythm of the music, smiling at those you loved as they danced around you. You adored everyone in the room, even Lizzie who had arrived already drunk and had glared daggers at you every time you turned around. These were your new family, your new life, and whilst you were elated and excited for it all, you also really needed some fucking air.

Almost on cue, Violet toppled over a champagne flute as she kicked her legs like a cabaret dancer, and you sighed playfully as she covered her mouth with her hands like a small child, her eyes as wide as the moon.

“Oh! Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Violet, it’s alright! I’ll go and get some cloth, you ladies stay here, try not to break anything else, eh?” You said rising to your feet and darting out of the door, the sound of laughter following you like twinkling diamonds. As soon as you could you ran down the stairs, your feet pattering against the carpet, sneaking out of the back door and into the jet black night.

————————————————————-

The moon was round and full, and you sat cross legged on the grass, your bare feet dipped into the lake that wrapped around the property. It was your favourite place to clear your head, under the weeping willow, listening to the sound of the animals around you, the night air brisk yet comfortable. It was hard to believe that in a few hours you would be married, bound to this brilliant man that had swept you up like a rough wave, capturing you completely.

“Not having second thoughts are we?”

You smiled in the dark. His voice cutting through the night like a knife through butter.

“Tommy.” You breathed, turning around and facing him, the spark of his cigarette as bright as the stars above you both. He grinned at the sight of you, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, looking like a vision under the moonlight. “What are you doing here?

“I should be asking you the same question.”

“I just needed some air.” You said, curling your toes and inhaling the cool air, you felt his eyes all over you, and you wanted to get as close to him as possible, replace his gaze with his fingertips. You were inches apart and yet you still missed him, and you knew that you would feel this way forever.

“Ah. I take it the ladies are just as boisterous as the men. I only managed to get away after Arthur fell into the bonfire.”

“Bloody hell! Is he alright?”

“Burnt moustache and bruised ego. Nothing he can’t handle.”

You were about to laugh but you stopped suddenly, remembering something important.

“Wait! It’s after midnight!”

“Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?” Tommy asked, amused by your change in tone.

“No! We’re getting married today! You can’t see me!”

“(Y/N).”

“Turn around!” You squealed, pushing him away from you and spinning on your heel.

You heard an exasperated laugh.

“I think we’ve had our fill of bad luck, little one. Turn around, I want to see your face.”

He took you in. No makeup and loose hair and still squeezing all of the air from his lungs.

“We don’t have to do it like this, you know.”

“If this isn’t what you want - all the fucking champagne and caviar. We could leave tonight, get married in a fucking courthouse - just us. Or we could do it in Johnny’s field, get him to marry us right next to his caravan. I don’t care where it is or what we do, I just want - I just need to be with you.”

His words made your gut twist, the sincerity in his voice meaning everything to you, knowing that he would move mountains if it would make you happy, and that you would do the same for him. “I think Polly would murder us.”

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“She should.”

“No. I want this. Yes it’s all a bit... much.” you struggled to find the right word, feeling overwhelmed but ultimately completely spoiled by all of the fuss. “But I think it will be lovely. Your family deserve this. You deserve this.”

Looking at you all sleepy eyed, dressed in silk and satin and lace, your necklace hanging in the sweet dip of your throat, the ring on your finger glinting under the summer twilight, he really wasn’t sure he did.

He pulled you into him, not wanting to be apart from you for any longer. You smelt of home, like violets and green apples and vanilla cupcakes, and he felt like heaven, with his strong body and warm hands and comforting arms. Safe in his presence, you mumbled the words that had been the reason for many of your sleepless nights.

“Do you think she’ll come?”

She being your mother. The woman who had nursed you and bathed you and kissed the scrapes and bruises on your knees when you were a child had all but refused to attend your wedding. You understood why. Your trip to visit Michael in Birmingham was only supposed to be a few days, a week at most, and here you were two years later engaged to a man on the other side of England. You had tried to come home a few times, but the visits were cold and severed, Michaels foster parents filling your mother with poison about the family you had entered.

The phone calls stopped. No more weekly letters from your mother or care packages wrapped in string. You still wrote, but you never got a reply, only a small impersonal card at Christmas and your birthday. Michael understood, and always knew how to comfort you. He had also left the only family he had known and entered the strange underground where you both now lived. He was a boy from the sleepy village who had grown into a man.

It was harder for you, being a woman meant that you were held with certain standards and expectations. But, luckily you had Polly and Ada who taught you that you could be more than just a housewife.

It affected Tommy the most though. If anything was bothering you he knew how to deal without immediately, crushing whatever had made you sad with the heel of his boot, using his power to make everything alright again. He couldn’t do anything about your mother though, couldn’t twist her view of him, not when it was so accurate.

He was bad for you and you were too good for him.

It hurt him though, when late at night you would get that sad, wistful look in your eyes. Or when you would wait for the postman every Monday, the disappointment bleeding from you every time nothing came. He wanted to fix everything, but he didn’t know how. He left the bulk of the comforting words to Ada and Michael, and did his best to show you how much he cared in his own way, with gentle touches and shared looks and those three words that always made him feel better.

Your wedding though, was a different matter. There was no way in hell that you would be anything less than happy if he had something to do with it. His heart broke a little the day that the RSVP came back in the post, a simple “unable to attend.” scrawled at the bottom, as though it was a routine doctors appointment and not her daughters wedding day. Tommy knee he had to fix it when he heard the muffled sound of sobs coming from your bathroom, his heart ripping in two just thinking about the tears staining your beautiful face.

He had a meeting in London but he pushed it back, determined to right the wrongs that lingered around you both. His black matte Bugatti looked incredibly out of place as it trailed down the quiet village lanes, the purr of the engine much louder than the bird songs and running water in the background. It wasn’t hard to picture you in the chocolate box cottage that he parked in front of, smiling ever so faintly at the thought of you running through the grass when you were a child, hanging up laundry in the summer, drinking hot chocolate in the winter.

She opened the door after the first knock, her eyes the size of dinner plates and her mouth agape. Usually, Tommy would be firm and curt and rude, demanding exactly what he wanted and when he expected it to be done, but he knew that he had to be somewhat kind to your mother, even if he currently resented her because of the state you were in.

“I won’t stay long, Mrs (Y/L/N.)” He said, not bothering to step over the threshold, knowing that she’d probably scream if he did. “You might not like it but I’m in love with your daughter. I intend to marry her, and as my wife, I want to make her happy.”

Your mother didn’t interject, merely nodded, and Tommy took that as a sign to continue.

“I know what you think of me and you’re not wrong, but don’t punish your daughter over it. (Y/N) is safe and she is happy, and as her mother that should make you pleased shouldn’t it? Not behaving like a child and treating as if she is a stranger. I want my wife to be happy, so put aside your fucking prejudices and buy a nice hat, alright? For her sake.”

The tension was thick and hot and practically dripping over them, but their eyes met briefly, and something flickered between them.

“I hope to see you at the wedding.” He bit, his tone as sharp as his canines, turning on his heel and heading for the car.

He hummed quietly, listening the sounds of the night. The flicker of the bonfire in the fields behind, the sound of drunken singing and chanting that was louder than a siren.

“I think she will.”

You thought about saying something but held it in, not wanting to ruin the tender moment of him holding you against his chest, the heat of summer nothing compared to the two of you.

He moved you slowly, placing his hands either side of your face, his eyes veiled and moonless.“Go and get some sleep.” He said. “Because you won’t be getting any tonight.”

His voice was low and wolffish, and you felt your entire body setting alight at his words and the darkness in his eyes. His hold on you was so tight it was almost painful, but there was nowhere else that you would rather be. You smiled prettily, already feeling the butterflies coiling in your stomach, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him, sweet as strawberry ice cream and fresh honey, the taste lingering on his tongue. You left silently, leaving him grinning dopily, drunk on you and the heat of the evening.

He watched you as you walked away. His eyes never leaving as you stalked back to the house, his gaze lingering long after your shadow grew small, and the front door opened and closed behind you.

————————————————————————

Polly let you sleep in until 8.

You had crashed out after seeing Tommy, Polly had scolded you for leaving and then insisted that you got some beauty sleep, and you practically collapsed into the powder pink pillows on the guest bed.Sleep had come easily, and you grumbled a little when your new in laws had barged in the next morning, pulling back the curtains and letting in the heavy sunlight.

You were ushered into the master bathroom. The claw foot tub had already filled to the brim, rose petals shimmering on the surface, epsom salts dissolving around you. It was warm and inviting, steam billowing around your face as you undressed, and a cup of cinnamon coffee waiting for you on the cabinet by the side, next to an almond croissant from your favourite bakery in London.

You were slightly confused as to how she acquired it, but you knew by now to never question Polly and her methods.

Mary came in not long after, the maid you now thought of as a close friend unable to keep the smile off her face as she helped wash your hair, dragging a soft toothed golden comb over your locks and massaging lavender oil into your scalp. You scrubbed your skin until it shone, washed your body and dragged a razor across any unwanted hair, soothing your skin with thick coconut cream and honey salve.

You could hear everyone on the floors below, the sound of clattering china and rivalling voices coming up through the floorboards. You thought it might make you nervous, but it didn’t, if anything it made you feel more certain. The butterflies in your stomach were a swarm now, and all you could think of was him.

The girls were spread out in the largest guest room. The big windows had been opened, the lace curtains billowing in the warm breeze, and you could see start of the canopy being set up along the great expansive garden, one of yours and Tommy’s favourite places.

Ada squealed when she saw you, even with just a towel around your body and hair, she showered you in compliments.

“You’re glowing!”

“That’s because I’ve scrubbed off ten layers of skin.” You teased, letting her hug you tightly.

The rest of the girls clambered towards you, cigarettes in their fingers and champagne on their tongues. They were a blur of sweet lilac and warm honeysuckle, the colours of their soft chiffon dresses sparkling under the low lights, and you could feel your heart burst at the sight.

“Oh, Pol.” You said quietly, “Everyone looks so beautiful.”

She came towards you, a vision in her golden draped dress. It was covered in glimmering beads and diamonds, and she looked like a starlet on the big screen. She took you in her arms and laughed, “All you need is Auntie Polly to wave her magic wand.” She shook you slightly, running her fingers along the damp skin of your arm. “Come on, you. I think there’s a very impatient man waiting for you.”

Your nails were filed and painted pink, your hair mused and styled by Mary, leaving it long and wavy down your back, the way that both you and Tommy liked it best. You laughed out loud when Bea and Violet showed you their wedding present, a beautiful swan white lingerie set from the dressmakers in the village, complete with high stockings and a frilly lace garter.

“Maybe keep a doctor nearby when he sees you in that tonight.” Bea giggled as you fingered the delicate stitching and fabric.

Not everything was perfect though. One of the caterers dropped a plate of crab cakes and goats cheese bruschetta onto the floor, and one of the mares that was going to lead the carriage to the church had bolted at the unfamiliar hands and raced around the paddock away from the grooms that tried to catch her. Polly had huffed loudly and left with the girls and promises that she would be back with someone’s head, you had nodded, oblivious to everyones anxiety, too dazed at the thought of the day ahead to worry about the little things.

So they left you alone in the big bedroom, staring at your reflection in the golden mirror. It had been a four woman job to get you into the dress. Ada holding you steady by the armpits as Mary and Polly and a unsuspecting servant from downstairs was roped into helping you slide under the fabric, the tulle and lace as heavy as an anvil on you all. Polly had the dress shipped over from Paris after months of searching for the perfect dress, finally ordering one completely hand made and one of a kind, just like you, she had said.

You had never seen Polly cry.

Once, almost, when she had too much brandy at Christmas and she spoke of how much she wished Anna could have been there, the lump in her throat unmistakable as she told you how much she missed her daughter. And now in her nephews bedroom, her smile so wide and her eyes glistening, as she took your face in her hands.

“Thank you for making my boys so happy.”

You could hear her downstairs. The click of her stilettos and the sound of her voice, and once again you were infinitely grateful for whatever cosmic force had brought this wild, brilliant and chaotic family into your life. You turned back to the mirror, running your fingers over the delicate beading on the corset of your dress.

It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. It was the colour of a fresh blanket of snow, so angelic and pure. There were thin straps at the shoulders, decorated with tiny crystals and jewels. The bodice was cinched and slightly scooped at the neckline, the puckering of your scar showing just above the pristine chiffon.

It had never been something you wanted to hide. It showed that you were alive.

The skirt was wide and full. Layers of expertly fitted tulle and crinoline holding it together, gilding and cascading like a waterfall down your legs and to the floor. There were pearls and thread and diamonds in the shape of flowers stitched right into the fabric, glimmering and twinkling like the stars in the sky when you shifted in the light.

“I’ve left the car running.”

You turned at the noise, smiling when you spotted Michael in the doorway, looking like a million dollars in his rich navy suit and tie.

“Just in case.” He continued.

You rolled your eyes, laughing sarcastically. “Ha. Ha.”

He stepped further into the room, his eyes soft and kind and as wide as dinner plates. The emotion on his face making your heart constrict, his face suddenly so much younger. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You blushed, your eyes darting to the floor as he approached you.

“Really, (Y/N). You look... wow.”

“Thanks Mikey.” You said softly, the two of you comfortable in the silence. In that moment nothing else really mattered, you were two kids again, running through waist high grass, sledding down the hills in the winter, splashing each other in the river. So much had changed and yet it would always be the two of you.

He broke the silence first, not one to linger in the past for too long. “This is for you.”

“Oh. Michael. You shouldn’t have! You’ve already done so much.”

“I wanted to.”

He rummaged around in his pockets, finally pulling out a large scarlet velvet box, slowly lifting off the lid. Inside was an exquisite sparkling marquise diamond necklace, intertwined with yellow and rose gold, oval shaped crystals draping and falling from the band like raindrops. Beside it, were two matching earrings, brilliantly cut, so clear that you could see your reflection, the gems woven together like ivy on a cottage. So stunning that you started to tear up.

You gasped, unable to swallow your shock. “Michael! This must have cost a fortune.”

“Nah. I stole it.” He teased, his voice a little shy.

You pulled him in to your arms. He kissed your head, pulling you tightly against him.

“I love you.” He said, his words muffled by your hair. “You deserve this. God, you deserve the world. I am so happy for you.”

You smiled into the fabric of his suit, muffling an “I love you” into the stitched seams. He squeezed you playfully, making you squeal as he hoisted you into the air.

“Careful. If you smudge my makeup there’s a good chance that Polly will shoot you.” You giggled.

“I can handle her.”

“Can you?”

His gaze faltered and you laughed, hitting his shoulder. He spun you around, lifting the necklace from its box and settling it onto your throat, his skilled hands fastening the clasp. You gasped at your reflection, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“It looks perfect.”

“I love it Michael.”

He pressed a kiss to your crown, watching as you delicately picked up the earrings and put them on.

“And tell Tommy that if he ever hurts you that I’ll kill him.”

A moment of silence, and then:

“- you’re not going to really tell him that are you?”

You both laughed as he outstretched an arm, looking you up and down proudly, his eyes already a little glossy and big. You thought of how much younger he looked.

“Cmon.” He said, “ I think they’re waiting for you.”

————————————————————

Thomas Shelby never felt apprehensive. He wasn’t familiar with the prickling anxiety that lingered at the bottom of his spine, or the dread that that had settled itself low in his gut, or the way that his palms were growing hotter by the second. He never got nervous. Until now.

Perhaps nervous wasn’t the right word. He had no doubt that you would be walking down the aisle in a few minutes, he knew that you would say “I do.” with as much certainty as him, and he knew that the golden band in Arthur’s jacket pocket would soon be on your finger. But still, the foreboding remained, hanging around his head like a dark cloud.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much for sure. He was the devil, his hands stained with blood, his lungs filled with ash, his insides dark and mean. You were an angel, soft and sweet and gentle and warm, the girl that could bring him to his knees.

The church abbey felt big, the summer sun filtering through the stained glass windows, the high ceilings making the room feel vast and empty, despite the crowded benches. He needed you to arrive, to settle the unease inside of him, to light up the room in the way that only you could, feeling every single empty space with your light.

He glanced around the room. Arthur was next to him, nursing a pretty tragic hangover and still a little ashy from his burn, but his smile was bright and he winked at his younger brother. There were plenty of blinders here, working rather than as guests, Tommy was insistent that he wanted as much protection over the day as possible, and even though it was your wedding day, he never would stop protecting you. He wouldn’t put it past his enemies to try something on what should be the happiest day of your lives.

He saw your friends from work. John and Esme and their litter of children. Lizzie and her new boyfriend, hanging off his arm and looking at Tommy with already drunk, hazy eyes. He even smiled as he saw Alfie perched in a middle row, his hat bigger than his head, his beard neatly combed and an array of golden rings on his fingers. Ollie was next to him, watching the room warily, always on guard.

Once Alfie had heard about the engagement he sent over fresh loaves and flowers and then invited himself to the wedding. But he needn’t have, as he had always been on the guest list.

Tommy’s eyes grazed over the person he had been looking for though. Your mother. Sitting in a pew near the front, draped in fine silk and a matching hat, looking entirely out of place but smiling tightly nonetheless. Their eyes met, a single flame of acknowledgement flickering between them. Unspoken but still lingering in the air, that they would both always put you first and that was all that mattered.

“You nervous, Tommy boy?” He heard Arthur say from behind him. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped as he heard noises from outside, the clunk of horse hooves and the rattle of the carriage. He felt his palms sweat and his heart race like he was back in battle, but this time the feeling was so sickly sweet and warm, he felt so fucking happy.

There was so much light when the doors opened. Polly was traditional, and even with all of the immorality in her life, she was adamant that you would both be married in a church. Neither of you protested, Tommy would have said “I do” in front of God himself if it meant you would be his wife. None of it mattered to him.

He remembered the day you came back from seeing the cathedral for the first time. How wide your smile was as you laid curled up in his chest, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as you told him all about the ivy covered steeples and wildflowers and beautiful black jackdaws.

You were smitten, and so was he.

There wasn’t much they could do to decorate the church. Back at the house was where the main party was going to be held, but Polly was a genius, and every empty space was filled with tall flickering candles and bouquets of flowers. Everything felt clean and soft and pure, a mixture of old and rustic and fresh and new.

Light. So much light coming in from outside. The day already so sticky warm and wonderful, much like the summer the two of you met and fell in love. Katie came in first, giggling at the eruption of “aww’s” from the pews, everybody watching as she threw small white daisies and coral amber rose petals down the aisle.

Finn followed, looking like an adult in his suit and tie and freshly polished brogues. Then the bridesmaids, coy smiles on their faces, hair curled and polished and smiles that seemed to stretch all the way to the moon. Tommy could feel Arthur’s sly grin from behind him, and knew that he would have a job of distracting his older brother from the beautiful young ladies later on.

The fabric of their dresses swished and swayed under the light, the softness of the skirts and the sharp heel of their stilettos such a wonderful contrast. The ladies whose faces he vaguely recognised moved to your side of the alter, young and impressionable eyes looking around the grand room, obviously astonished and surprised that one of their own was going to be married in such a remarkable chapel.

Ada was next. Polly at her side. His sister and his Aunt commanding the entire room with just the sound of their shoes and the sway of their hips. They looked incredible, such a mixture of power and beauty. Polly’s smile was smug and self assured, but also filled with a certain kindness that was meant just for Tommy. Ada’s eyes were glistening, looking at her brother with adoration and pride, and that playful tease that he knew and loved.

The room was quiet for a moment. The anticipation roaring around like a wasp trapped under a glass, and Tommy could see Curly smiling happily, peering down the aisle as they waited for you to arrive.

For Tommy, his whole life had once been so loud, and then, as if by magic, everything stopped. All of the noise, the blur, the people. They all faded and disappeared. It was like having his head held underwater, the rush of the ocean and the pounding of his blood in his ears deafening him. He felt movement around him, everybody in the pews rising to their feet, the orchestra starting the bridal chorus. His friends and family were smiling so widely, enjoying the ambience and the atmosphere, holding their hands to their chest and wiping their eyes and muttering how beautiful everything was.

He didn’t see any of it. He only saw you.

You had always been the most beautiful woman to him, the kind of woman that made the air leave his lungs and his heart beat a little faster, but oh god, did you look magnificent. In your dress that wrapped and dipped and swayed around your legs like running water, the bodice that cinched you in tightly, exposing the dip of your throat and the curve of your collarbone, just begging him to leave a necklace of bruises next to the diamonds. Your eyes were wide, lined with kohl and blush on your cheeks that reminded him of sun soaked days and strawberry jam and wax stamped envelopes. The curve of your lips, raspberry red gloss that made him think of kissing you until neither of you knew where one of you began and the other ended, his hands in your hair, your legs around his waist.

He felt tears prick behind his eyes. Such a foreign feeling that he almost recoiled. He was so used to being strong and in charge, never letting his emotions bubble up on the surface where somebody might see. But seeing you walk down the aisle, filling the room with love and youth and kindness - knowing that you were going to be his wife, that your days would begin and end with each other, that you would fight and fuck and laugh and cry, tell each other everything, hold him when the shovels got too loud, clean him when he was dripping with another mans blood, be the one you called because no one else would ever compare.

He let his eyes grow glossy as you stepped forward, taking his hand in yours. You were so smooth and soft and small and he was so large and rough and hard, but you fit together like you had been moulded that way, as though there was no where else you two could ever be. So in a room filled with people who respected him and trusted him as a cruel, calculated leader, he let himself be washed away with you,

Because he was in love. And nothing else fucking mattered.

———————————————————————-

Champagne and crystal chandeliers. Cotton candy coloured roses across all of the banister, wide full petals looking like silk under the lights. Pearl necklaces snapped in half and black satin gloves ripped up the seams, pretty fine china filled with bourbon, and laughter that never seemed to cease.

Tommy had tried to keep the party civilised for as long as he could, but the Shelby clan were persistent, and with the amount of booze in the house, they saw it as a challenge to drink it all.

The wedding dinner had gone well. Only the nearest and dearest invited to a seat at the grand table, you and Tommy at the head, his hand possessively on your thigh, your shoulder pressed against his chest. There were more courses than you could count, great big plates and bowls of honey roast ham and glazed partridges and peach trifle and jam soufflé. Your glasses were never empty and yet everyone was well mannered and kind, their voices a little softer than usual, their jokes a little bit cleaner.

You suspected it had something to do with the woman sat next to you, safely nestled in between yourself and Michael, the two people she knew. Your mother had been quiet but mellow at the ceremony, even going as far as hugging you with tears in her eyes as you gathered outside for the photos. There had been tension of course, but it meant the world to you that she was willing to put on a smile for the day.

You had no doubt that Tommy had ordered everyone to be on their best behaviour around her and you could feel yourself chuckle lightly as Arthur gave a very uncharacteristically charming toast to the two of you. The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly, and you could even see your mother start to loosen up as Ada spoke to her about her favourite novels and the current political climate.

After the plates had been cleared away and the guests started arriving for the party, your mother pulled you aside before you got to the living room.

“This might not have been what I wanted for you, (Y/N). You’re my daughter. I only want the best for you.” She murmured, wringing her hands as though she was willing herself to continue. “And it pains me to say it but... Thomas clearly loves you, and I truly feel safe leaving you in his hands. He might not be a good man, but he is good for you.”

Those words were more precious than all of the diamonds and jewels you had stuffed in your dresser upstairs, that your mother accepted the man you loved.

“Oh, Mum.” You sighed, pulling her into you. She was so familiar and warm and you could feel tears prickling behind your eyes. She held onto you tightly, kissing the top of your head and wrapping her arms around you as though you were a baby again.

“I must go and catch my train. But - I’ll call you (Y/N).” She said, and you nodded wildly, your smile so big you thought your cheeks might split.

You walked her to one of the cars, instructing the driver to take her to the station, waving at her as the car got smaller and smaller in your eyes. You felt Tommy approach you, his hand snaking across your waist, and you let him pull you close. He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, kissing him ferociously, letting your gratitude show in your touch. He accepted greedily, devouring you on the front steps of your home, his hands in your hair and your lips between his teeth, the sound of the party and music suddenly sounding so far away.

——————————————————-

With your mother gone, the party was in full swing. People were dancing barefoot because their shoes were stained with blood, sharing wide smiles between friends, the rooms smelling of skin and sweat and expensive perfume. You saw pupils blown up to the size of the moon, horse racing and gambling in the paddocks at the back, whoops and laughter vibrating around the house and shaking the paintings.

Tommy had kept you close, not that you ever wanted to stray. It was obvious that despite the genuine fun and admiration for him and all he had accomplished from those walking through his house with slack jaws, he only really wanted to be with you. It worked for the majority of the time, the two of you nestled on one of the ruby velvet chairs in the lounge, letting the crowds of people come and find you and offer their sincere congratulations.

But as always, being Thomas Shelby came with a price, and he often had to leave begrudgingly, with a tense jaw and closed fist, every time someone (Arthur) tore a painting or someone else, (Finn) crashed a car into the allotment and ripped up all of the courgettes.

He always left with a grumble and obvious annoyance swimming in his ocean eyes, planting a firm kiss to your lips and a promise to be back soon every time somebody called for him. He was never one for public displays of affection, he liked to make everyone know you were his but he preferred to keep his tenderness private. Maybe it was how drop dead gorgeous you looked in your gown, a looser, more intricate number you had donned for the evening party. Or maybe it was the rings you shared, the two solid gold circles looking like a sky full of stars under the lights, or maybe it was a mixture of the champagne soaked kisses and pure, uninhibited bliss he felt when he touched you - but whatever it was, you loved it, relishing the attention wholeheartedly.

You weren’t sure where he had got too this time, and somehow you had been wrangled into a conversation with a very tipsy Lord and Lady something or other, both of them fawning over you, their voices high like children. Your saving grace came in the form of a very tall, very stocky baker, his rings cool and comforting on your shoulder as he pulled you away.

“Yes. Yes. That’s very nice right, I’m just going to take (Y/N) away now, yes. Yes. Finish your drinks.” He waved them off as you laughed, “God, these rich fucks can talk for England. Fucking Liberty. Plus, I’ve seen them finish off all of the crab cakes. It’s not on.”

“No. Alfie, it’s not.” You said with a smile, letting him lead you into the parlour, the room almost empty and the faces that you recognised were pleasantly familiar. You grinned as you thought of how well Alfie knew the inside of the manor, something that you were sure to use as ammunition against Tommy any time he tried to tell you that “they weren’t friends.”

That was how he found you almost an hour later. Somehow the rest of the family had migrated into the room, bar Arthur who said he wasn’t drunk enough yet to be in the same room as Alfie. Tommy had been pulled and tugged in every direction, speaking to people he really didn’t give a shit about just to keep the party running smoothly, for your sake. He was on high alert, Johnny had said his boys had seen a figure running through the back paddocks, and just that alone was enough to send him spiralling. It was probably just a stray, strung out guest trying to get home, but it made his blood feel like it was electric.

He made all his men stay on guard, shut down the gambling and horse racing in the garden and made every single person who worked for him stay on red alert. Perhaps he was over reacting but he would never admit that, better to be overly cautious than have something happen to you. After doing laps of the house, checking on the cooks and gritting his teeth through drunken chats with whoever managed to grab him, he finally made his way back to you.

There you were. Face lit up under the candlelight, eyes tired but still sparkling, obviously exhausted but still enjoying the conversation, wanting to keep everyone happy. You looked ethereal. And for a moment he just watched you from the doorway, captivated by the movement of your hands, the bow of your lips, the way that you formed your words, so careful and light.

Alfie noticed him straight away, smiling cheekily as he pulled you into him. “Mrs Shelby.” He said, putting emphasis on both of the words and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It was crazy how he could rile Tommy up more than anyone without being tipsy or high, somehow knowing how to push all of his buttons. “If you’re ever in London right, come to the bakery. I’ll show you a good time.”

You rolled your eyes at him, instantly knowing his game. You followed his gaze and saw the man you loved, your husband, watching you from the doorway.

“Tommy.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He said firmly, brushing Alfie’s hand off you a little harder than he needed to. “I need to borrow my wife.”

God. Were you ever going to get used to him calling you that?

His hand slipped into yours and you melted, his lips grazing your ear lobe, deep accent rumbling like waves. “Cmon, lets go outside.”

You would have followed him anywhere, to the edge of the world if he had looked at you the way he was now, with those goddamn sky blue eyes and that smug, boyish grin.

Instead he led you through the party, playfully tugging on your hand as you both ran, desperate for nobody to see either of you and try to trap you in another mind numbing discussion. He took you through the servants entrance in the kitchen and into the courtyard, one of your favourite areas of the gardens. It was beautiful sculpted, with its high, emerald green bushes and intricately crafted pots and flower beds. You moved towards the fountain in the middle, surrounded by the rows of lilac and salmon tulips that swayed like ballet dancers in the wind.

He cleared his throat as you watched the water drip and fall and ripple down the stem of the fountain, the night sky reflected across it like a painting. It wasn’t chilly out but still he wrapped his blazer across your shoulders, filling your senses with cinnamon and nicotine and whisky sours.

“I want to read you my vows.” He said.

You turned to face him, confused.

“I know we both said we weren’t writing them, and I haven’t, not really, but there are some things I need to say to you.”

You opened your mouth to speak but closed it, watching him under the moonlight, how beautiful and how strong and how vulnerable he seemed all at once. You could feel your heart beating rapidly, your belly coiling and twisting, somehow he always managed to knock you off balance. He came towards you, close enough you could see the faint scars on his face from fights he had both won and lost, see the brilliance in his eyes and the sadness that always seemed to linger deep down in them, the curve of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth, the way that they had clenched around your heart and never let go.

“I deserve a lot of bad things. I do bad things, and I always thought that everything good would be taken away from me. I wasn’t born into a life like this, I’ve worked hard and given my blood sweat and tears to live like this, to get the things I have now. I’ve spent a lot of nights alone. Fuck, I’ve... felt alone since the moment I got on that train to France, and ever since I’ve been trying to find... something.”

“I thought it was all of this, but maybe it isn’t. I was always searching for the next big thing, the next move on the chessboard, the next city to take over. I didn’t realise how none of it made me happy until I walked into the Garrison the day you came here.”

A pause. A beat of silence.

“Look, I’m not the most articulate man, but God, I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you since the very first moment that I saw you. And - and - ” His voice crackles, fizzles out like a firework. “That day that I almost lost you, that nearly fucking killed me. That was when I realised that you were the thing I was searching for. You’re it for me.”

His hands on yours, pulling you in.

“For the first time in my life I don’t have to pretend to be happy. Whenever I see you, I just am. I can’t promise that I’m not going to fuck it up, but I’m trying, you make me want to try. You want to make me be better. You make me better.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He said, pressing his palm to your jawline, looking in your eyes with such sincerity and love that you felt as though you were floating.

“Oh, Tommy.” You breathed into the night, swept up and drowning in him, lost in lust and love and devotion, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

#tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #ts imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby oneshot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby x reader

[sinceileftyoublog]

Riot Fest 2021: 9/16-9/19, Douglass Park

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Much like Pitchfork Music Festival earlier this month, this past weekend’s Riot Fest felt relatively normal. Arriving at Douglas Park every day, you were greeted by the usual deluge of attendees in Misfits t-shirts and dyed hair, the sound of faint screams and breakneck guitars and drums emanating from nearby stages. The abnormal aspects of the fest, at least as compared to previous incarnations, we’re already used to by now from 2021 shows: To get in, you had to show proof of vaccination and/or a negative test no older than 48 hours, which means that unvaxxed 4-day attendees had to get multiple tests. Props to the always awesome staff at Riot Fest for actually checking the cards against the names on government-issued IDs.

For a festival that dealt with a plethora of last-minute changes due to bands dropping out because of COVID-19 caution (Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, Dinosaur Jr.) or other reasons (Faith No More/Mr. Bungle because of concerns around Mike Patton’s well-being), there were very few bumps in the road. Whether Riot Fest had bands like Slipknot, Anthrax, or Rise Against in their back pocket as replacements or not, it very much felt like who we saw Thursday-Sunday was always supposed to be the lineup, even when laying your eyes on countless “Death to the Pixies” shirts. Sure, one of the fest’s main gimmicks--peeling back the label on Goose Island’s Riot Fest Sucks Pale Ale to reveal the schedule--was out of date with inaccurate set times and bands, and it still would have been so had Faith No More and Mr. Bungle stayed, since Fucked Up had to drop out last minute due to border issues. But the festival, as always, rolled with the punches.

The sets themselves offered the circle pit and crowdsurfing-inducing punk and metal you’re used to, with a few genre outliers. For so many bands of all styles, Riot Fest represented their first live show in years, and a few acts knew the exact number of days since their last show. For every single set, the catharsis in the crowd and on stage was palpable, not exactly anger, or elation, but pure release.

Here were our favorite sets of the festival, in chronological order.

WDRL

Last October, WDRL (which, amazingly, stands for We Don’t Ride Llamas) announced themselves with a Tweet: “y’all been looking for an alt black band,, well here you go”. A band of Gen Z siblings, Chase (lead guitar), Max (lead vocals), Blake (drums), and Kit Mitchell (bass guitar), WDRL is aware, much like Meet Me @ The Altar (who, despite my hyping, I couldn’t make it in time to see) that they’re one of too few bands of POCs in the Riot Fest-adjacent scene. Their set, one of the very first of the weekend during Thursday’s pre-party, showed them leading by example, the type of band to inspire potentially discouraged Black and brown folks to start punk bands. Max is a terrific vocalist, able to scream over post-punk, scat over funk, and coo over slow, soulful R&B swayers with the same ease. The rest of the band was equally versatile, able to pivot on a dime from scuzzy rock to hip hop to twinkling dream pop. Bonus points for covering Splendora’s “You’re Standing On My Neck”, aka the Daria theme song.

Joyce Manor

Joyce Manor’s self-titled debut is classic. The best part of it as an album play-through at a festival? It’s so short that you can hear it and you’ll still have half a set for other favorites. So while the bouncy “Orange Julius”", “Ashtray Petting Zoo”, and ultimate singalong “Constant Headache” were set highlights, the Torrance, CA band was able to burn through lots from Never Hungover Again, Cody, Million Dollars to Kill Me, and their rarities collection Songs From Northern Torrance. Apart from not playing anything from Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired (seriously, am I the only one who loves that record?), Joyce Manor were stellar, from the undeniable hooks of “Heart Tattoo” to the churning power chords of “Catalina Fight Song”. After playing “Christmas Card”, Johnson and company gave one final nod to the original fest cancellation, My Chemical Romance, who were slated to headline 2020, then 2021, and now 2022. If you ever wondered what it would sound like hearing a concise punk band like Joyce Manor take on the bombast of “Helena”, you found out. Hey, it was actually pretty good!

Patti Smith

Behold: a full Patti Smith set! After being shafted by the weather last time around, a sunglasses-laden Smith decided not to fuck around, leading with the inspiring “People Have The Power”, her voice as powerful as I’ve ever heard it. Maybe it was the influence of Riot Fest, but she dropped as many f-bombs as Corey Taylor did during Slipknot’s Sunday night headlining set. After reluctantly signing an adoring crowd member’s copy of Horses, she quipped, “I feel bad for you have to cart that fucking thing around.” It wasn’t just the filthy banter: This was Smith at her most enraptured and incendiary, belting during “Because The Night” and spitting during a “Land/Gloria” medley, reciting stream-of-consciousness hallucinogenic lyrics about the power of escape in the greatest display of stamina the festival had to offer.

Circa Survive

“It feels good to dance,” declared Circa Survive lead singer Anthony Green. The heart and soul of the Philadelphia rock band, who cover ground from prog rock to post-hardcore and emo, Green was in full form during the band’s early Friday set, his falsetto carrying the rolling “The Difference Between Medicine and Poising Is in the Dose” and the chugging “Rites of Investiture”. While the band, too, can throw down, they’re equally interesting when softer and more melodic, Brendan Ekstrom‘s twinkling guitars lifting “Child of the Desert” and “Suitcase”. Ending with the one-two punch of debut Juturna’s introspective “Act Appalled” and Blue Sky Noise’s skyward “Get Out”, Green announced the band would have a new record coming soon, one you hope will cover the sonic and thematic ground of even just those two tracks.

Thrice

Thrice played their first show since February 2020 the same day they’d release their 11th studio album, Horizons/East (Epitaph). To a crowd of fans that came to hear their favorite songs, though, the Irvine, California band knew better than to play a lot of the new record, instead favoring tracks like The Artist in the Ambulance’s spritely title cut and Vheissu standout “The Earth Will Shake”. Yeah, they led with a Horizons/East song making its live debut, the dreamy, almost Deftones-esque “Scavengers”, and later in the set they’d reveal the impassioned “Summer Set Fire to the Rain”. But the set more prominently served to emphasize lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue’s gruff delivery, on “All the World Is Mad” and “in Exile”, the rhythm section’s propulsive playing buoying his fervency. And how about Teppei Teranishi’s finger tapping on “Black Honey”?!? Thrice often favor the slow build-up, but they offered plenty of individually awesome moments.

Smashing Pumpkins

William Patrick Corgan entered the stage to dramatic strings, dressed in a robe, with white face paint except for red hearts under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. That’s pretty much where the semi-serious theatricality ended. The Smashing Pumpkins’ first Chicago festival headlining set in recent memory was the rawest they’ve sounded in a while, counting when they played an original lineup-only set at the United Center a few years back. It was also the most fun I’ve ever seen Corgan have on stage. Though they certainly selected and debuted from their latest electropop turn Cyr, Corgan, guitarist James Iha, drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, guitarist Jeff Schroeder, and company more notably dug deep into the vault, playing Gish’s “Crush” for the first time since 2008, Adore’s “Shame” for the first time since 2010, and Siamese Dream barnburner “Quiet” for the first time since 1994 (!). Best, every leftfield disco jam like set opener “The Colour Of Love”, “Cyr”, and “Ramona” was quickly followed by something heavy and/or recognizable, Chamberlin’s limber drum solos elevating even latter-day material like “Solara”. At one point, Corgan, a self-described “arty fuck,” admitted that years ago he would have opted for more experimental material, but he knew the crowd wanted to hear classics, the band then delving into a gorgeous acoustic version of “Tonight, Tonight”. And while Kate Bush coverer Meg Myers came out to sing Lost Highway soundtrack industrial ditty “Eye”, it was none other than legendary local shredder Michael Angelo Batio who stole the show, joining for the set closer, a pummeling version of Zeitgeist highlight “United States”. Leaning into the cheese looks good on you, Billy.

The Bronx

Credit to L.A. punk rock band The Bronx, playing early on a decidedly cooler Saturday early afternoon, for making me put in my earplugs outside of the photo pit. Dedicating “Shitty Future” to Fucked Up (who, as we mentioned, had to drop out), the entire band channeled Damian Abraham’s energy on piercing versions of “Heart Attack American” as well as “Superbloom” and “Curb Feelers” from their latest album Bronx VI (Cooking Vinyl). Joby J. Ford and Ken Horne’s guitars stood out, providing choppy rhythms on “Knifeman” and swirling solos on “Six Days A Week”.

Big Freedia

The New Orleans bounce artist has Big Diva Energy, for the most part. After her DJ pumped up the crowd to contemporary Southern rap staple “Ayy Ladies” by Travis Porter, Big Freedia walked out and showed that “BDE”, firing through singles like “Platinum” and “N.O. Bounce” as her on-stage dancers’ moves ranged from delicate to earth-shaking. At this point, Freedia can pretty much do whatever she wants, effortlessly segueing between a cover of Drake’s “Nice For What” to “Strut”, her single with electropop DJ Elohim, to a cover of Beyone’s “Formation”. Of course, the set highlight was when she had volunteers from the crowd come up and shake and twerk--two at a time to keep it COVID-safe--all while egging them on to go harder. Towards the end of the set, after performing the milquetoast “Goin’ Looney” from the even-worse-than-expected Space Jam: A New Legacy soundtrack, she pulled out the beloved “Gin in my System”. “I got that gin in my system,” she sang, the crowd singing back, “Somebody gonna be my victim,” a refrain that compositionally not only leaves plenty of room for the thundering bass but is thematically a statement of total power--over sexism, racism, the patriarchy--even in the face of control-altering substances.

Les Savy Fav

During Les Savy Fav’s set, lead singer Tim Harrington at various points--*big breath*--went into the crowd, deepthroated an audience member’s mohawk spike, found a discarded manikin head with a wig on it, revealed the words “deep” and “dish” painted on his thighs and a drawing of a Red Hot on his back, rode a crowd member like a horse, made a headband out of pink tape, donned ski goggles, surfed on top of a door carried by the crowd, squeezed his belly while the camera was on it to make it look like his belly button was singing, and referred to himself as a “slippery eel.” Indeed, the legend of Les Savy Fav’s live show starts and ends with Harrington’s ridiculous antics, as he’s all but out of breath when actually singing dance-punk classics like “Hold On To Your Genre”, “The Sweat Descends”, and “Rome (Written Upside Down)”. We haven’t heard much in terms of new music from Les Savy Fav in over 10 years--their most recent album was 2010′s Root For Ruin--but I could see them and the extremely Aughts genre in general become staples of Riot Fest as albums like Inches, The Rapture’s Echoes, and !!!’s Louden Up Now reach the 20-year mark. Dynamic vocalists, tight bands, and killer grooves: What’s not to love?

State Champs

This set likely wins the award for “most immediate crowd surfers,” which I guess is to be expected when you begin your set with a classic track 1--album 1 combination. “Elevated” is the State Champs number that will cause passers-by to stop and watch a couple songs, the type of song that can pretty much only open or close a set. And because they opened with it, the crowd immediately ramped up the energy. It’s been three years since the last State Champs full-length, Living Proof, so they were in prime position to play some new songs. As such, they performed their bubblegummy “Outta My Head” and “Just Sound” and faithfully covered Fall Out Boy’s “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” (releasing a studio version earlier this week). But the tracks from The Finer Things and Around the World and Back were, as usual, the highlights, like “All You Are Is History”, “Remedy”, “Slow Burn”, and set closer “Secrets”. At the end of the day, it didn’t entirely matter: The crowd knew every word of every song.

Bayside

Putting State Champs and Bayside back-to-back on the same stage made an easy decision for the many pop-punk bands at Riot Fest. Bayside’s been at it for twice as long, so the breadth of their setlist across their discography is more variable. Moreover, they’ve thrice revisited their discography with acoustic albums of old songs, so even their staples are subject to change. They provided solid versions of Killing Time standouts “Already Gone” and “Sick, Sick, Sick”, Cult’s “Pigsty”, and older songs like their self-titled’s “Montauk” and Sirens and Condolences’ “Masterpiece”. For “Don’t Call Me Peanut”, though, they brought out--*gasp*--an acoustic guitar! It was a rare moment not just for one of the most popular pop punk sets but the festival in general, a breather before Vacancy shout-along “Mary”.

Rancid

“Rancid has always been anti-fascist and anti-racist,” said Tim Armstrong before the band played “Hooligans”. It was nice to hear an explicit declaration of solidarity from the street punks, reminding the crowd what really matters and why we come together to scream and mosh. The band expectedly favored ...And Out Come The Wolves, playing almost half of it, and they perfectly balanced their harder edges with more celebratory ska songs like “Where I’m Going” from their most recent album Trouble Maker (Hellcat/Epitaph). My two favorite moments? The breezy, keyboard-laden “Fall Back Down” from their supremely underrated 2001 album Indestructable, and when they asked the crowd whether they wanted the set to end with “Time Bomb” or “Ruby Soho”. “We have 4 minutes left, and it’s disrespectful to play over your set time,” said Armstrong. It’s easy to see why Rancid continues to make an impression--instrumental and moral--on touring bands new and old.

Run the Jewels

The brilliant hip hop duo are masters of balancing social consciousness with the desire to fuck shit up for fun. Live, the former tends to come in between-song banter, the latter with their actual charismatic, tit-for-tat performances of the songs. However, Run the Jewels also are probably the clearest live performers in hip hop today, Killer Mike and El-P’s words, hypersexual and woke alike, ringing in the ears of audience members who don’t even know the songs. (Looking around, I could see people smiling and laughing at every dick joke, nodding at each righteous proclamation.) Some of the best songs on their most recent album RTJ4 (Jewel Runners/BMG) are perfect for these multitudes. Hearing both RTJ MCs and the backing track of Pharrell Williams and Zack de la Rocha chanting “Look at all these slave masters posin’ on yo’ dollar” on “JU$T” as the rowdy crowd bounced up and down was the ultimate festival moment. For those who had never seen RTJ, it was clear from the get-go, as Killer Mike and EL-P traded bars on “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)” that they’re a unique hip hop act. For the rest of us, it was clear that Run the Jewels keep getting better.

The Gories

It felt a little weird that legendary Detroit trio The Gories were given the first set of the final day--I’d have thought they’d have more draw than that. No matter what, they provided one of the more satisfying and stylistically varied sets of the festival, showcasing their trademark balance of garage punk and blues. Mick Collins and Dan Kroha’s guitar and vocal harmonies were the perfect jangly balance to Peggy O’Neill’s meat and potatoes drumming on “Sister Ann” and “Charm Bag”, while folks less familiar with The Gories were treated to their fantastic covers of Suicide’s “Ghost Rider” and The Keggs’ “To Find Out”. Smells like time for the first Gories album in 20 years!

FACS

I thought it would be ill-fitting to watch a band like FACS in the hot sun, early in the day. Their monochrome brand of post-punk seems better suited for a dimly lit club. But the hypnotic nature of Brian Case’s swirling guitar and Alianna Kalaba’s slinky bass was oddly perfect in a sweltering, faint-inducing heat. Just when you thought you might fade, squalls of feedback and Noah Leger’s odd time signatures picked you back up. Songs from their new album Present Tense (Trouble In Mind) such as “Strawberry Cough” and “XOUT” were emblematic of this push-pull. And everything from the band’s red, white, and black color palate to their lack of stage banter suggested a cool minimalism that was rare at a festival that tends to book more outwardly emotional bands.

Alex G

On one hand, Alex G’s unique combination of twangy alt country and earnest indie rock makes him an outlier at Riot Fest, or at the very least a mostly Pitchfork/occasional Riot Fest type of booking. On the other hand, like a lot of bands at the festival, he has a rabid fanbase, one that knows his back catalog hits, like “Kute”, “Kicker”, and “Bug”, as much as if not more than hyped Rocket and House of Sugar singles, like “Bobby” and “Gretel”. Backed by a band that knows when to be loose and when to tighten up--and the instrumental chops to do so--Alex G was better than he was a Pitchfork three years ago. He still sings through his teeth, making it especially hard to hear him on louder tunes such as “Brick”. But when the honesty of his vocals combines with the dreamy guitars of “Southern Sky” and circular melodies of “Near”, it’s pure bliss. 

HEALTH

The formula for the LA industrial noise band has pretty much always been Jake Duzsik’s soft vocals contrasting John Famiglietti’s screeching bass and pedals and BJ Miller’s mammoth drums. Both in 2018 and Sunday at Riot Fest, the heat affected Famiglietti’s pedals, which were nonetheless obscured by tarp. Or so HEALTH claimed: You wouldn’t know the difference given how much their sound envelops your whole body during one of their live sets. Since their previous appearance at the festival, the prolific band has released two new records on Loma Vista, Vol. 4: Slaves of Fear and collaboration record Disco4: Part 1. Songs from those records occupied half of their excellent set, including battering opener “GOD BOTHERER”, “BODY/PRISON”, and “THE MESSAGE”. It was so wonderfully loud it drowned out K.Flay’s sound check drummer, thank the lord.

Thursday

Last time Thursday played Riot Fest, Geoff Rickly was battling heroin addiction, something he talked about during the band’s triumphant late afternoon set on Sunday. He mentioned the kindness of the late, great Riley Gale of Power Trip in extending a helping hand when he was down and extended his love to anybody in the crowd or even the world at large going through something similar. To say that this set was life-affirming would be an understatement; after 636 days of no shows, Rickly was at his most passionate. He introduced “Signals Over The Air” as a song the band “wrote about men beating up on women in the pit,” that a record exec at the time told them that it wouldn’t age well because he thought--no kidding--sexism would eventually end. Rickly’s voice, suffering from sound issues last time around, simply soared during Full Collapse’s “Cross Out The Eyes”, No Devolucion’s “Fast to the End”, and two inspired covers: Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” and Texas Is The Reason’s “If It's Here When We Get Back It's Ours”. The latter the band played because TITR guitarist Norman Brannon’s actually on tour with them, though Rickly emphasized the influence the NYC post-hardcore greats had on Thursday when they first started. Never forgetting where they’ve come from, with self-deprecating humor and radical empathy, Thursday are once again a force.

Devo

Much like the B-52′s in 2019, Devo was the set this year of a 70′s/80′s absurd punk band with some radio hits that everybody knows but with a swath of die-hard fans, too. It’s safe to say both groups were satisfied. You walked around the fest all day wondering whether the folks wearing Devo hats were actual fans or doing it for the novelty. By the time the band actually took the stage after a career-spanning video of their many phases, it didn’t really matter, because it was clear the band still had it, Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale’s vocals booming throughout a massive crowd. They ripped through “Peek-a-Boo”, “Going Under”, “That’s Good”, “Girl U Want”, and “Whip It”, which caused the fans waiting for Slipknot (and presumably some Devo heads) to form a circle pit. And that was all before the first costume change. Mark passed out hats to the crowd, fully embracing converts who might have only known “Whip It”. The feverish chants of “Uncontrollable Urge” and synth freakouts of “Jocko Homo” whipped everyone into a frenzy. And the band performed the “Freedom Of Choice” theme song for the first time since the early 80′s! I had seen Devo before, opening for Arcade Fire and Dan Deacon at the United Center, but the atmosphere at Riot Fest was more appropriately ludicrous.

Flaming Lips

“The Flaming Lips are the most COVID-safe band in the world,” went the ongoing joke, as throughout the pandemic they’d give audience members bubbles for their bubbles to be able to play shows. The normally goofy and interactive band scaled back for Riot Fest. Before launching into their traditional opener “Race For The Prize”, Wayne Coyne explained that while the band is normally proud of where they come from--Oklahoma City--they’re saddened by the local government’s ignorant pandemic response and wouldn’t risk launching balloons or walking into the crowd because they might be virus spreaders coming from such an under-vaccinated area. To his and the band’s credit, they wore masks during the performance, even when singing; Coyne removed his only when outside of his bubble that had to be deflated and inflated many times and that sometimes muffled his singing voice even more than a mask. Ever the innovative band, they still put on a stellar show. Coyne autotuned his voice on “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1″, making it another instrument filling the song’s glorious pop melodies. Less heavy on props, the band favored a glitchy, psychedelic setlist that alternated between beauty (”Flowers Of Neptune 6″, “Feeling Yourself Disintegrate”, “All We Have Is Now”) and two-drummed cacophony (“Silver Trembling Hands”, “The W.A.N.D.”). They’ll give a proper Lips show soon enough, but in the meantime, it was nice to see them not run through the motions.

Slipknot

Apart from maybe moments of Slayer, I’ve never witnessed a headliner at Riot Fest as heavy as Slipknot was. Even the minor ethereal elements present on their most recent and very good album We Are Not Your Kind, like the chorus of voices during “Unsainted”, were all but abandoned live in favor of straight up brutality. Sure, there were moments of theatricality--Corey Taylor’s menacing laugh on “Disasterpiece” and pyrotechnics in sequence with the instrumentation on “Before I Forget” and “All Out Life”--but for the most part, Slipknot was the ultimate exorcism. Taylor’s new mask, with unnaturally circular eyes, seemed like it came from a particularly uncomfortable skit from I Think You Should Leave. They bashed a baseball bat to a barrel during the pre-encore performance of “Duality”. And the songs played from tape, like the gasping-for-breath “(515)”, were designed to contrast Slipknot’s alien appearance with qualities that were uncannily human. For a band whose performances and instrumental dexterity are otherworldly--who else can pull off tempo changes over a hissing, Aphex Twin-like shuffling electronic beat on “Eyeless”--the pure seething emotion on songs like “Psychosocial” and “Wait and Bleed” shone through. Like Smashing Pumpkins, and like so many other successful Riot Fest headliners, Slipknot abandoned drama for pure, unadulterated dirt.

#live music #riot fest #wdrl #joyce manor #patti smith #circa survive #thrice #smashing pumpkins #the bronx #big freedia #les savy fav #state champs #bayside #rancid #run the jewels #the gories #facs #alex g #health #thursday #devo #flaming lips #slipknot #barry johnson #chase knobbe #colin frangicetto #eddie breckenridge #riley breckenridge #james iha #matt caughthran

[happymetalgirl]

October 2020

Six Feet Under - Nightmares of the Decomposed

I wrote a full-length review of this disaster of an album earlier in the month, and yeah, wow. Between the phoned-in performances from the instrumentalists who have proven themselves far above this joke of a band and the half-assed production this would have been a pretty crappy album even without Chris Barnes’ milk-aged vocals. But he’s here, and he’s managed to actually get worse too, gasping his way through the whole album and littering it with these ludicrous “high” squeals that would make Smeagol sound like a more competent death metal vocalist. It’s the worst thing I’ve heard all year, and what’s worse, I don’t think Six Feet Under is stopping.

1/10

With that out of the way, let’s cleanse the pallet right away with some really good shit.

Greg Puciato - Child Soldier: Creator of God

Ever reliable in his artistically integrity, explosive former Dillinger Escape Plan frontman, Greg Puciato, has been pretty sonically and artistically adventurous since the honorable dissolution of the iconic mathcore outfit, his most notable music project being the ethereal, synth-heavy The Black Queen. This year, however, Puciato has gone fully solo for a full-length project, and something told me to get ready for a wild ride, and boy was I right on that hunch. Borne out of an exponentiated process of songwriting that produced songs Puciato deemed unfitting for any of his current projects, what was planned as a small release to ship these songs out of the writing room eventually spiraled into a full-blown debut solo album clocking in at over an hour. A lot of solo projects play like clearly indulgent amateur hour sessions from an artist whose ego has been boosted pretty well from significant success from their main project, leading them to overconfidently try their hand at music they have no business trying it at. And it’s often approached under the understanding that it is a victory lap, more or less, and a satisfaction of creative impulses for the sake of it. Sometimes the resultant material is clearly inspired and showcases a side of an artist that certainly deserves some spotlight. Other times it feels like being trapped in an awkward situation with an acquaintance where they just show you all their newest pedals and production software and you’re just stuck there watching them fiddle around while you nod along and offer the occasional “wow, that’s pretty crazy” every now and then while they don’t pick up on the obvious cues that you are just waiting for them to finish playing with their toys. While Puciato was open about this album being borne from the very creatively borderless mindset that so often damns solo projects, Child Soldier: Creator of God is an actual realization of the type of grand, genre-spanning album that so many solo artists envision themselves making and set out to create, and it’s hardly a whimsical, amateurish crack at the styles within either. Puciato’s foray into sludge metal, industrial rock, harsh noise, darkwave, synthwave, and shoegaze, (1) makes for a hell of a dynamic and exciting track list, and (2) shows a much deeper than average respect for and relationship with the styles being played here. This isn’t some frontman thinking his charisma can carry him through a whole rap solo album; this is a well-rounded artist (also a hell of a frontman, no denying that) giving the most comprehensive look yet into his creative mind. The album leaps around in patches of different styles, strung together mostly by ambient connective tissue of various types, all with a great attention to detail paid to both texture and progression. We get early patches of smooth ambiance, but also aggressive industrial and sludge metal, eventually moving to more soothing and meditative synthy stuff around the middle, finishing with some serene, Have a Nice Life-esque shoegaze. But really there’s no way to sum up this album stylistically without breaking down every single song on here, and that would just ruin the fun and the experience. You really just have to experience it for yourself.

9/10

DevilDriver - Dealing with Demons I

Embarking on a conceptual double-album, Dez Fafara and DevilDriver’s first installment in the pair is a scoop of the, indeed, slightly above average, but unfortunately still plain and predictable modern groove metal they always offer up. I’ll give the band credit for keeping the pace up and clearly putting substantial energy into the performances on this album, while also trying to squeeze in a few shake-ups to their sound, like the clear Gojira-inspired riffage on the opening track. The album loses steam, unfortunately, as its punches lose their impact as it goes on.

6/10

Anaal Nathrakh - Endarkenment

While certainly cultivating a unique sound, Anaal Nathrakh’s unholy fusion of nasty modern blackened grindcore with sweeter metalcore and melodic death metal elements has its mixed results. And while that might at first sound like a relatively critical assessment of the Brits’ eleventh album, I’d say that there is actually a lot to enjoy and take in for at least the interesting mix of styles, most of which are hits rather than misses as well.

7/10

Enslaved - Utgard

Having been a fan of a good amount of their recent output, especially 2015’s In Times, I came out of Utgard moderately disappointed with how infrequently Enslaved galvanized their potent brand of Viking folky, progressive black metal effectively; the few moments the band do channel their strengths cohesively and purposefully left me wanting more rather than savoring those moments.

6/10

In Cauda Venenum - G.O.H.E.

It’s hard to, and indeed seems kind of in just to, sum up a heaping prog metal serving like G.O.H.E., comprised of two 22-minute halves, in a capsule review, but that is kind of the format my current busy circumstances have forced me into. French outfit In Cauda Venenum made a self-titled debut in similar two-long-track fashion back in 2015, and the band’s gothic and somewhat theatrical brand of atmospheric post-black-metal is continued on their sophomore effort here, drawing the obvious comparisons to Opeth and Katatonia, as well as Der Weg Einer Freiheit, Numenorean, and Sólstafir, and apart from the more frequent sample usage and extra drawn-out songs, there really isn’t that much to differentiate In Cauda Venenum stylistically. The band’s second album, unfortunately, resembles so many others in the field with big aspirations and the same inadequate means of getting there.

5/10

Apparition - Granular Transformation

A much more bite-sized early two-track offering, Apparition’s debut EP offers a more promising glimpse into a heady, atmospheric, yet still visceral manipulation of modern death metal that I would be curious to hear in a more long-form format. In a genre as extreme as death metal in recent years has been, finding artists effective at working with negative space can be difficult, but the two songs on Granular Transformation showcase a formidable dexterity from Apparition that I think can take them places.

6/10

Molasses - Through the Hollow

While indeed marred by some rough performances on songs with sometimes more desert to cross than water to make it there, there’s an undeniable occult hypnotism about the Dio-era-esque doom metal hollow that Molasses ritualize their way through.

7/10

Death Angel - Under Pressure

While certainly an odd choice on the surface, Death Angel’s acoustic EP and cover of the famous Queen song actually comes out pretty alright. The acoustic version of Act III’s “A Room with a View” comes off with the energy of something like Rush whenever they went acoustic, and the original acoustic cut, “Faded Remains” isn’t too bad either. The acoustic format did not, however, mask the drabness of “Revelation Song” from last year’s overall disappointment, Humanicide.

6/10

Necrophobic - Dawn of the Damned

The Swedes’ melodic brand of blackened death metal is nothing if not thorough on the quintet’s ninth full-length, Dawn of the Damned, covering all the ground that their fans expect their style to cover and doing so with more compositional and performative stamina than their average contemporary. While the band’s broader compositional approach is akin to the beating of a dead horse, I can’t deny it produces some tasty motifs in the process.

7/10

Bloodbather - Silence

After coming onto the blossoming metallic hardcore scene in 2018 with a standard, but potent enough 14-minute EP, Pressure, Bloodbather are back with another 14 minutes of similar, yet less promising material, doing little to set themselves apart from or on the same level of the likes of Jesus Piece, Vein, Knocked Loose, or Harm’s Way.

5/10

Infera Bruo - Rites of the Nameless

The Bostonians’ fourth full-length is, at the very least, a rather well-executed forty minutes of modern black metal a la Craft or Watain, but beneath the seams the band’s progressive tendencies twist what would otherwise be a fresh, but standard, slab of black metal into a more head-turning offering of the usual shrieks and blast beats.

7/10

Touché Amoré - Lament

While somewhat shaky in their compositional exploration in their fifth LP, the firmness of their emotive post-hardcore foundation allows for Touché Amoré to build upwards relatively steadily without losing that raw vulnerability that has made them so captivating to begin with.

7/10

Gargoyl - Gargoyl

This is the self-titled debut from Bostonian four-piece Gargoyl; a novel blend of dirty nineties grunge and gothic prog metal, Gargoyl come through with one of the more impressive genre fusions of the year, meeting the lofty sufficiency for dexterity with excessive vocal harmonies in a manner so uncanny that would make habe to Layne Stayley proud. While there is the expected room for improvement on the compositional end that many debut projects come with, Gargoyl have laid the groundwork for themselves fantastically and started off on a good foot.

7/10

Crippled Black Phoenix - Ellengæst

Through creative gothic flair and full-bodied guest vocal contributions that bolster the somber atmosphere beyond the typical post-metal album, the UK band’s most recent offering of “endtime ballads”, despite its few low points that undo its otherwise immersive atmosphere, serves as one of the more engaging releases under the broader post-metal umbrella of the past year.

7/10

Wayfarer - A Romance with Violence

The Denver-based quartet follow up 2018’s strong emotive case for the potential for evoking cathartic power of the atmospheric black metal which has so saturated the American scene to the point of numbness, their Americana-tinged third LP, World’s Blood, unfortunately, with a fourth LP whose compositional homogeneity and mere few intermittent bursts of enthralling atmospheric instrumentation more represent, rather than advocate the merit of, the saturation of the American atmospheric black metal scene.

6/10

Armored Saint - Punching the Sky

Though I think the structural homogeneity and John Bush’s similarly limited vocal delivery holds it back, with crunchy bangers like “Do Wrong to None” and “My Jurisdiction” alongside more tempered tracks the clearly grunge-influenced “Lone Wolf”, Bush and company provide a relatively stylistically diverse traditional heavy metal album for an age that could use more contemporary representation of classic styles (beyond the entire stoner metal genre LARPing as Black Sabbath too).

7/10

Spirit Adrift - Enlightened in Eternity

But it's not just the old guard representing their era of classic heavy metal robustly; a year and a half after their energetically melodic third album, Divided by Darkness, which took a triumphant melodic approach to classic heavy metal and doom metal similar to that of Khemmis on their excellent third album, Spirit Adrift ease up a bit on the hyper-soulful approach to guitar melody that had led me (and others I'm sure) to draw the comparison to Khemmis, and instead dive deeper into the headspace of the genre's earliest progenitors to achieve that unabashedly glorious rallying cry that is evoked by the very front cover of Enlightened in Eternity. While I am personally pretty partial to the very vulnerable and heartfelt melodic approach that characterized Divided by Darkness, the effectiveness with which Spirit Adrift are able to wield the sometimes Maiden-esque, sometimes Testament-esque sounds of the 80’s on this album is undeniably impressive.

8/10

Fever 333 - Wrong Generation

Providing the correction to this generation’s answer to Rage Against the Machine (after Prophets of Rage’s insufficient attempted revival) Fever 333 follow up last year’s debut of heavy, fired-up and modern take on rapcore with another 14 minutes of righteous anti-racist hardcore anger that’s attuned to the issues to a level that I wish more artists would at least express in their art. While the EP is 18 minutes long, the last two songs, “The Last Time” and “Supremacy”, don’t match the sonic energy of the first six tracks. The somber piano-led snippet-length ballad, “The Last Time”, should have been the conclusion of the album, but the closing track, “Supremacy”, while as conscious as the tracks before it, is basically a late-stage formulaic Linkin Park track that flatters neither of the two bands. Despite botching the landing though, Wrong Generation is a ripping batch of songs that well represent the current unrest and provide a positive hypothetical idea of what it might be like if Rage Against the Machine were in their prime and active today.

7/10

Mörk Gryning - Hinsides Vrede

The Swedes return from their 15-year disillusioned absence from the studio with a concise and clearly renewed enthusiasm for the energetic black metal that they put forth on Hinsides Vrede. Dynamically bolstered by folk-metal compositional tendencies and more than a dash of that famed Gothenburg melodicism (I know they’re from Stockholm and in fact their melodic approach often does heaven to that of their close neighbors from Uppsala, Watain), Mörk Gryning’s seamless return to music finds them jumping into the modern black metal scene’s advanced compositional rubric with relative ease.

7/10

Zeal & Ardor - Wake of a Nation

Having covered their output since their debut and being a big fan of Manuel Gagneux’ project, it pains me to say, especially given the noble pretext and occasional momentary flashes of sobering messaging, that this six-song mini release really doesn’t capture the unique sonic pallet that has made Zeal & Ardor such an interesting act to listen to for the past few years in the most flattering light. The title track is possibly the least of the offenders here, but all the songs here function by taking a little snippet of sound that samples Zeal & Ardor’s broader stylistic range, and drawing it out across these short, but all too minimally composed tracks in such a way that they lose their momentum very quickly. Like I said, I wholeheartedly appreciate, sympathize with, and support what Manuel Gagneux is doing to lend his band’s platform to the addressing of the dire issue of today’s racism through musical means with this project, and when its social motivation is at the forefront, it’s at its most potent, but musically, unfortunately, it’s just desperately underwritten in a way that doesn’t fairly represent how accomplished Zeal & Ardor really are with their sound.

5/10

Sevendust - Blood & Stone

The flashes of crushing grooves reminiscent of their earlier work on Blood & Stone that highlight how well Sevendust can harness nu/alternative metal to execute pummeling attacks with the right crunchy guitar tone, unfortunately, don’t come frequently enough on their twelfth LP to mirage the exhaustion that has come of the band’s writing process after such frequent, unrelenting output and the all too apparent desperate need for a recalibrating, refreshing break, which they certainly deserve for their tenacity.

5/10

Undeath - Lesions of a Different Kind

In one of those cases where the ridiculously gratuitous album cover actually represents the album’s sound quite well, Rochester, New York five-piece, Undeath mince neither words nor sounds on their debut LP in their 100% upfront, no-nonsense, and wonderfully nasty delivery of death metal. Eschewing even the slightest sense of snobbery or pretense for aimless ambition, the band simply compile the genre’s tried and true elements of bellowing growls, filthy riffs, mean-ass down-tuned chugging, and blood-pumping double-bass with blast beats into an addictive slab of raw, uncured death metal that serves as a testament to the merit of not overthinking shit.

8/10

Griffon - Ὸ Θεός Ὸ Βασιλεύς

On their sophomore LP, Parisian quintet Griffon channel the world innovative ethos that has become rather prominent in their scene into a somewhat short, but definitely sweet offering of modestly ambitious black metal that captures much more effectively than most albums of similar style and lesser imagination, the divine grandeur that the genre so often tries and fails to embody.

8/10

Bring Me the Horizon - Post-Human: Survival Horror

After taking the hard left into current pop music trends very transparently on their controversial, which was at least partially intentional on their part, and ultimately really patchy, but not wholly awful, 2019 album, amo, Oli Sykes and co. walk it back substantially for this smaller release here, back to That's the Spirit, even Sempiternal, a prospect that might get a lot of the band's more long-time, metalcore-centric fans excited, but I would suggest those fans temper their expectations of Post-Human: Survival Horror. The band reunite with the anthemic metalcore/deathcore that put them on the map for a good chunk of this album, and the intro track, "Dear Diary,", might even give some false hope of the prodigal sons returning home. But songs like the cookie-cutter single, "Teardrops", provide strong evidence that, while the band have re-embraced their old aesthetic, they have not kicked the pop vocal or compositional habits. And the project really does run out of energy in its final third because of this compositional homogeneity. I do want to highlight the song, "Kingslayer", which features a very in-form Babymetal (I loved their album last year), because their fun, not-so-serious approach to the crossing of J-pop and metal music in their feature on this track among the other songs around it provides a contrast to the more formulaic, disinterested radio pop swagger that Bring Me the Horizon have been trying to jam into their sound that could perhaps inform Bring Me the Horizon's artistic approach to integrating pop music if they really are so hellbent on doing so. Ultimately though, as much as they want to move into newer territory, this trajectory-revising release shows just how much more solid Bring Me the Horizon are in their metalcore territory than they were on amo. It had its predictable hiccups, but this thing wasn't too bad.

7/10

Pallbearer - Forgotten Days

With the slow, sludgy, down-tuned riffing of the menacing opening title track and the similar chug of “Vengeance & Ruination” being the sole exceptions, the remainder of Pallbearer’s fouth full-length largely sees them operating in the same niche they have in their three previous albums. And while this could invoke accusations of playing it safe, the brimming heartfelt sorrow and resistance to succumbing to despair across Forgotten Days is enough to wave that away, as Pallbearer showcase just how emotive doom metal can be.

8/10

Bleeding Out - Lifelong Death Fantasy

The very new act and fresh Profound Lore signing, Bleeding Out, certainly display more dynamic capability than your average local grindcore scene’s biggest names here on their 18-minute debut for the label, but as of now it is still just a glimpse of potential for more effective future implementation. It’s a good start, though, and I’ll be looking forward to a more long-form project from these guys.

6/10

Evildead - United States of Anarchy

Every year we get the resurrection of some long-inactive old-school band who seem to have found that missing spark at last; we’ve seen the return of smaller bands to the studio like Angel Witch or Sorcerer and long-awaited revivals of iconic acts like Possessed. This year, Los Angeles’ Evildead has seen fit to make their commentary on the massive ongoing sociopolitical upheaval. Despite my love for the 80’s thrash scene they were born out of, the combination of the utterly lame band name, logo, and covers for either their ‘89 or ‘91 albums never really made me want to check them out, but seeing the horridly cheesy and incoherent cover of United States of Anarchy (I mean how much more on-the-nose can you get), my morbid curiosity got the best of me. Maybe I’d be wrong to have judged them by their cover, plenty of my favorite 80’s albums have particularly goofy cover art. So what do we get from Evildead in 2020 with this fucking album? Well, it’s not as poorly performed as the past few Anvil albums I’ve had to review have been, but Jesus the lyricism is similarly cheesy 5th-grade-level stuff and smacks of silly political incoherence that essentially boils down to “enlightened centrism” with mix of that good ol’ Illuminati-conspiracy-theory belief that no political thrash album is apparently complete without. I mean there’s just basic acknowledgment of the prominent problems of the day and the fact that both major political parties are bad and that corruption is rampant all throughout DC, but Evildead not only barely scratch the surface, they apply the same level cynicism to the “both sides” they criticize with no substantiation to their criticism despite that mindset being a big reason for our being where we are right now, mixed in with the occasional conspiracy-paranoia about the shadowy underworld running everything, so no real solutions or even proper addressing of these problems. Like, the same level of criticism is levied at right-wingers and communists, like communists are at all why this country has gone to shit. And the generic Anthrax/Megadeth type of thrash instrumentation, while rumbly and mixed well to highlight its bass heaviness, doesn’t exactly make it easy to get past the commentary deficiencies on here.

4/10

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full

Rounding off their year (at least I think), with a long-teased collaboration with Emma Ruth Rundle, Thou finally present their massive sludge-doom sound in a much more flattering light than the previous cover albums this year did. Thou's original material continues to highlight just why their relatively stiff sound is much more cut out for that, original material, than for trying to bend beyond its flexibility to tribute grunge songs. And while Thou being back in their more effective department, Emma Ruth Rundle's contributions, beyond just her gorgeous and ethereally haunting vocals, to the album's atmosphere, dynamic, and structuring really take the collaboration to the next level. Not to say that Thou are completely overshadowed and relegated to the background on this record or that they don't contribute to a fair share of the legwork here; the workload is shared pretty equally, and both collaborators have their moments of prominence, but Emma Ruth Rundle's ever-present gothic/folky influence really directs the music in a way that plays to Thou's strengths in a way I'm not sure they would have been able to on their own. It's great work from both of them, and I'd be eager to hear Thou find more collaborations like this in the future that push them into doing more interesting things with their crushing doom sound, as opposed to the rather tepid collaborations with The Body.

8/10

Auðn - Vökudraumsins Fangi

Sadly, three albums in, Auðn have only barely exceeded the bare minimum for naturalistic atmospheric black metal, with no signs of significant improvement to be found. The Icelandic band earn points for their earnest delivery, but they never seem to fully make it out of the rut that the genre’s many contemporary acts have dug.

5/10

Botanist - Photosynthesis

The black metal traditionalists might have had to accept that the floodgates to bright ambience and serene shoegaze in the genre have been opened and that there's no going back now, but even as an avid Deafheaven fan, I'm sometimes momentarily surprised at just how heavenly some black metal has gotten lately, and this new album from Botanist is one of those albums. And while it sometimes slips into some of the current wave's typical ruts, the sheer blindingly illuminating aura of this album when it reaches those high points (and it does so frequently) is enough to pull it out from those gutters and high into the cosmos. Yeah, another splendid offering of nature worship from Botanist.

8/10

Mr. Bungle - The Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny Demo

Making their return after over a decade, Mike Patton recruits both Dave Lombardo and Scott Ian for the long-awaited fourth Mr. Bungle album, which is titled in homage to the first Mr. Bungle demo which it is comprised largely of much clearer re-recordings of. Ever impressive, Mike Patton balances aggression and eccentricity like a tightrope walker on this project too, while his bandmates do the same with thrash metal’s natural adrenaline rush while pushing the genre into new compositional and stylistic territory without sacrificing that crucial whiplash. It’s a great time, and definitely one of the year’s best thrash albums.

8/10

Carcass - Despicable

While they've been much less prolific since their reboot than they were prior, Liverpool's melodic death metal pioneers simply continue to demonstrate their excellence in this seemingly effortless four-track appetizer to next year's Torn Arteries. Anyone familiar with the band's brutal form of melodic death metal will certainly be pleased with the four quite sufficiently pulverizing cuts here; those who may only be familiar with some of the band's many less muscular imitators might be surprised, and pleasantly so, with the Englanders' ability to lay on the infectious guitar melody without sacrificing an ounce of force.

8/10

#metal #heavy metal #death metal #black metal #deathcore #sludge metal #post metal #new album #album review #new music #thrash metal #blackened death metal #blackgaze #experimental metal #mathcore #doom metal #stoner metal #groove metal

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Decline of Western Civilization series (Spheeris, 1981-98)

Many years ago, before I sold out to the man, I have to admit I felt a certain attraction to punk music. No, I was never anywhere close to a full on punk (I was, and still am, extremely lame), but I have to admit the anti-establishment streak definitely resonated with me at a certain point of time. (Not that it still doesn’t, but in addition to selling out, I’ve softened with old age.) Like many people I’ve found appealing the political conscience and mix of influences of the Clash, or the boneheaded energy of the Ramones, but I also found my interest straying to hardcore punk. I remember the first time I listened to “Damaged II” by Black Flag and finding it unbelievably abrasive and foreign to my ears, yet it was something I couldn’t get out of my head, and returned to the song and the album it was from a few years later and appreciated it as one of the most forceful expressions of angst ever recorded. I remember first learning of bands like X and Fear, and seeing performance footage on YouTube and being thrilled by the rawness and danger, especially when they had to fight off their fans. This footage was from Penelope Spheeris’ cult classic documentary, The Decline of Western Civlization, which for years was not easily available but I have now finally seen in its entirety.

The movie is structured simply, moving from one band in the L.A. punk scene to another, interviewing them in their natural habitats and punctuating this with footage of their performances. Songs are presented in full so we can get the complete experience. The first band we see is Black Flag, then with frontman Ron Reyes. They are lively on stage but it’s interesting to note how different the energy was prior to the arrival of Henry Rollins, who brought a certain discipline and muscularity to their music. (One of the songs featured here, “Depression”, pops up again in Damaged, and the impact in the latter is noticeably more forceful.) The guys here come across as aimless and destitute, living in a decrepit church where they’ve turned the closets into makeshift bedrooms, seemingly losing money with every gig. But they are also quite affable (you can tell the lyrics of “TV Party” sprang from these minds) and do not have illusions about their situation, especially their difficulty in getting gags thanks to their rowdy fans. These scenes play like a moment frozen in time, right before the band’s most significant period would begin. We move next to the Germs, and these scenes play like a car accident in slow motion, with Darby Crash’s self-destructive tendencies on full display. This was a short time before his death, which occurred between completion of filming and the theatrical release (his image was featured heavily on the promotional materials), once again giving this a lost in time quality.

Next we go to the headquarters of Slash Magazine, the staff of which moonlights as a band called Catholic Discipline. The frontman complains about New Wave, claiming it doesn’t actually exist, yet they come across as downmarket New Wavers who are slumming it in the punk scene. Yet their love of music and their work is obvious and the frontman does possess a certain charisma. Much of what we see of the punk lifestyle is squalid and dismal, yet the music of X manages to poeticize this condition. Their unassuming demeanours during their interview contrast sharply with their vigour in their performances, during which they do their share of batting off overeager fans. We get a burst of political conviction when the Circle Jerks launch into the libertarian anthem “Red Tape”, but this dissipates by the time they start playing “I Just Want a Skank”. We spend some time with the Alice Bag Band and then are treated to a montage of interviews with punk fans. These are shot in monochrome with stark backgrounds and a single bulb providing the lighting, which has the effect of bringing them and their words into sharp relief. We hear similar stories again and again, of aimlessness and aggression, the subjects using the music both as an outlet for their frustrations and inspiration for violence.

Spheeris’ camera has been largely nonjudgmental, yet there’s an undeniable sadness in this sequence. But lest I make it sound that the movie makes punk seem uniformly depressing, the closing sequence provides a potent antidote. The electrifying final minutes of the film feature a performance by Fear (who are not interviewed). The atmosphere here is hostile, with the band riling up the audience with homophobic and misogynistic taunting and having to physically fight them off throughout their set list. It might be tempting to liken their shtick to cheap alt-rightish provocation, but I think that robs their music of the proper context. When almost all their peers and fans adopt an attitude of “everything sucks”, Fear’s ability to find the humour in that mentality is kind of refreshing. It also would ignore the sheer muscularity of the delivery, which almost turns the music into a form of violence. The film is undeniably a fascinating document, but while Spheeris may have had the good fortune of turning on her camera in the right place and right time (even if she had to pay to rent soundstages to film some of the performances), it’s moments like this of pure exhilaration that cement the film’s greatness.

Part II: The Metal Years takes place almost a decade later, with a drastically new context and perspective. This time the focus is on the L.A. metal scene, which was a dominant cultural force unlike hardcore punk ever was. And this time around Spheeris’ POV is less of impartial observation and more satirical condescension. Taken journalistically, the movie is obviously compromised, particularly in an interview of Ozzy Osbourne that’s misleadingly edited to make it look like he has the shakes. I wish the movie hadn’t done this, as Ozzy is a flamboyant enough presence that he’s already funny without needing to frame him into gags, something Spheeris acknowledged in an interview years after the fact. Ozzy and a few other veterans of the scene are not immune to metal culture’s innate ridiculousness (the movie’s biggest laugh for me was Spheeris’ deadpan reaction to Steven Tyler’s extended masturbation metaphor to describe the rock’n’roll lifestyle). It’s worth noting that Spheeris asked her subjects how they wanted to be filmed, leading to such choice setups as Gene Simmons in a lingerie store and Paul Stanley in a bed full of scantily clad models. (Lemmy allegedly took offense to how he was portrayed, claiming Spheeris shot him from afar to make him look stupid, but I don’t think he comes across badly. He’s low key and unassuming in a way that contrasts him from the other participants, at the very least in terms of appearance).

The structure of this entry is tighter, using snippets of different interviews to flesh out different ideas, exploring the decadence and excess of the music and the surrounding culture. We even hear from the anti-metal folks, particularly in one amusing scene where a woman describes the dangerous potential of metal fashion with the solemnity of a cop or anti-gun advocate describing illegal firearms. Performance footage is limited to brief excerpts, usually for comic relief (assless chaps and a limp attempt to set fire to a Soviet flag are highlights), although we do get an extended look at a sleazy stripping context. (The club owners featured seem as much into the metal lifestyle as some of the musicians and fans, in sharp contrast to the genial working class types featured in the first and third entries.) The most notorious segment of the film is the interview with Chris Holmes from W.A.S.P., who lounges in a pool in alcoholic self loathing, which probably went farther in deflating the excitement around the metal scene than any single moment. Yet like the first film, this one refuses to lock into too narrow view of its subject and rebounds with a Megadeth performance that goes a long way in showing that yes, this music can in fact be good. (I should say that I enjoy my share of hair metal, which Megadeth is decidedly not, but the songs earlier in the film don’t do the best job of selling the genre. Although anything would look lame with assless chaps.) This movie is more obviously flawed than the original, but I can’t help but kind of love it. The fact is that the metal musicians and fans, despite being somewhat boneheaded, are also full of good vibes and fun to hang around (more so than the self-serious punk fans in the original), and the movie is quite slick and stylish by documentary standards, which makes the film true to its subject matter in a a way. I mean, you open the movie with Motorhead and I’m half won over already, and I haven’t stopped thinking (and smiling) about it since I’ve seen it.

The good vibes don’t carry over to Part III, which follows a group of homeless gutter punks in L.A. around another decade later. Once again there’s a change in context and perspective, with Spheeris coming across as more compassionate and maternal. The musicians here offer a more sobering, grounded presence. The veterans here, Keith Morris and Rick Wilder, come across as survivors more than anything, particularly the latter with his skeletal, emaciated appearance. The music this time around is almost beside the point, although we do get the sense that it offers the main subjects one of their only sources of relief. Their stories are similar. Broken homes. Forced onto the streets. Substance abuse. The movie feels like extended versions of the Darby Crash scenes and the interviews from the original, but with the grim consequences covered in the final moments, and the film’s sense of despair is alleviated only by the compassion Spheeris brings to the material. I can’t see myself returning to this as readily as it’s more downbeat and less dynamic than the previous movies, but it is undeniably moving, and had a profound effect on Spheeris as well, who decided to become a foster parent after her experience making this movie.

#film #movie review #the decline of western civilization #the decline of western civilization part ii: the metal years #the decline of western civilization part iii #penelope spheeris

[fyeahhozier]

The Irishman is deeper and darker than he's maybe been given credit for... but the geniality and swoon factor remain high.

Variety: Hozier Proves He’s a Career Artist in Gratifying Greek Show

At Hozier’s sold-out show at L.A.’s Greek Friday night, one of the first things you couldn’t help noticing on stage —because it’s still an anomaly — was that his eight-piece lineup was half-male, half-female. Knowing his penchant for socially conscious songs, his decrial of “the anthems of rape culture” in his lyrics, and a general female-friendliness to his appeal, it’s easy to figure this gender parity is a conscious one and think: That is soooo Hozier. Which it is … and so effective, too, like just about every choice he’s made so far in his short, charmed career. On the most practical level, if you can bring in that much female harmony while also getting ace players in the bargain, why wouldn’t you? But it also makes for a good visual emblem of some of the other dual energies Hozier is playing with in his music: darkness and enlightenment; romantic hero and cad; raw blues dude and slick pop hero. He’s got a lot more going on than just being an earnest do-gooder. (Although he does do good, earnestly.)

During Friday’s hour-and-three-quarters set, Hozier focused largely on material from this year’s sophomore album, “Wasteland, Baby!,” which sounded good enough on record but almost uniformly improved in the live experience. Sometimes the upgrade came from making full use of the multi-instrumentalists on hand. The first album’s “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” now had Hozier on guitar facing off against violinist Emily Kohavi, trading solos — and if it’s hard to hear an electric guitar/fiddle duel without automatically thinking “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” it was one of many welcome moments making use of the MVP skills of Kohavi, the newest addition to the band. Other times, the improvements on the album versions just had to do with Hozier allowing himself louder and gutsier guitar tones. He’s a bit like Prince, in that way — someone you’d happily listen to playing a very nasty-sounding six-string all night, although he has so many other stylistic fish to fry, which in this case means a still slightly greater emphasis on acoustic finger-picking.

For somebody who made his name on as forlorn but powerful an anthem as his 2014 breakout smash “Take Me to Church,” and who can milk that melodrama for all it’s worth, Hozier has a lot of other modes he can default to. He treads very lightly into the area of soul with songs like “Almost (Sweet Music),” the lyrics of which consist of either name-checking or alluding to some of the great jazz vocal classics of the 20th century, in an idiom that’s not so much jazzy itself as folk-R&B. You could almost cite it as the subtle kind of Memphis-swing thing Justin Timberlake should aspire to, if the tricky polyrhythm and oddly chopped up meters Hozier adds as wrinkles weren’t so un-replicable. Bringing up Stevie Wonder’s “Living for the City” as the night’s sole cover also established that early ‘70s era and sound as an influences he’d like to make perfectly clear. At the other extreme, this son of a blues musician can hard back to those roots so well, in noisy numbers like “Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue)” and the brand new “Jack Boot Jump,” that he could give the Black Keys a run for their money.

“Jack Boot Jump,” which is scheduled to go on an EP of completely fresh material that Hozier said he plans to put out before Christmas, was possibly the highlight of the night, even though — or because — it stripped his excellent band down to just him and longtime drummer Rory Doyle. Having earlier played the current album’s “Nina Cried Power,” which is maybe more of a tribute to other historic protest songs than one of its own, Hozier gave a lengthy introduction to “Jack Boot” indicating that he’s aware of the traps that come with the territory. “I do have some reservations about the words ‘protest song’ and ‘protest music,’” he admitted. “But if you’re familiar with an artist called Woody Guthrie, he wrote the evergreen anthem ‘Tear the Fascists’ down. I was kind of looking into songs in that sort of tradition, that singing out, and I was worried that this is 2019; it’s a very unsubtle way to approach songwriting.” But, he added, “it was a funny few weeks, with 70 people shot in Hong Kong and arrests obviously in Moscow; Chile now at the moment also. And I was thinking, forget about subtle art — what is not subtle is this murder of protesters, and what is not subtle is the jack boot coming down in Orwell’s picture of the future: ‘If you want to imagine the future, imagine a jack boot stomping on a human face forever,’ that chilling quote from ‘1984.’ Anyway, I was just thinking, yeah, f— it, it’s not subtle, but let’s do it.” His electric guitar proceeded to be a machine that kills fascists, and also just slayed as maybe the most rock ‘n’ roll thing he’s written. (Evidence of the new song on the web is scant, or should be, anyway, since he begged the audience “in good faith” not to film it.)

If there’s a knock people have on Hozier, it tends to be the sincerity thing. He’s a nice guy who’s finishing first, which doesn’t necessarily help him become an indie-rock darling or Pitchfork favorite. (Predictably, “Wasteland, Baby!” got a 4.8 rating there — that’s out of 10, not 5.) At the Greek, there was an almost wholesome feeling that would’ve been an immediate turnoff to anyone who insists on having their rock rough, starting with his graciousness in repeatedly naming the band members and repeatedly thanking his opening act (Madison Ryann Ward, a fetchingly husky-voiced Oklahoman filling in on this part of the tour for a laryngitis-stricken Freya Ridings). That extended to a sense of uplift in many of the songs that doesn’t always match the themes of the material. But then, there was the impossible good cheer and attractiveness of the young players, to match Hozier’s own; this is a group where everyone looks as if they could be in Taylor Swift’s band or actually looks like Taylor Swift. The swoon factor in Hozier’s appeal is undeniably high, and it’s safe to say no one left Griffith Park less smitten.

But ladies (and gentlemen), do be aware that Hozier has some dark-side moments that can almost make Leonard Cohen look like Stephen Bishop. The only time he really overtly accentuated that in concert was in introducing and playing the new album’s “No Plan,” a love song that is also an amiable statement of atheism in which Hozier reminds his beloved that the universe is going to collapse upon itself someday. This may be rather like the gambit in which the ‘50s boy gets the girl to make out with him in a fallout shelter, but in any case, Hozier didn’t stint on the end-of-all-things aspect of it, even putting up on screen behind the band a statement from astrophysicist Dr. Katie Mack pointing out humankind’s and the galaxy’s ultimate fate. (“Honestly I never really imagined I’d end up being name-checked in a song for talking about how the universe is eventually going to fade out and die so this is all very exciting for me,” Mack tweeted in replay earlier in the year.) Suffice it to say that with that soulful a vintage ‘70s groove and that fuzz-tastic a guitar line, many babies will be conceived to the tune of “No Plan,” whether it foresees generational lines ending in a godless black hole or not.

Other Hozier songs reveal darker gets more estimable the more you dig into it. With its bird talk, “Shrike” sounds sweet enough, till you realize that a shrike is a kind of bird that impales its prey on thorns, which does add a rather bloody metaphoric undertone to what sounds like a reasonably pacifist breakup song. “Dinner & Diatribes,” meanwhile, is just deeply horny, not thorny. The most brooding song of the set, “Talk,” has verses where Hozier sings in lofty, literary terms about the romantic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, only to reveal in the chorus that he’s talking to this woman in such high-minded terms because he just wants to charm her into the sack. As a piece of writing, it’s hilarious, establishing a devilish side of Hozier it’s good to hear. As a piece of performance, it’s just sexy.

But as enriching as it is to realize Hozier has a healthy sense of humor in his writing, bad-boy wit is never going to be what you’re going to come away from a Hozier album or show with. The main part of Friday’s concert ended, as expected, with “Take Me to Church,” his outraged take on abuse and homophobia in the scandalized Catholic church — which just happens to be easily taken as a lusty hymn to sexuality. Following that, the large band returned to a stage that had now been decked out in some kind of ivy, as Hozier talked about his love for the late Irish poet Seamus Heaney (whose last words he has tattooed on his arm) and, “since I’ve come this far,” went ahead and recited his poem “Mint,” sharing his hero’s affection for the plant and its “tenacity for life.”

Tenacity is likely to be a buzzword, too, for Hozier, given his leaps and gains as a writer-performer and seeming level head atop his tree-top shoulders. Taller still of voice, musical dexterity and good will — and still just 29 —  he’s somebody the swooners and even some cynics should feel good about settling in with for a very long Irish ride.

[lanamemories2]

clip clops in on horseback wearing a pointy little dunces hat n sipping frm a rly long crazy straw tht says ‘goblin’ w all of the swirls. Hlo. i’m nai n it’s rly nice to meet u all!!! 23 n she/ha pronouns. i’m one of the three admins here (cleo lazuli on the main) n i’m literally So Excited to get started i cld honestly beat my chest like caesar the ape over it. more abt lana under the cut!!! also like this or hmu if u wna plot n her pinterest is here 👺🌚 

『KRISTINE FROSETH ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like LANA JAMESON is here for HER JUNIOR year as a DANCE student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be VIVACIOUS, ALLURING, CHILDISH & IMPULSIVE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NAI. 23. GMT. SHE/HER.

AESTHETICS: 

scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out into a cold breeze in just spaghetti strapped silk, a red lightening stripe painted over your eye like a new take on the scarlet letter, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off the bruised cap, doodling penises in condensation instead of sitting still, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, playing where’s waldo with your lipstick in the crowd of a party and finding red on at least six people’s mouths, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open. 

HISTORY:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him. jst a leetle bit Fractured in its intentions.

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents including a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in and out of hospital twice nw n he’s currently dipped off the radar after starting to use. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her. she doesn’t talk abt this tho. when she feels the urge to cry she usually jst smiles

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably Very Pretty

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

(hypersexuality tw) this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) a mre recent point of history is her involvement w danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine who is possibly the antichrist??? pending investigation). he attended radcliffe n lived in a house w a group of guys near campus. it wsn’t a registered frat bt he essentially…ran it like one it ws kind of a weird set-up where he ws the King Of The Roost. essentially he found out tht lana n a guy called zeke slept together n he ended up beating him to near death in front of her bc his pride ws rly bruised since they were meant to be dating (if u can call it tht bc danny’s idea of dating is very Warped). ANYWAY he ws found guilty n sent to jail so it ws like Intense n a gd example of the kinds of disastrous relationships she gets herself into. perks of being a wallflower voice: We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve.

PERSONALITY:

always smells vaguely of wild cherries or strawberry starburst or jst the candy aisle in general. if she ws a vinyl record she’d b this one n she’d only play good vibrations by the beach boys, dancing on my own by robyn, play that funky music by wild cherry, femme fatale by the velvet underground n (i can’t get no) satisfaction by the rolling stones 

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. 

deliberately puts on tht kind of Magnetic Alluring Act tht femme fatales wear in movies w most ppl. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand ridiculously absurd n chaotic stories

uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. 

always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops. 

she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. 

daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually ever been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. 

mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? 

a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other.

a fake dating plot cld b fun honestly 

someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh

an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool)

someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label

someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh

umm a good influence too mayb? 

oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. 

honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. world’s our oyster fellas!

#radintro #hypersexuality tw #trauma tw #hospitalisation tw #violence tw #death tw #grief tw #ptsd tw #dissociation tw #drugs tw #ok this is literally insatiably beefy bt. feel free to jst skip right to personality n plots #anyway shrieks in glee n hits post

[doomedandstoned]

PSYCHO LAS VEGAS IV

~Festival Review~

Words by Roman Tamayo | Photos by Sally Townsend | Films by Arturo Gallegos

Psycho Las Vegas is a unique experience: more than 70 bands play for 4 days in 4 stages. This is not a regular festival; it represents the triumph of the underground scene that loves heavy, slow, and psychedelic riffs. We are living in the golden era for this kind of music: bands like Electric Wizard or High on Fire playing in a big arena, the dream has come true. This festival is opening the doors on the American continent for new bands, while consolidating the old ones -- they will probably be the next legends like Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath. I flew in from Mexico City for Psycho this year and hope that in the near future the festival will turn its eyes to the thriving Latin America scene.

PSYCHO SWIM

The first day of the festival, I had the chance to see bands like Primitive Man, Danava, Lucifer, and Corrosion of Conformity playing on a stage overlooking a big pool, affectionately nicknamed the "slosh pit." For such a setting, the sound was amazing, the atmosphere unique; it was the start of a big party that would continue non-stop for the next three days. You could see fans from different parts of the United States and other countries like México, Argentina, France, Canada, and so forth. The cultural exchange and the vibe of friendship were amazing.

Primitive Man

I don't have words enough to describe how loud and heavy these guys are live. I think the correct way to describe it is: a massive wall of sound melting your face. In my opinion, Primitive Man emerged as one of the heaviest bands of the festival.

Lucifer

Lucifer was one of the most anticipated bands of the event. The line to access the stage was long, with people waiting upwards of 20 minutes to get access. As for the show, I think they stole the night. Nicke Andersson and Johanna Sadonis have an incredible band. You can feel the fuzzy vibe of the ‘70s all over their songs, carried out by musicians who are quite skilled for the job.

Corrosion of Conformity

Kirk Windstein from Crowbar introduced Corrosion of Conformity in the final show of the night and the entire crowd started to party. The sound was amazing, you can see why they are living legends. They played a lot of classic songs like "Albatross," "Clean my Wounds," "Broken Man," along with plenty of surprises beneath the starlit sky.

DAY ONE

Arthur Brown

It's Friday and Psycho Las Vegas has officially begun! I saw the God of Hellfire himself, Arthur Brown, to open things up on the main stage -- a big arena with an amazing sound. The living legend was back once again to offer us one of the most magical shows of the entire festival. The godfather of the shock rock let us know that there is no age restriction to being a rocker. The mix of clothes, musicians, vibe, passion, and love were the perfect combination, and the audience warmly recognized Arthur Brown for his many years of music.

Graveyard

After Arthur Brown, it was Graveyard's turn to wow us. The arena was full for this show. The Swedish stoner-blues outfit played an incredible set with songs from all of their albums: "The Siren," "Hisingen Blues," "Please Don't," "Goliath," etc. The sound was impeccable. With wider exposure like this, these guys could very well be recognized as the next Led Zeppelin.

Godspeed You Black Emperor!

After the break, I saw Montreal experimentalists, Godspeed You Black Emperor! Without doubt, one of the most impressive acts of Psycho -- more than music, it was a breathtaking experience. The visuals coupled with the sound had me in a trance for the duration of the performance by these eight musicians. One of our favorite shows.

Yob

Next, I arrived at the Beach Stage for Yob. I was very excited about this show, but unfortunately the audio from this venue was horrible during all three days. The mixing console was next to the stage and the audio engineers did not have a clue of how the sound was outside. Yob played an incredible show, nonetheless. During the last song, Colin from Amenra sang with Mike. What a great collaboration to witness!

High on Fire

After YOB, I ran to see High on Fire on the main stage, but it was the same story -- the sound was terrible. That, however, didn't stop the crowd from getting into the spirit of the songs, and they formed big circles for the mosh pit. The new drummer suffered a little bit during some of the numbers, though Matt and Jeff tried their best to coordinate with him. Certainly not the best show from the band, I’m afraid.

Fu Manchu

On the other hand, Fu Manchu radiated with pure energy. The sound was a little better than it was for Yob's set and the Cali legends did their best to offer us a killer show even with these conditions. Fu played a lot of classic songs: "King of the Road," "Saturn III," "California Crossing," "Evil Eye," and "Laserbl'ast!" One of my favorite bands of the festival and, in my opinion, deserving of a better stage.

Electric Wizard

Finally, I arrived to Electric Wizard. Tons of people tried to access to the main stage, it was crazy. Thankfully, the sound was beautiful. EW is heavy and loud, so imagine this sound in a big arena: massive waves of sonic force crashing against your face. The new bassist Haz (ex-Hawkwind) gives a new sense of heaviness, you can feel the difference he contributes. The band looked so happy playing songs like "Return the Trip," "See You In Hell," "Black Mass," etc. An unforgettable sonic encounter to be in the first rows for.

DAY TWO

Old Man Gloom

During my second day, I spent a lot of time at the main stage. The first band that opened the stage was Old Man Gloom, one of the best acts of the festival. After the loss of Caleb, Aaron Turner and the other guys continued the project. The sound was pure and direct -- you could feel your chest vibrating with every riff. Seeing Aaron Turner play made you want to move your head like a crazy.

Triumph of Death

Triumph of Death is a tribute to Hellhammer with Tom Warrior on front -- one of the most anticipated acts of the festival. The legendary Warrior played classic songs in a new way, like "The Third of the Storms," "Massacra," "Visions of Mortality," and "Triumph of Death," -- all amazing songs. The band was brimming with enthusiasm by the end of the show.

Sumac

Sumac is one of the heaviest bands of our time. Unfortunately, the sound of the Beach Stage was abysmal. The band, however, put on an incredible performance. To see Aaron Turner play twice in the same day was simply legendary. I hope next time the festival are able to troubleshoot the nuances of outdoor acoustics and put Sumac and Yob on a proper stage.

Clutch

Clutch was a lively, unforgettable experience, the legends playing a killer show. Neil Fallon is one of the top frontman these days -- he makes you want to jump, sing, hoot, and holler. One of the best moments of the gig was when we heard "Supergrass" and "Willie Nelson" -- what a great surprise. Clutch also played standards like "Earth Rocker," "X-ray Vision," and "Firebirds."

Misfits

After Clutch, the arena was packed to the gills for the Misfits. These icons of the underground put an unforgettable set, even with the technical problems experienced by Doyle. The crowd was crazy -- I saw four circle pits emerge from the beginning and they never let up. Glenn's voice continues to be one of the best in the industry. The band played some classics: "Where Eagles Dare," "Die Die My Darling," "Hybrid Moments," "Halloween," and "Hollywood Babylon," to name a few.

Full of Hell

I visited the House of Blues following this, where Full of Hell was on fire. I was particularly shocked by the drummer, one of the craziest and fastest in the biz. Hardcore, punk, noise and power violence -- Full of Hell is an experience-and-a-half. You can feel the hate in mere moments of these absorbing songs.

The Obsessed

The last band of the night was The Obsessed, and the place was understandably full for Wino. The sound was nice and balance; the crowd was crazy. Wino appeared and played some songs like "Soden Jackal" and "The Way She Fly." It's probably just my point of view, but Wino did not look excited about the show, though perhaps he always looks this stern. Whatever the case, it was great to see this giant of doom. A great way to close the Day Two.

DAY THREE

Weedeater

The last day came all too soon, but sadly all good things need to come to an end. However, some great things did take place throughout the day, like the marriage of Matt Pike (congrats). On Sunday we saw Weedeater. They are like an urban legend, where I'm from. Dixie Dave appeared on the stage and the crowd went nuts. The sound again was not the best and the guitar player suffered some troubles with his amp toward the end of the show. Such are the perils of change, Psycho having ventured out of their three-year home of the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino this year to embrace a series of new venues on the Vegas Strip.

Mogwai

Mogwai is another affair entirely. Their music makes you feel a lot of things at the same time, like happiness, hope, and sorrow. The ambience was perfect for this performance. I don't have words to describe the sensation.

Dead Meadow

I moved on to see Dead Meadow and they were a trip. The light show by Mad Alchemy gave the place a unique ambience. The band played a special set for the people of Psycho Las Vegas, Jason having worked very close with the festival organizers to plan every detail from the get-go.

Uncle Acid and the deadbeats

From there, I ran to see Uncle Acid and the deadbeats and was an amazing show. Even if, God forbid, you don't like the band, their live performance is undeniable: the visuals, the energy, and the sonority make everything moving and memorable. They played songs like "13 Candles," "Waiting For blood," "Mind Crawler" and, of course, "I’ll Cut You Down."

Truckfighters

From there I ran over to the Beach Stage to see Truckfighters. It was the same story as with Yob or Sumac, the sound engineers still hadn't figured out their shit. Nonetheless, The crowd was happy and supportive. Truckfighters offered an incredible show with the new drummer, Toro. Two words: pure energy! The band played Gravity X and that was a joy to hear live, as this is one of the great contemporary stoner rock albums.

Power Trip

I spent some time watching Integrity, a lesser known band to me, then moved back to the Beach Stage for Power Trip, the modern heroes of thrash and crossover metal. The area was packed and when the band appeared on stage, the biggest mosh pit in the pool erupted. The guards tried to stop it, but it was in vain. This was surely one of the most iconic moments of the festival: the slosh pit. What energy; what a band -- long live these guys.

Twin Temple

Twin Temple was a great surprise. Imagine a black mass in middle of House of Blues with a band that combines rock 'n' roll, country, and garage rock. To see Twin Temple is a very unique experience, like the satanic version of Amy Whinehouse. I loved how all the crowd joined in the chorus: “SATAN, SATAN, SATAN!”

Amenra

The last band of my weekend was Amenra. I don't have enough words to completely describe the experience. The heaviest and loudest riffs, sadness, pain, and anger all wrapped up in one moment. That's Amenra, and it was a truly spiritual experience. Also, the visuals offered us a lovely trip. Amenra deserve to play the main stage when they come back to Psycho, as they are the rising legends of the scene.

Despite a few technical glitches here and there, Psycho Las Vegas was amazing. All in all, it's the best party for the scene, with a ton of bands, nice people, and smooth-running logistics. I hope that the organizers of Psycho start checking out bands from Latin America to join next year's roster, for the scene here is really blowing up. Thank you to the festival organizers, Liz Ciavarella-Brenner, and the team who run the press table for making my first US festival rad!

#D&S Concert Review #Psycho Las Vegas #2019 #Amenra #Twin Temple #Primitive Man #Lucifer #Corrosion of Conformity #Arthur Brown #Graveyard #Godspeed You Black Emperor #Yob #High on Fire #Fu Manchu #Electric Wizard #Old Man Gloom #Triumph of Death #Sumac #Clutch #Misfits #Full of Hell #The Obsessed #Weedeater #Mogwai #Dead Meadow #Uncle Acid and the deadbeats #Truckfighters #Power Trip #Photography #Sally Townsend

[kvndeathmusic]

my favorite records of the 2010s pt 1 (the less great stuff/honorable mentions)

Neither this post or its followup are going to be in any particular order, however all the records I talk about here are, in my opinion, not as good as the records i will talk about in my part 2. they’re all fantastic but these ones slightly a little less fantastic than the ones in my “top 10″. none of this is based on stuff like 'influence' or whatever other critics base their lists on, this is solely how much I enjoyed these records. And keep in mind, I'm only human, I havent listened to a good lot of records I've heard others describe as top 10 worthy, these are just records I found and that I resonate with. long post ahead. 

Vacation - Bomb the Music Industry (2011)

If you asked me what my favorite band is i will either say bomb the music industry or jeff rosenstock, but considering those are pretty much the same things it doesnt matter lol. While Vacation isnt a perfect record, it is one I love. It lacks some of the ska elements that I love about earlier BTMI records, but at the same time, it is the first record where Jeff’s “””solo””” career sound starts to form in tracks like Sick, Later, Hurricane Waves, Everybody That You Love, Everybody That Loves You, and Vocal Coach. And these tracks are all fantastic, especially the absolutely explosive opener Campaign For a Better Weekend. Where this album suffers in my mind is the fact that it exists as a weird hybrid middle ground between BTMI and modern Jeff Rosenstock, it isn’t really ska like old BTMI and it’s not quite to the same standard as the tracks on We Cool?. And some of the songs are just, not as good as the others, like Why, Oh Why, Oh Why (Oh Oh Oh Oh), which is washed out almost entirely in reverb, and tracks like Savers feeling barren and missing additional instrumentation. But fuck man I can not dislike this record or just call it “ok” because despite this I still listen to this record a lot, it’s so catchy and fun and Im a bit too chronically addicted to btmi. 

Reflektor - Arcade Fire (2013)

i dont really get the hate/mixed feelings others have with this record. there’s so many good tracks dude!!!! sure theres a bit of a slump in the middle and it doesnt reach the same emotional heights as their previous records you gotta be ignorant to overlook this records strengths. while i do like The Suburbs more than Reflektor, man i just vibe HARD with some of these tracks; the title track, We Exist, Here Comes The Night Time, Normal Person, Awful Sound (Oh Eurydice), Porno, and ESPECIALLY Afterlife. Plus the cover art is cool and I like it. However Flashbulb Eyes is one of the worst tracks Arcade Fire has ever put out and I hate it immensely. And while far less offensive, tracks like You Already Know, It’s Never Over (Hey Orpheus), and Joan of Arc are just kinda boring and/or uninteresting. Now granted, I'm extremely biased when it comes to Arcade fire in general unless were talking about the trainwreck that is Everything Now. I started listening to Arcade Fire just before Reflektor came out, and I have a kinda sentimental attachment to the record. ill explain the feeling more when i talk about The Suburbs. anticipation oooooo.

good kid m.A.A.d city - Kendrick Lamar (2012)

i might get crucified by some for not putting this in my top 10, but whatever come at me i guess. gkmc is a fantastic record, but i do think the ending is weak, which is why it’s here instead of in the top 10. i mean, let’s be real, Real is a mediocre track, and while Dying of Thirst is an important track to the whole narrative of the record, it feels way too long. almost everything else about this record is fantastic, from the beats, to kendrick’s nasally flows, to the overall structure of the record spinning a tale of a young man battling demons both inside and out, and his eventual redemption. even if i find this record at times to drop pace, it really is flawless otherwise. it felt like a disservice to put this in the 20-10s, bc it’s a good record, but i had to make some compromises and this was one of them. 

RTJ2 - Run The Jewels (2014)

el-p and killer mike are a perfect duo, and the tracks they make together are always total bangers. and for me, RTJ2 is the best overall, with RTJ3 in a close second. it’s hard to put this on the lower half of the list, some of the tracks just don’t work as well as the others, but despite that there’s not really any tracks i hate or dislike on this record, minus maybe crown. the pure aggression in the opening track Jeopardy sets the tone for an aggressive yet highly focused record. This is some of the best rap out there right now if you want some music to fuck shit up to. 

Pure Comedy - Father John Misty (2017)

This record is both hilarious and extremely bleak. Josh Tillman is a master of satire and sarcasm, and Pure Comedy is the peak of his songwriting skills. The title track is one of the best tracks of the decade, period. And he keeps up the momentum on the following few tracks. The main problem with this record is its weaker second half, but even then it’s criminal to suggest that those songs aren’t good regardless. And despite the bleakness, the one line that sticks in my head after all this time is the line this album fades out to: There’s nothing to fear.

Knife Man - AJJ (2011)

Continuing on the trend of folky, satirical, and bleak records, Knife Man is AJJ’s defining record (next to their debut LP). AJJ blends loud, punky anthems with quieter, folk tracks that touch on sensitive issues in a way only AJJ manages to get away with. And there’s some genuine heart mixed in as well, with the final track Big Bird always striking a chord with me. However, I do feel the record is, let’s just say, padded at times in my opinion. Still, I can’t deny how much i enjoy tracks like Gift of the Magi 2, Hate Rain on Me, The Distance, and Skate Park. Speaking of which when I saw AJJ live recently they played none of those songs and that kinda sucked but hey it was like $20 I can’t complain. And speaking of not getting what I wanted...

You Won’t Get What You Want - Daughters (2018)

It was hard choosing between this record and their 2010 self titled record, but in terms of the overall narrative and variety this record shines through. If there was a number 11 spot in this unorganized list this would probably take that spot. It’s noisey, it’s abrasive, and it’s like nothing you’ve heard before unless you’ve listened to Daughter’s previous records. Tracks like The Reason They Hate Me are catchy in the weirdest and most unwelcoming of ways, Less Sex sounds like a long lost Trent Reznor NIN track, and Guest House is a masochistic and gut wrenching finisher. Fantastic record aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

We Cool? - Jeff Rosenstock (2015)

It’s obvious that I had to include this record somewhere on these list. It’s like a more refined version of the sounds that Jeff experimented with on Vacation. Definitely more punk than ska, but still some of those roots still shine through, especially in the track Nausea. Some of Jeff’s best songs are on this record, from the loud opening tracks Get Old Forever and You, In Weird Cities, to tracks dripping with bittersweet and moody lyrics like I’m Serious, I’m Sorry and Polar Bear or Africa. The main reason this record is on the back end of the top 20 is because the deeper cuts on the record do not match the energy and heights of the best tracks. Tracks like All Blissed Out, The Lows, Darkness Records and Beers Again Alone don’t feel like they belong and stick out a bit. They remind me more of the material Jeff put out on his 2012 EP I Look Like Shit. Mind you they aren’t bad tracks, but I’ll be honest I skip them often when listening to the record because i just wanna get back to the good good stuff. 

Sports - Modern Baseball (2012)

Sports is one of the best pop punk records ever, if you can even consider it as such. It’s like a blend of emo and folk punk, and it works so well. A good majority of this record is on my main shuffle playlist. Is it pushing boundaries? Not really, but tracks like Re-Do, Tears Over Beers, and See Ya, Sucker are undeniably catchy and memorable. I NEED MODERN BASEBALL BACK TOGETHER RN. There’s not really anything that wrong with the record, besides maybe lacking in variety, but at 30 minutes, it’s a record that feels nostalgic even on a first listen, and continues to feel that way even after numerous re-listens. Speaking of nostalgia...

The Suburbs - Arcade Fire (2010)

Some background, when I was 13 (circa 2013), I only really listened to whatever my parents put on for me. From my mom, I “inherited” a taste for classic pop and 80s new wave. From my dad, I got metal and hard rock. The first time I made the conscious decision to listen to a record fully, based on my own curiousity, was when I sat and listened to Sgt. Pepper in the summer of 2013, which broadened the scope of what I thought music could even be. And later that year, the first band I got into after The Beatles? Arcade Fire. When I think of my early teens, the memories are set to this record. I remember listening to Ready to Start in my brother’s old hot ass car while driving to the local fair with some friends on a chill fall night, eating tons of junk and staying up past midnight back when doing that was edgy and cool and not a symptom of my depression. 

If I was judging this record solely by its best tracks, it would easily be in the top 3. But I couldn’t place it in my top 10 because, frankly, some of the deeper cuts are lacking. I can’t say I like Deep Blue. I really don’t like Rococo. And Half Light I kills the pace of the record. But man, that title track, Ready to Start, Modern Man, Empty Room, Half Light II, Sprawl II... these songs defined my early teen years. I still tear up listening to the title track. Sure I have to skip a few songs when I re-listen, but I can’t place it any lower or my heart will break. It existing outside of the top 10 already hurts. And that’s all that’s left now. The top 10. 

But first, some random honorable mentions that didn’t make this list:

Sound & Color - Alabama Shakes

Black Star - David Bowie

Saturation II - BROCKHAMPTON

Melophobia - Cage the Elephant

Teens of Style - Car Seat Headrest

How to Leave Town - Car Seat Headrest

Daughters - Daughters

Sunbather - Deafheaven

Bottomless Pit - Death Grips

Year of the Snitch - Death Grips (should be on this list tbh)

Doris - Earl Sweatshirt

I Love You, Honeybear - Father John Misty

Helplessness Blues - Fleet Foxes

Plastic Beach - Gorillaz

Boarding House Reach - Jack White

POST- - Jeff Rosenstock

S/T - Joyce Manor

Firepower - Judas Priest

ye - Kanye West

KIDS SEE GHOSTS - KSG

You Were There - Kill Lincoln

Flying Microtonal Banana - King Gizzard

Infest The Rats’ Nest - King Gizzard

No New World - Mass of the Fermenting Dregs

Bury Me At Makeout Creek - Mitski

Puberty 2 - Mitski

Unsilent Death - Nails

Itekoma Hits - Otoboke Beaver

Morbid Stuff - PUP

A Moon Shaped Pool - Radiohead

RTJ3 - Run the Jewels

Angles - The Strokes

To Be Kind - Swans

Undertale OST - Toby Fox

Scum Fuck Flower Boy - Tyler, The Creator 

Igor - Tyler, The Creator

Weezer (White Album) - Weezer

nightlife - yuragi

#music #2010s

[mojoflower]

Teen Wolf mpreg fic recs (99% Sterek, 1% Steter)

I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus 22 E, 136k, Complete.  “We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“  //  “Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.  //  “He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.  //  Or the one where Derek gets attacked by hunters, ends up with amnesia and forgets Stiles is his mate.

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Stiles, Alpha Derek, but Stiles is a BAMF, BAMF Stiles, presumably Actual Derek is also a bamf, but College Derek is pretty useless, Heh heh

Wow, this story just grabbed me and didn't let me go and now it's the end of a full day and I have no excuse for abandoning everything except that I was really involved and enjoying the plot.  //  Stiles is such a fucking badass, I love this, he's super-smart and strategizes and handles everything that comes up like a pro and it's totally easy to see why they have such a large and powerful pack. 'College Derek', meanwhile, is a complete sexist asshole (with the whole Alpha/omega thing) who says some super hurtful things in the first half out of sheer ignorance mostly -- although occasionally it's spite. Stiles handles it as well as he can, trying to hide that it hurts and striking back because he has backbone for god's sake... but his bondmark is slowly fading and that's terrifying and tragic.  //  Meanwhile, the Silva pack is due to arrive with some manifest bad intentions, and Peter is lurking around stirring up trouble, and it's a really fucking bad time for Derek to not remember who he is, because it makes their pack vulnerable.  //  Great story.

The Lighthouse Keeper by tugela54 E, 75k, Complete.  On a rural island just off Alaska’s northern Inside Passage, stands a centuries old lighthouse - the perfect sanctuary for its keeper to hide when the moon is full, to burn and rage through its cycle with the townsfolk being none the wiser.  //  But then a new resident comes to Beacon Harbour – a bright-eyed young student chasing an elusive whale species – and all of a sudden those thick stone walls seem paper thin…

Bottom Stiles, Like Whoa,  

 Whoa, that was an intense climax, I'm kinda breathless. Great story. Stiles is earnest and funny (and sooo hot for the giant, hairy, handsome man -- when author says size difference they are not messing around and it's mentioned frequently) and Derek is monosyllabic and awkward. They figure it out eventually, and there is hot sex (did I say size difference and hirsuteness?). Laura's a great werewolf-sister (Derek is the only werewolf) and her son Seth is a cutie. The cast of characters (Chris, Jordon, Finstock, Angus, Gladys and the two First People Miriam and Jonah) are interesting and fleshed-out. Love the plot, and the take on Derek's werewolf (not Teen Wolf style), love the First People lore and rituals, love the setting waaay up in Alaska on this tiny island.  //  (Don't let Major Character Death tag scare you, you're gonna be just fine.)

Hey Lover, I Got a Sugarcane by pibroch (littleblackdog) Steter, E, 17k, Complete.  [References to Mpreg rather than straight-up #mpreg]  “Put Peter on the phone,” Stiles says, too sharp to be polite.  //  “What?” Derek sounds completely thrown. “Stiles, I don’t think— Okay, you’re obviously not understanding what’s happening here. Peter isn’t talking. He’s basically just growling at this point, and he’s rounding on anyone that gets too close. He actually bit me when I tried to take back my pillow. I nearly lost a thumb.”  //  “Derek.” The reality of this shitshow of a situation is finally kicking in, undeniably, and Stiles needs to hear Peter’s voice. “Just trust the omega, okay? Tell him it’s me, and give him the damn phone.”  //  ---"Wrangling Rut-Drunk Alpha Boyfriends 101" by Stiles Stilinski, omega and responsible adult person.

I've loved other things I've read by this author

Delicious. And also funny.

I've Got A Sure Thing by skoosiepants  T, 11k, Complete.  Stiles's water breaks ten miles outside of Beacon Hills.

Fox Stiles, Werefox Stiles, Daddy Stiles

Precious: I love the style, it tumbles and tumbles over itself. Stiles is himself. Derek keeps hanging around, and he loves little Princess Leia. Cora keeps laughing at them. Stiles might be a little confused.

******

He calls Derek and says, “I think your entire family is here, dude,” and Derek roars, “What?” and, “Don't call me dude, “ and, “Fuck, I'll be right over.”

Derek shows up in his EMT uniform and with his partner Boyd, stoic and amused, and the wild look in Derek's eyes is probably as close to a panic as Stiles will ever see him in.

Derek says, “Oh my god, Laura,” and grabs for Prin just as Prin launches herself out of Laura's arms toward him. He swings her up in a practiced movement and settles her on his hip and Laura grins so wide her fangs are showing.

“The pack wanted to meet her, even Mom's here,” she says, gesturing toward a big black wolf that looks almost exactly like Derek in wolf form – the wolf lifts her head and sneezes at them, then goes back to nosing through Stiles's DVD collection.

“Mom,” Derek says, and holds Prin up so she hides his face. Prin tugs at his hair and knees him in the eye and giggles when he shoves her up so her tummy is balanced on the top of his head, it's so cute Stiles can hardly stand it, his life is insane.

“Okay,” Stiles says, clapping his hands together, “I'll make tea.”

I don't think that means what you think it means by ThroughTheTulips  M, 21k, 7 works, Complete.  Ever notice how aliens have mostly similar customs to humans in Stargate? There never seem to be words or concepts that just don't translate. For the most part that makes sense given how they were spread deliberately across the universe, but there should be more weird stuff.  //  So I made some. This is very fluffy and ridiculous. Enjoy.

I simply can't with this. What an unanticipated, hysterical delight.

 I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter  E, 52k, Complete (series is 132k of deliciousness)  [Implied Mpreg, rather than actual #mpreg].  Stiles finds a baby on the porch.  //  It looks exactly like him.  //  Well, this is awkward.

Favorite, read again, still a favorite

Funny and unique and gripping (and there's one part that's simply fucking heartbreaking, god every.time. I bawl like a baby). I love this so much. It's totally one of my return-again-and-again-comfort-fics (even though there's very little that's slow-paced and domestic about it).

 monday i can fall apart but by friday i'm in love by tryslora  M, 6k, Complete.  It's just past five in the morning and Stiles is barely awake, wearing only sleep pants that hang low below his pregnant belly, and he can't get the damned brand new jar of decaf coffee open. But he has a neighbor, and he's too tired to think that waking someone else up at this hour might not be the best (or politest) of ideas.

Alpha Derek, Omega Stiles, Caretaking,  

lol.  short and funny and sweet and Alpha!Derek is a caretaker (and pregnant omega!Stiles is a sass-spewing dork)

 finger on the trigger and all fired up by tryslora  E, 6k, Complete  [Implied Potential Mpreg rather than #mpreg].  Derek goes undercover to expose a drug trafficking ring running inside of a porn studio. What he finds is Stiles.

Hot and funny.

 I'm Not Immune by moodwriter  E, 24k, Complete.  “Did they inject anything into you? You can hold me back. You can stop me. I can’t stop you.” Stiles is in full blown panic mode now.  //  The one where Stiles and Derek get kidnapped, and sex needs to happen for reasons.

Great story, grows as it's written. Follows a lot of emotional development, tangled in the godawfulfucking situation they're trapped in.

Fire, Fury, and Flame by IAmAVeronica  E, 125k, Complete.  Stiles Stilinski was never going to be the omega who got knocked up right after high school, and then he's accidentally artificially inseminated with a stranger's sperm.  //  Awesome.  //  And the father of Stiles's baby just so happens to be Derek Hale. Half-feral, quite possibly a murderer, and pursued by a gleefully sadistic band of hunters who are only too eager to use Stiles and his baby to hit Derek right where it hurts.  //  Joy.

Omega Stiles, Alpha Derek, Mpreg, Kidnapping, Stalking, cultural ramifications of a/b/o

So, Stiles, the omega-rights activist who never wants anything to do with an Alpha and wants to avoid any of that biological imperative bullshit, winds up pregnant a la Jane the Virgin. BUT. Derek is unwilling to commit, or even to have Stiles tell anyone who the baby-Daddy is. This could be because a complete psychopath has him in her targets.

Kate is one fuck-scary villain, just, crazy as a bag of cats and vicious with it, and the filth that comes out of her mouth is truly chilling.

Stiles gets kidnapped pretty early on, which is frightening enough, and then she's back for another try. At that point, he's kidnapped again, this time by Derek, who whisks him across the country to the Preserve, a werewolf compound in Maine. Here, Stiles is the only human, pregnant and vulnerable and trying to make a temporary life until the baby is born. But will it only be temporary?

There's love, sociopolitical musings, lots of angst, lots of danger. The baby is born about 3/4 of the way through the story, and then Kate comes around to terrorize everyone again. Even though Derek and Stiles are living in a house that's reinforced with bars and a panic room, she still manages to nearly burn Stiles and the baby…

 Rescue Me (& Take Me In Your Arms) by tumtatumtum  E, 34k, Complete (series is 37k so far).  Just when Stiles is starting to reach panic-attack levels of stress, a leather jacket and firm thigh are pressed right up next to him, and an arm is casually thrown over his shoulder. Stiles looks up to thank this kind person who is saving his life, and suddenly forgets what air is.  //  Because HOT. DAMN. Call the police and the fire-man, this guy is smoking.  //  Or the AU where Derek helps save Stiles from an ex, and a steamy BDSM relationship ensues- with feelings all over the place.

Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sub Stiles, Dom Derek

Whoooaa, Nellie. Strap in for a ride, folks. Hot and also hilarious, which is a difficult combo to achieve. Loads of D/s sexy times. Stiles is precious. Derek is possessive and a wee bit insecure. They're awful fun to watch together.  ***The one where Stiles is Alpha Mate which magically means he starts leaking slick outta his ass, even tho he's human.

*******

[Kept trying to find this fic using key words bar and boyfriend and ex-boyfriend... which finally got me there. It's SO worth a re-read or ten.] I also tagged it with fake/pretend relationships, since it's fake for about the first 5 minutes, until Derek puts his hand on the back of Stiles' neck and Stiles moans and MELTS and lo, romantic and sexual interest is born.)

 It's a mad, mad world by ElisAttack  E, 74k, Complete [No #mpreg]  "They call him the Feral Wolf." The man laughs hysterically as Stiles backs away from him, fear coursing through his veins. "Feral Hale. Do you know why? Huh?" The man creeps closer, testing the restraint of his chains, white talcum falling from his skin, swirling in the air like the dust devils plaguing the wasteland. "Because he's fucking mad."  //  Or the one where Stiles is a prisoner looking to return home, but to do so, he may have to rely on a questionable drifter.

Really enjoyed this. Very interesting take on alpha/omega, haven't seen it before. And yay for apocalyptic mad max-type world. Scary as fuck.

a little advice for aspiring fires by The Byger (Byacolate)  E, 42k, Complete.  Regardless of his sadly lacking social circle, Stiles was going to have to get some physical contact or he was going to explode. Seriously. It’d be messy and Derek would probably become even more emotionally constipated having to clean up little bits of Stiles from his pristine walls and furniture.

Touch-Starved, Skin Hunger, Omega Stiles, Sassy Stiles, stiles talks CONSTANTLY, Mpreg, Kidfic

But We're Still Sleeping Like We're Lovers by CharWright5  E, 110k, Complete  [No #mpreg].  There are several things Stiles Stilinski knows to be facts: he's a werecoyote like his parents; his twin sister Malia could use a filter more than him; he's an Omega and terrified of his upcoming heat; and Derek Hale-McCall will never see him as anything more than his kid brother's best friend. Doesn't stop Stiles from asking the Alpha to help him during his heat. Or from developing some serious feelings that go beyond the bedroom. Basically, he's totally screwed, in more ways than one.

Fox Stiles, Creature Stiles, he's not a fox, but when I'm cruising that tag, I'll like to read this story

Idiot boys. Hot sex. More idiot boys. Angst. Fluff.

Jurisdiction by elisera  M, 7k, Complete (series complete at 20k).  John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before.  //  But the temper is still there.  //  He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders.

Papa Stilinski is a total badass and mmm mmmm mmmm, so is Derek. Stiles has got some awesome muscle looking out for his best interests.

Into Something New by marguerite_26  E, 9k, Complete.  [Implied Mpreg rather than #mpreg].  Something is happening to Stiles. He’s losing time. Something is messing with his head, with his body. Maybe if he felt better he’d think to be worried.

 Nowhere Man by 1lostone  E, 76k, Complete.  [Mpreg (off screen)]  When Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, he does it without a backwards glance. For two years he is happy on the other side of the country- until someone targets not only him, but his daughter.  //  Unfortunately, the asshole bodyguard his dad hired to make sure he gets back home is none other than Derek Hale. And that's really not very good for either of them.

1lostone is, as always, the goddess of the lengthy, painful, disturbing, angsty, violent, sexy story. God, I love it.

The Second Coming (of Werewolf Jesus) by lupinus, uraneia  E, 40k, Complete.  Stiles was enjoying his senior year until his crazy English teacher decided he made the best candidate to gestate Derek's kid. Now Stiles is a seventeen-year-old pregnant dude and he and Derek have to figure their shit out, because in nine months they are going to be tied together for the rest of their lives.

Sweet: very fluffy and domestic.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)  E, 63k, Complete.  (Part of series A/B/O bodice rippers) [Mpreg, Discussion of mpreg, no men were pregnant in the making of this fic].  Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.  //  now with explicit epilogue - the rest of the story is teen rated though, so if you don't like the idea of explicit sex in your bodice rippers - just don't read that bit.

Great story.

The Well of Living Waters by kalpurna  E, 30k, Complete.  King Derek takes a consort.

 Within His Power by NoBezel  E, 69k, Complete.  [Discussion of mpreg]  Derek is a wolfish cyborg, brother of the Governor of California, heir to the Hale fortune. Stiles is a un-sequenced human in a world of designer DNA. When Derek is forced to choose a mate, no one expects him to choose Stiles. To be fair, Derek doesn't expect him to say no.

Pretty fucking phenomenal. Lots of world-building and political intrigue. If you're in it for the tropes, you'll be disappointed, but otherwise it's intense and dense and lovely.

The Threat of Human Sacrifice by vampireisthenewblack  E, 45k, Complete.  The sheriff bought a crib and made Derek help him put it together. Stiles thought of Hemingway and the shortest, most heartbreaking story ever told, and dismantled it on his own while Derek was out.  //  [The one where Stiles getting knocked up is the least of his worries.]

So excellent and intense.

The Honey and the Sting by the_ragnarok  M, 19k, Complete (series still wip)  Derek didn't remember what happened when he went into heat. He could only assume the worst. The truth may be stranger than that.

Beautiful.

Tiny Houses by ohmyjetsabel  E, 77k, Complete.  "So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.  //  God, he dreams.  //  He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Fuck.

 Shifts by gryvon  E, 15k, Complete.  Stiles has what he's always secretly wanted - he's in a relationship with Derek and he's one of Derek's betas - but all that gets turned upside down when Gerard kidnaps him and his unexpected baby.

Who doesn't want Stiles having emotionally confusing sex with Derek, getting knocked up unbeknownst to either of them, and then kidnapped for the future baby? I mean, really. It's classic.

A Mating Moon by unpossible  E, 37k, Complete.  (Series 55k so far.) [this is not mpreg, just to be clear]  “Hey, Scott, so, I uh, there’s this amazingly hot guy and I’m uh, gonna spend the weekend with him but, you know, just to be careful, I’m sending you his picture, so if by some terrible chance my bloated corpse shows up sometime Monday, just, y’know pass this along to the authorities.” He pauses. “Uh. Kidding?” and then hangs up with a rush of air.  //  “That is the worst voicemail in the history of voicemails,” Derek says.

fucking fantastic

 (Once in a) Blue Moon by clarkoholic, skywardsmiles  E, 60k, Complete.  (Series 63k so far.)  Stiles and Derek are getting along, but they’re not a family, and they’re sure as hell not mates. Christ, they’re basically just two stupid guys who happened to get pregnant because of a full moon and sheer dumb luck.

Oh, the angst, the pining, the guilt, the blame, the anger. Total pain-fest while we watch Stiles nearly die from the burden of the pregnancy. Lovely sweet ending, of course.

Tried and Tested Series by dancinbutterfly  E, 53k, 12 works, Complete.  In which Derek has a sex emergency with unplanned results, Stiles could be the baby daddy on one of those horrible MTV pregnancy shows, Sheriff Stilinski takes in strays and life in Beacon Hills never has a dull moment, not even when things are calm.

Really wonderful series. Stopped at Part 11, so am waiting for updates. A good investment of time, even incomplete. ;D  //  [Huh, evidently I missed an update somewhere along the line!]

In the Solstice of our Hearts by ravingrevolution  E, 73k, Complete.  "You're not putting that up your butt," Scott told him flatly and Stiles couldn't stop the pissed off whine he made, but his friend continued. "Stiles, you can't put that up your butt, you know that. Your butt won't be ready for anything to go in it until-"  //  "Okay, okay!" he said, flailing his hands to stop his friend's lecture. "Message received, no butt stuff until I'm pounced on by some freaking animal in the forest and ravished to within an inch of my life. Got it. Thanks, Scotty, I mean heaven forbid I actually try to take control of my life and give myself a fighting chance or anything."  //  "Not all alphas are animals," Scott said quietly.  //  Maybe he was right, but Stiles wasn't holding his breath.

Omega Stiles, Berserk Stiles, omega beast, everyone's a virgin, Hurt/Comfort, care taking

The one where there's a Mate Run in the woods, and Derek with his pack manage to frighten Stiles up a tree from whence he falls and is impaled on a branch (ouch!) and then they spend a week in a cave while Stiles heals. Meanwhile, Kate and her cronies are sneaking into the month-long Mate Run with the intent to a)finally kill Derek and b) sneakily bond with some omegas. So Stiles goes berserk, which is the omega form of a hulking violence monster, to protect Derek. (Story could have stopped there, but carries on for another 1/3.)

#mpreg #mpreg fic rec #mpreg stiles #mpreg sterek #mpreg fic recs #mojo's fic recs #christyimnot #christyimnotred

[sinceileftyoublog]

Riot Fest Sucks

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Riot Fest Sucks. It’s a tongue-in-cheek phrase that occupies multiple meanings and connotations, referencing the organizer’s self-deprecating recognition that they’re not gonna make everyone happy with the lineup and scheduling conflicts. It’s the name of a Goose Island Beer Co. pale ale made for the Fest, at times served lukewarm, its $10 price tag a symptom of a somewhat pretend punk festival bombarded by corporate sponsors whose presence fails to belie the lack of close, cheap parking, credit card lines, and functioning ATMs. Oh, and Riot Fest Sucks because hours into it my girlfriend sprained her ankle exiting the Vans popup experience down the 20-foot fire pole with no soft landing. So unlike previous years, this year, I left after a couple sets on Friday.

I won’t get there yet--first things first, Caroline Rose. When I walked up to her stage and heard Natalie Prass playing on the loudspeaker, I thought what I initially did upon first seeing Rose’s name in small print on the lineup poster: “Why not Pitchfork?” But as soon as her band gradually came out--first "nicest legs in the band” drummer Will Morse, then “handsome and single” bassist Mike Dondero, then “best friend” Abbie Morin--and started playing a surf rock melody as Rose entered, it was clear that her unique mix of electro pop and retro rock--not to mention her early folk and country material--had her suited for a festival that embraces classic sounds. They began with new song “Everybody’s Making Out”, potentially from the new album she just finished, and then “Cry!”, the band providing a plinky breakdown to the LONER standout. Rose alternated between genuinely appreciative of a fairly large crowd coming out early on a Friday to hear some upbeat but sad songs, and being playful and goofy--essentially conducting the band with her feet while playing keys on another new spacey synth pop song, all before noticing the camera and posing as if she was in a photoshoot. Her joking fit the sarcasm of songs like “Money”, which was interrupted by Rose chugging a 312 and barely smashing the can on her head and then playing Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” on kazoo. Rose is as fun at a festival as she is forlorn on record.

But then the incident happened. I listened to a remarkably nonstop and consistent Hot Snakes set through the medical tent next to the stage as my girlfriend iced her foot, leaving for urgent care right as Neck Deep’s catchy but juvenile pop punk began, not to return until mid way through Turnstile on Saturday. Thankfully, we were able to rent a wheelchair for the next couple days. Navigating the grounds with a wheelchair was a challenge, parking for free on Roosevelt before going through the grass of Douglas Park and the various street curbs separating the Ferris Wheel and the Rebel Stage from the main area. For what it’s worth, save for a couple unsavory comments (“You’ve got him trained well!”), most people were extremely aware and respectful, moving out of the way when necessary, and even helping us out of the mud. We chose not to get ADA access next to the sound stage until Sunday, partially because we were unaware of the possibility, but also because we wanted to be with friends and in the crowd. And from my brief experience, Riot Fest and its attendees walked the walk as much as they talk the talk about acceptance and zero tolerance for discrimination against differently abled bodies.

Speaking of Turnstile, what I saw from them was a perfect mix of rap rock, hardcore, and nu metal, favoring songs from last year’s Time & Space like “Generator”, short ditty “Bomb”, and standout “Moon”, the last played twice, once regularly and once a capella by vocalist Brendan Yates to close the set. It was much more inventive and progressive than the band who commenced immediately afterward, nonetheless Riot Fest staple Gwar. This time around, most of Gwar’s set surprisingly focused on the generic thrash music, not as many antics, just costumed men playing and spraying blood willy nilly as opposed to as part of a plot. (Except when they killed Donald Trump--that was great.) It’s not Riot Fest without Gwar, but at this point, their sick jokes and edgelord humor is appealing mostly to dudes like the one in the Joe Rogan 2020 shirt I saw leaving the set.

We then traveled to the secluded Rebel stage to catch supergroup The Damned Things, who thankfully came on late, since on the way we got caught up in one of many “What happened?!?” conversations with a friend. The band first formed in 2010 to release their debut album Ironiclast, then consisting of Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley of Fall Out Boy, Scott Ian and Rob Caggiano of Anthrax, and Keith Buckley and Josh Newton of Every Time I Die. Nine years later, they’ve released their second album High Crimes, and this time around, Caggiano and Newton have left, and in has come Alkaline Trio’s Dan Andriano. At Riot Fest, they played half songs from the first record, half from the new one, including the first four tracks of the latter, which showcase equally what The Damned Things do well and where they fall into the traps of MOR rock. “Cells” is more raw than you’d expect from a band with FOB and Alkaline Trio members, both on record and live, and is a surprisingly great introductory song to the album. The other songs they played from High Crimes, including cheesy cheerleader chanting “Something Good” and “Omen”, whose lead riff can’t decide whether it rips off Tame Impala’s “Elephant” or Muse’s “Uprising”, could have been ditched in favor of record standouts like “Carry a Brick” or “Young Hearts”. The former combines the vocal urgency from Buckley that we’re used to with ETID, with Anthrax-worthy thrash metal, while the latter (along with the record’s centerpiece “Storm Charmer”) interpolate a menacing blues rock stomp that could have been emphasized over the pop punk sheen of the Fest. Not to mention “Let Me Be (Your Girl)”, whose music is straightforward but whose lyrics feature gender inversion when assumed sung from the perspective of the lead singer. I left enjoying the set but wishing they had played for longer so I could hear the deeper cuts.

Album score: 6.3/10

Of course, the scheduling gods put Testament, also known as “if Metallica was still good,” during The Damned Things, so we had time for just a bathroom break before catching The Struts. In case you’ve never heard of them, The Struts are English glam rockers, fronted by a man who wears a shirt with batwing sleeves, who fancy themselves the lovechild of Queen and Def Leppard but end up falling closer to someone like The Darkness--which is not a bad thing! Their second album Young & Dangerous is catchy and somewhat undeniable, and the band’s fanbase came out to support them at Riot Fest, British flag in tow. It was probably the crowd’s enthusiasm that fed off lead singer Luke Spiller that made the set infectious; “If you’re not ready to dance and sing, then you might as well fuck off,” he proudly proclaimed, a nice, clear contrast to drummer Rafe Thomas oozing out the words “Hello Chicago” in the most droll voice possible. Sure, the lyrics “I bet your body’s so sweet” are even more cringey in 2019 than they would have been in the 70′s and 80′s, and the “instructing the crowd to get down to the ground” maneuver is pretty tired, but it was refreshing to see a band so unabashedly and unironically unashamed of their influences. “Don't wanna live as an untold story / Rather go out in a blaze of glory,” Spiller sang on the opening lines of “Could Have Been Me”, and upon ending the song, he instructed the crowd: “Ladies and gentlemen, remember our names!” It felt like a scene from a movie, and I couldn’t help but think that such cinematic flair is exactly what the band is going for.

I had time to catch a little bit of underrated electro pop band Pvris and pick up an Orange Wit from All Rise Brewing Co (another Riot Fest staple whose most popular beer has actually improved over the years) before catching Wu-Tang Clan, almost by default. The legendary group seems to be Riot Fest’s token hip hop booking every other year, and so I’ve seen them play Enter the 36 Chambers about 36 times. They ended up doing it again even though not billed to do a complete album set, but was I really going to see Rise Against, Manchester Orchestra, or Andrew W.K. over some of the greatest artists, let alone the greatest hip hop collective, of all time? I’ll take time number 37.

Then came what I knew was going to be the most difficult decision of the weekend, and one I kept thinking about even after it was made. Thrash metal titans Slayer were playing their final Chicago area show at Riot Fest, and their other supposed farewell show I saw last year was phenomenal. Then again, who am I to believe that this would be the time Slayer would finally stop cashing it in and retire? Instead, I opted to see something I very likely would not see again: Bloc Party playing their 2005 debut Silent Alarm in full. Based on how surprisingly great their Lollapalooza 2016 set was, I was eager to hear a set filled with, uh, only good songs, and the idea of the first sounds of the set being the echo of the opening drums to “Like Eating Glass” traversing through the crowd, was one that supplied me with a rare kind of glee. So when the band came out donning masks, launching into the album’s slow final song “Compliments”, I realized that what I initially heard as speculation--that they would be playing the record in reverse--would be true. There went my dream. The sounds and images of fire coming from Slayer’s stage filled me with regret.

But as the set went on, I realized that the choice was one that was both strategic on the part of the band, making the crowd stay to hear favorites like “Banquet”, and beneficial to the crowd. Each song was more energetic and frankly better than the previous one, from the sweet dancefloor melancholy of “This Modern Love” to the stop-starts of “Positive Tension” and “Helicopter”. Of course, “Like Eating Glass” proved to be a worthy singalong, everyone around me air drumming like nobody was watching. And I even got to see Slayer close with “Angel of Death” on the way out!

With one full day of Riot Fest finally in the books and surprisingly sore from navigating a wheelchair over patches of grass, mud, and curbs, I was thankful that the first batch of sets we were interested in seeing on Sunday was at the same stage, where I could grab beer and food and come back, and we could switch off between the grass and the ADA stage (which, awesomely, had free water). Arriving to hear the end of wildly cool and catchy Chicago post-punk band Ganser, we sat and waited for Nick Lowe with Los Straitjackets (and watched a different kind of “jacket” swarm unfortunate members of the crowd who mistakenly wore too much cologne). With the masked instrumental rockers (another band with masks?!?), two years ago Lowe released an album of instrumental versions of some of his best songs, so I was curious to hear how they would fare as his backing band. They got a slowed down “So It Goes” out of the way, as if to say to casual fans in the crowd, “I dare you to leave,” before burning through a variety of early era Lowe classics like “Without Love”, given a country spin by the band. The band delivered a mid-set instrumental performance as Lowe took a break, showing their guitar chops and stop-on-a-dime dynamism, before Lowe came back for “Half a Boy and Half a Man” and the other song everybody was waiting for, “Cruel To Be Kind”. Before playing set closer “Heart of the City”, Lowe said to the crowd, “Thank you, music lovers!” the quintessential statement from a true “music critic’s band,” but one with the pop songwriting talent to reach beyond.

I took the one-two punch of the “Save a lollipop, suck a dick” t-shirt and the tardiness and subsequent flatness of The Village People’s set as a sign that I should leave and walk by Less Than Jake opening their set with Back to the Future music, be mad again at the scheduling gods for putting the amazing-sounding Ride at the opposite end of the park from where Guided By Voices was about to play, and grab some delicious Harold’s Chicken for myself and unfortunately protein-lacking pad thai for my girlfriend. But there’s nothing like GBV to fix a less-than-ideal situation or improve an already good one. “How do you follow The Village People?” Robert Pollard hypothetically asked as the band went on. “With the village idiots!” With even less time to play than they had at Summerfest, GBV churned out practically all hits, starting with their usual set closer “Glad Girls” and revealing a barrage of known live gems--“Cut-Out Witch”, “Motor Away”, “The Best of Jill Hives”--and some they haven’t played in a while, like Isolation Drills’ “should have been a hit” “Chasing Heather Crazy” and “Echos Myron” prelude “Yours to Keep”, during which a crowd member actually blew a whistle when Pollard sang, “the whistle blows.” The latter was part of the band’s Bee Thousand finale, giving a crowd of casual fans exactly what they wanted and pleasing diehards no matter what.

Deciding to forego sprinting and catching any of Against Me!’s full albums (two of them!) set or Dave Hause & The Mermaid, I planted myself in a spot where I could see Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson’s beehives. The B-52′s followed a recipe for success in their set, leading off with track one of their debut, placing one hit early (“Private Idaho”), segueing a couple more from their debut into “Roam”, saving the two you knew they were gonna save for last. (Though I didn’t know they’d introduce “Love Shack” with War’s “Low Rider”.) The band was appropriately absurd and silly, frontman Fred Schneider’s sprechgesang adding hilarity to his response to Pierson’s “Something’s on fire in that pizza joint!” (“That’s my dinner!” he responded.) After the band ended with “Rock Lobster”, Pierson broke character and said two very serious things: 1) “Please vote!” and 2) “Go see Patti!”

And Patti Smith we did see, in all her glory. Her voice was as strong as ever on “People Have The Power”, “Dancing Barefoot”, “Free Money”, “Because the Night”, and “Gloria”. Unfortunately, almost half of her set was covers: “Are You Experienced?”, The Rolling Stones’ “I’m Free”, “Walk on the Wild Side”, “After the Gold Rush”, and for some reason, Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning”. I would rather have heard something from her excellent later career albums like 2012′s Banga.

Hey, but she got a tribute during The Raconteurs’ set, as they chanted a little “Gloria” during “Top Yourself”. Along with shouting out headliners Bikini Kill (and the fact that they call God a “she” on new album closer “Thoughts and Prayers”), was it all part of Jack White’s plan to reveal himself as a feminist punk? I’m not sure; I do know that sociopolitical ideas aside, Help Us Stranger is a bit underwhelming as compared to the previous two Raconteurs releases, which were no White Stripes albums themselves. In any case, the band gave a very good set, because Jack White live is not to be reckoned with. The generic charge-up of album opener “Bored And Razed” was a buzzing jaunt on stage, and the blue-eyed soul of “Now That You’re Gone” was actually a nice change of pace from the blues-rock mashing of “Top Yourself”. On record, though it’s a welcome Ryan Adams diss track, “Don’t Bother Me” is straight up annoying, the repetition of the title after each line well-intentioned but flat--again, live, it somehow worked as a piece of absurdism. Thankfully, the band did play some of Stranger’s highlights, like the beautifully melancholy “Only Child” and power pop jam “Sunday Driver”. I wish they had replaced the comparatively generic “Somedays (I Don’t Feel Like Trying)” with catchy punk dirge “Live a Lie” or “Thoughts and Prayers”. The latter is the best song on Help Us Stranger. From the title, you think White might be trying to comment on gun control, but the song is at heart about life, a zooming folk odyssey rife with synths and fiddle and mandolin. “There’s got to be a better way / To talk to God and hear her say / ‘There are reasons why it is this way’,” White sings. It would have been an appropriate Riot Fest song: realistic, yet inspiring.

Album score: 6.3/10

But it was Bikini Kill’s triumphant reunion that was the perfect way to end the weekend, with dizzying instrumentation courtesy of Tobi Vail’s drums, Kathi Wilcox’s bass, and Kathleen Hanna’s guitar and siren of a howl. You knew they would sound great and play everything you wanted, from “Rebel Girl” to “Demi Rep”, the latter of which I hope will expose a new generation of fans to the band as the theme song to Hulu’s excellent PEN15. But the most fitting, even if not entirely poignant, was Hanna’s commentary, decrying “Let’s take this country back” white feminists and men who think they know everything, calling out rape culture more explicitly than anybody at the entire fest. “I’m sure Slayer talked about this a lot,” she quipped at one point. But it was a thought-provoking off-handed comment, one that makes me look forward to future lineups. Forget my forced symbolism of a $10 dollar beer. And I know the inherent problem of having a private, very white festival in a public park in a neighborhood made up of predominantly people of color, is not going to go away as long as the fest stays in said park. But Riot Fest can make a statement with the curation. Do they continue to market to nostalgia with minimal radical politics? Or will the festival live up to the name and, in their own words, stop sucking?

#riot fest #live music #caroline rose #hot snakes #turnstile #gwar #the damned things #the struts #wu-tang clan #bloc party #nick lowe #los straitjackets #guided by voices #the b-52's #album review #patti smith #the raconteurs #bikini kill #testament #pvris #slayer #ganser #less than jake #ride #against me! #dave hause #goose island beer co. #all rise brewing co #mike dondero #will morse

[siyeonrk]

MGA SEASON FIVE !      EP. 2 → PART ONE: MAIN SKILL CHALLENGE       ( SINGING ONE 0:59 - 2:59 )

she’s never felt as nervous as sitting amongst so many talented people waiting for each name to be called. for a moment, she’s bitter that her family name hadn’t been ahn or bae so the metaphorical band-aid could be ripped off early, but at least she isn’t yoon siyeon. a silver lining amongst her sweaty palms and trembling fingers, perhaps, but it isn’t enough, especially as they reach the nohs and she knows park must be next.

there’s no doubt in her mind that they’ll skip straight past her name. after all, hadn’t it been a miracle that she’d gotten here in the first place? being part of the top hundred ( for whatever reason ) had already been barely believable, but getting any further than this— isn’t it impossible? but then they skip straight past jeno and siyeon’s eyes widen and her jaw drops as she looks over at him, unsure how to read his expression. if they eliminated jeno, who undeniably brought far more to the competition than she did, there’s no way— but she does and she feels like her heart stops, her breath caught in her throat. 

and then the guilt settles in. not just for jeno, but for all the contestants who were easily more talented than her, more passionate, more desperate for this chance. she’s so grateful, of course, and still in shock long after the recording ends and they’re all sent home, but she can’t help the lingering thoughts that there are people who felt like this was their last chance or worse, their only chance, that she has taken the place of. 

“they chose you for a reason. they didn’t choose them for a reason. it might not make a lot of sense to you why, but they know what they’re doing.” her grandmother reassures her when they watch the episode together on the following saturday. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

she finally decides on a song for the next round on sunday morning. spending the last few days testing out different tracks from her endless spotify playlists, she’d become so overwhelmed to the point where she almost resorted to picking one from a hat, but the idea alone makes her grimace. putting her position in the show in the hands of fate seems like a risky move; siyeon’s never had much faith in letting things happen as the world intends. if you want something, you work for it, you don’t wait for it to fall into your lap, after all. 

it’s still a slower, softer song like the tracks she’s performed before. this time, however, it’s a piano ballad entirely in english. whether or not the choice to sing in a foreign language will backfire on her she doesn’t know, though she can’t imagine it would. even if they can’t understand the words, hopefully the emotion she intends to lace into her voice will be enough to move those watching regardless. 

her mirror is her audience for the following few days. at first, seeing her own expressions reflected back to her makes her cheeks flush to match her vibrant hair, but eventually, she grows used to the lines on her forehead as she puts her all into singing each word. she becomes familiar with the way her eyes delicately close towards the end of the pre-chorus, with the way her heart hammers in her chest as she belts out the outro.

as the filming nears, she becomes more energised, more nervous but excited. she has a good feeling about her performance — that even if she doesn’t make it to the next round, she’ll have at least stood and given her all, given something that she’s proud of. 

when she arrives and takes her seat, flattening her dress beneath her and over her lap, the nerves ultimately begin to take control. her eagerness to perform had dwindled seeing the forty-nine chairs laid out for the other contestants, some already in their places, and the five ceo’s seats, looming over them. singing for them will get easier, she’s sure, but for now, it’s still terrifying. they’ve seen, worked with, the best of the best and here she is; not a formal singing lesson to her name, barely even a singer at all, and yet standing on stage ( in due course, anyway ) and silently begging for a chance to continue progressing through such a heated competition. 

surely, this has to be the end of her journey here, right? she closes her eyes momentarily, stares down at the floor to recompose herself. 

eventually, filming starts. 

she’s fourteenth of twenty-one singers to go up if she remembers correctly. again, comfortably in the middle, with enough people before her to psych her out, but enough after that at least she doesn’t have everyone to follow on from. ( although, on the other hand, her performance would’ve been the freshest in their mind from singers, but she figures that with all the dancers and rappers still to go after them, it won’t make any difference. ) 

“park siyeon.” her name has never sounded so unfamiliar. she almost doesn’t realise it’s her turn, almost doesn’t move to take the stage once the previous girl has taken her seat again. she tugs on the bottom of her dress as she makes her way there, stands ready in her spot with a microphone in her hand. 

before the music can start, she transports herself to her bedroom in front of the mirror. she’s just singing to herself again, to her audience of old childhood teddy bears and her grandma who thinks siyeon doesn’t know she has her ear pressed to her bedroom door. she sighs an inaudible breath out, moving the microphone to her mouth only when she’s done. 

“hello, I’m park siyeon,” she announces in a smaller voice than usual from her. usually, however, she isn’t stood before fifty-four watchful eyes and countless cameras. “I’ll be singing one by lewis capaldi.” she shuffles on her feet, waits alertly for the music to start. she only has a single note, a single second to prepare herself to sing, after all. the worst thing she could do now is miss her opening cue. 

she gave you love, but it wasn't enough you had your mind set out on other things can't sleep at night, now you're paying the price you let another come and take your place

english, having been her primary language for the better part of three of the last four years, nearly sounds more comfortable on her tongue than her native. it flows smoothly, confidence spilling out of her perfect pronunciation, syllables clear and accent distinct. she’d perhaps had preferred a tinge to her voice not so ‘posh’, but how can she have avoided picking it up at boarding school? she loved her friends back in england but she couldn’t deny that they weren’t all the stereotypical queen’s english rich kids she’d seen in movies. that was their charm, though, and now it’s her’s, her voice unique against the other contestants. she doesn’t think it’ll give her much of an edge but every little helps, right? 

the song allows her to fully experiment with runs, lines often ending in drawn-out notes that the original singer flaunts his own colour through. her voice is softer than his as she moves through the second ( but her first ) verse, but it doesn’t take long for it to pick up both in volume and power. that’s where it stands out so starkly from the songs she’d sung previously. whilst it still has its ups and downs, a ballad such as this requires her to put a little more oomph into her tone than before. instead of making her audience feel relaxed or happy, he wants them to feel her gratitude — the singer’s gratitude for the man who didn’t realise what he had until she was gone, until she met the singer. siyeon hasn’t been through anything like that before, can’t completely relate to the emotions he’s feeling, but she knows she doesn’t have to have. what’s important is that she can convey it regardless, and she thinks of other things she’s grateful for that she could have easily lost or never had. her grandmother’s thriving health now that she’s here to help around the house. this opportunity. the love her parents showed her growing up, their support with this show, with any dream she’s ever had when they could have easily demanded she followed in their footsteps, been the heir to their business that they had been for her mother’s parents. as always, her eyes flutter closed as she moves through the pre-chorus, her voice fluctuating through strong and soft as she draws from all the fluttering in her heart and the nerves in her stomach. 

you don't know what you got till it's gone know when it's right till it's wrong in search of perfect when you had it with you all along you broke her heart down with ease now I'm pickin' up every piece you must be so hard to please

she takes a deep breath as she transitions into the chorus, finally hitting — so far — the highest notes and strongest belts. for others, perhaps this would be a walk in the park, but for siyeon, it’s meticulously practised, it’s smoothly executed thanks to countless hours repeating it over and over until it had been perfect and then over and over again to make sure it’s always flawless. hard work pays off, she reminds herself. viewers don’t want to see someone who can already do everything perfectly, they want to see growth, effort, passion. or maybe she’s just telling herself that. 

throughout the week, she’d tried her to best to push away her urge and instinct to belt the final word of the chorus a little too fiercely. her fear of falling flat overwhelms her each time, so much so that sometimes she doesn’t even realise she’s done it until she’s reaching the higher notes later in the song and realises it’d all been the same power instead of allowing the end to be the true climax of the song. it takes all of her focus and that becomes easier in the comfort of her bedroom, but even as she imagines she’s still there, she isn’t and her nerves push her voice a little louder, a little harsher than it needs to be as she repeats the last word, building up to drop back down for the bridge. 

I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

finally, the small contrast in the track arrives and allows her once again to experiment a little with what her voice can do. her control isn’t anything special but it’s enough to do a couple of fancy tricks even if they could be better thought out, better performed. realistically, she should have stuck to the original, copied it perfectly so she wouldn’t embarrass herself with a potential voice break or a flat note, but there’s nothing impressive about that in her eyes, especially with a song so easy to play with. when there are so many opportunities to add your own colour, if she didn’t, she already knows they’d ask her why. she’d rather do it slightly wrong but try than disappoint by not. maybe that’s her first mistake. maybe that’s not her first mistake, but amongst many. honestly, even with her eyes having reopened during the chorus, contact made with the judges, she can’t think about anything else but getting through this in one piece. anything she’s already sung is forgotten, only what’s spilling from her lips at the time and what’s to come important to her. 

thank you to the one who caused her heart to break oh thank you for giving me a soul to save thank you to the one who let her get away

following the bridge, the song drops down to its quietest, softest tone and so does her own voice. it’d been a little too deep for her initially during practice, but by now, she’s found a happy place where she can still capture the mood of such a drastic change, yet confidently pull off the vibe the verse requires. 

it only lasts a few seconds before she immediately builds back up to the chorus, her expression, her eyes finally conveying the song’s full desperate gratitude, the immense love the singer has for the woman who has captured his heart. she wonders if she’ll ever experience love like that, like something out of a movie. she’s still young, though; she has so much more to focus on for now, like getting through to the end of this song, to hearing the last piano note echo out over the venue. 

you know I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's

oh I wish I could say thank you for all the mistakes thank you for all of the pain I guess somebody else's loss is another's gain I'm saying thank you to the one who let her get away, away

she’s breathing heavily when she finally finishes, her back immediately bending into a bow. she doesn’t know how well she’s done, whether she made any glaring mistakes, but it hardly matters. if this is the end of her journey, at least she’ll be leaving with her head held high. she’s proud of the performance she gave, proud of how far she’s come already. everything now is in the hands of the ceos. all she can do now is enjoy everyone else’s performances, will her heart not to jump out her throat. again, she flattens out her dress as she takes her seat. the next performer is already taking to the stage. 

she smiles to herself. a voice echoes in her mind. “you worked hard, siyeonie. be proud of yourself.” 

I am, grandma. I am. 

#rkmga5 #rkmga5skill #* mga5! #* solo! #( wc; 2138 )

[6505-blog1]

The Greatest Rock/Metal Albums of the 21st Century.

21st century marks the most diverse decade for rock and metal continuation. Absorbing, if not radiated by the long progenitors from Led Zeppelin who cranked up their amps and Black Sabbath that turn it out murky and sinister grim, to the dazzling theatrical persona of KISS and Motley Crue, to the new level heavy metal confronter of Judas Priest and Iron Maiden, to the head crusher of Motorhead and Metallica, to the destructo maniac of Slayer and Kreator, to the prog menu offerer of King Crimson and Tool, and finally aligned to have some peculiar layers and brooding tendency of Korn. We have come a long way. Yet our engine keeps raging.

I have cumulated the finest, the most influential, and the most prominent albums released in the new millenium by the descendents that took their predecessors to a whole different level, sustain the genre, and move myriads of people to mosh.

In a particular order:

10. Avenged Sevenfold - City of Evil (Warner Bros, 2005).

Rolling Stones magazine has named the sonically-punk with the flames of Iron Maiden, City of Evil on the last number of their 100 Greatest Album of All Time list. That should be a fair consideration since the extravagants like Beast and the Harlot, Bat Country, and Seize the Day altogether with the rest of the setlist ultimately transced the whole level and the destiny of the band as a leading force of eliticians in not so distant future. The 11 tracks have also successfully resurrected the triumph of classic guitar virtuosso portrait demonstrated on 80's as the talisman, Synyster Gates embarked over tons of appealing riffages and dueling solos which was buried after Nirvana and grunge breaktrough on the early 90's. Veteran and Ozzy Osbourne/Black Label Society guitarist, Zakk Wylde acknowledged him as a "Torchbearer" for arguably giving a birth and cultivating the guitar culture to the next generation.

9. Behemoth - The Satanist (Nuclear Blast, 2014).

The tenth album of Polish most profound extreme metal giant after Adam "Nergal"s battle with leukemia. Unlike the speed and precision exhibited over prior releases, the coagulated dense and horified cultish doom are found intensely throughout the setlist as to explicit the heretic messages. The result is astonishing and stronger than ever. More to add, The Satanist is pure, cathartic, flawlessly emotional, carefully-savage, and conquering by its complexity of repertoire within vivid and cinematical gradation as multi-dimensional tracks Messe Noire, In the Absence ov Light, Ora Pro Nobis Lucifer, and the leadoff Blow Your Trumpets Gabriel ravage in none but diabolical fervor. This album expansive flair has comprehensively unfolded the darkest caverns and creates the new standard of underground craftmanship.

8. Bring Me the Horizon - Sempiternal (RCA/Epitaph, 2013).

I wouldn't believe that i need to make Sempiternal in the cut. Who would have guessed? But i will beat every negation towards it. It is the album that eventually transforms Bring Me the Horizon from bunch of hipsters to one of the most important unit in the 21st century modern rock landscape. A year and a half after the release, Oliver Sykes and co. took over the world attention of rocking Wembley Arena, the same monumental venue where Queen — one of the biggest rock band in the history — was there doing the same story. It was approximately 12.000 attendees which made Sykes stated: "So this is our biggest show ever". The soaring Can You Feel My Heart, the furious The House of Wolves, the euphoric Shadow Moses, and the melodic of Sleepwalking are undeniably the new testament of rock music.

7. Lamb of God - Ashes of the Wake (Epic, 2004).

Count how many metal bands on the planet started after invented Laid to Rest or Now You've Got Something to Die For! It was countless. Lamb of God has became the crowned icon of "New Wave American Heavy Metal" and one of the most distinctive band in the scene. Their ferocious riffs, blistering drum works, lyrical contents, sound, even how to sing like Randy Blythe are largely imitated and seem to be the ideal menifesto of modern metal anatomy with obviously Ashes of the Wake as the highest pedestal. It contains tremendous chaos of 11 front-to-back blazing tracks immensely portrayed after Mark Morton - Willie Adler's virtuosity and of course, Chris Adler's voraciousity. Implying both abundance and how well they grasp the roots that will less likely be outnumbered.

6. Mastodon - Leviathan (Relapse, 2004).

We are now talking (and unravelling) the true genius minds of Atlanta-based extraordinary quartet. The newborn Metallica, Mastodon — the group that always exceed anyone's expectation — has seamlessly ranged their pinaccle from sludge to prog to avant-garde to even folk with staggering exponents of highly sophisticated masterpiece. With any fruition that comes in, the sheer Leviathan is believed as the opener tap. Written after Herman Merville's 1851 novel entitled "Moby Dick", the 46-minutes concept album is nothing but endless breathtaking experience of capturing bizarre Ode to the sea soundtrack. Blood and Thunder, I Am Ahab, and Aqua Dementia are torrent of forceful yet fascinating guttural power chords with Brann Dailor's tracherous drum tempo reflecting the theme while Iron Tusk sets sail upon muscular stoner riff and Naked Burn for menacing-tactical intro and flaunted visceral jarring chorus are hulking the imagery of the beast. Until the epic Hearts Alive with a glimpse of Metallica's The Call of Ktulu patiently reigns and all the greatness rendered.

5. Evanescence - Fallen (Wind-up, 2003).

The album that made Evanescence — a small town band from Arkansas — a megastar in the blink of an eye. It was the second semester of 2003 where the breakthrough hit single, Bring Me to Life played million times on the radio around the globe (and MTV as well) picturing the female face lead singer and her gleaming voice, Amy Lee who started the band with the co-founder guitarist, Ben Moody (though the relationship didn't survive and separation happened in the midst of suporting Fallen tour). The fame that nowhere expected begun when the terrific duo met on a camp and cliche of having the same musical taste brought them to finally sign the major label Wind-up and dominated the world stages in a brief. Fallen with the added values of enchanting piano, symphonical strings livery, and haunting soundscape that most nu-metal groups didn't have at that time effortlessly stood-out and arised in comparison to even Linkin Park. Other songs served like the down-tuned goth Going Under and the everlasting ballad My Immortal are only legitimating their popularity.

4. Ghost - Prequelle (Loma Vista, 2018).

In our nearly five decades of heavy music, such names as Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Van Halen with their fantastic works and spirits have became a catalyst that will be remembered greatly in the faraway future for causing an enourmous impact to our community. Those that have bloomed and paved the way many artists to follow. And if there is a chance for this millenium bands to extend the list, Ghost will be the first to step up the grace.

This year, their most recent release Prequelle has been nominated for The Best Rock Album and its single Rats for Best Rock Song of 61st Grammy. An award that should be familiar since they have been winning it two times with Infestissumam (2013) — their second major label album — as The Best Hard Rock/Metal Album and Cirice — the single taken from previous album Meliora (2015) — as Best Metal Performance. A peak of a decade existence for one superior man behind the wheel, Tobias Forge. Appear himself as a satanic pope, Papa Emeritus I, II, III, Zero, and now with the newest fully renowned ascencion clergy Cardinal Copia has completely shaped the band's identity. But the latest Prequelle has more than to be attained to an award. Forge's admiration to film makes no surprise if any substance on the record is prone to get visualized and draw medieval realms so alive and real. He could blend joyous disco with scattered shock rock backbone for Dance Macabre, provide brilliant exotic pop-esque instrumental opus for Miasma, and close all the novelty and intellegiousness by a soothing grand finale of Life Eternal. That is the last strike.

3. Greenday - American Idiot (Reprise, 2004).

With the overwhelmed mainstream-breaking punk rock hit single American Idiot, it was an album (a concept album, for specific) everyone knew which handfully restored a big disappointment both sales and critical of their previous release. Taking the power back after four years gap with anti-Bush vitriol narration over long and merged tracks was everything we could expect from an ambition. Performing sarkastic American-post 9/11 political singable outcry and dragging down to emotionally-related suburban decline on Holiday/Boulevard of Broken Dreams, followed by californian sunset accoustic staccato and straighforward revv Give Me Novacaine/She's A Rebel, a love story of Whatsername where a street punk main actor St. Jimmy fell and how it all ended on Homecoming.

The grandiose worths 16 millions selling CD is the anthem of this generation where a generation ago pridefully have The Clash with the classic London Calling.

2. Slipknot - Iowa (Roadrunner, 2001).

The most brutal and confrontational album of 21st century nothing to this day can bear. That is the deal. A remorseless turmoil just from the first second of welcoming to the house of pain intro, (515) to the last 15 minutes epilogue of magnificent unrelenting drama title track, Iowa. Please recognize the insolent hate mantra "Here we go again motherfuckers" as Corey Taylor opens up and rips off anything with hammer to the face misanthropic followed track, People = Shit that seems a vulgar warning to extend the torture of their 1999 debut phenomenal self titled album. But things got tenfold. They were all damaged animals, making it excuriatingly worst instead, and wanted any living to hear them. That they fuck what trend you live up on bludgeoning bestial Heretic Anthem, that they are adamant bastards you can't bleach their darkness out on atmospherical assault New Abortion, that killing is their primal instinct on grinding jaw-breaker scorn Disasterpieces, that they are fucking obsolete machines on the scorching psychosis Everything Ends. There lies Neurosis-ian dressed Gently and never eschew Grammy nominated singles, Left Behind and My Plague.

All the violent rampage should be addressed to Ross Robinson (producer) for being able to wrap up the devastating times the band encountered in the studio and that was how its ruthless resonated the world where many people are pissed-off to everything. An absolute impossible album to be re-recorded due to its hell of organic material. Yet apart of any malevolence, Iowa is sadly, a gift to liberate your heart and soul.

Honourable mentions:

System of a Down - Toxicity (American/Columbia, 2001).

Converge - Jane Doe (Equal Vision, 2001).

My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade (Reprise, 2006).

1. Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory (Warner Bros, 2000).

The world seriously gives us no chance to break. After Lemmy, Bowie, now we have lost the most beautiful voice that represents our generation.

May rest in peace and honour, Chester Bennington.

We miss you everyday, and we do care if someone whose time runs out is you.

The album that took nu-metal to a whole different level forever and highly contributed to shape the sound that outbursted the 21st century. For two decades, Linkin Park has became the most iconic group on the planet. Breeding the bands like Bring Me the Horizon, Asking Alexandria, and Bullet For My Valentine (with their recent 2018 album, Gravity).

Hybrid Theory (which was the actual name of the band before settling to Linkin Park) is the sublime fusion of heavy metal, alternative rock, hip-hop, pop, and electronica desired only to make a lifetime change. It is truly no derivative. Yet recalling back, it was multiple rejections of label after label before it took off with Don Gillmore (previously worked with Eve 6, Lit, Pearl Jam) to produce the album and pushed the band excessively. It was the part that would not have regretted where all they saw afterwards and going on was all miracle. 28 millions copy sold should be a very serious sensastion everyone must have a seat to talk about. A rock n roll revival after Guns N' Roses's Appetite For Destruction (1987) so to speak. With angst to fuel, Hybrid Theory yielded the catchy single opener One Step Closer, the drug abuse easer Crawling, the unhinged paranoia Papercut, and the most well-known last single sung by anyone In the End. Not to mention its cohesive supplementaries A Place For My Head, Runaway, and My December that blur the foursome due to their equivalent prowess. Admit it, Linkin Park and Hybrid Theory are the gateway to rock and heavy metal empire.

#album #influential #21st century #top ten list #avenged sevenfold #behemoth #bring me the horizon #lamb of god #mastodon #evanescence #the band ghost #green day #slipknot #linkin park #black sabbath #led zeppelin #van halen #kiss #motley crue #judas priest #iron maiden #pink floyd #motorhead #metallica #slayernation #kreator #king crimson #tool #chester bennington #corey taylor

[one-night-story]

Living My Life on Red Alert (Jesse McCree)

A/N: I’m pretty positive this is my longest story to date so that’s impressive? Also literally the only reason I wrote this is because I decided to osmosisly learn everything I needed to know about the universe of Overwatch without playing the game so apologies for inaccuracies in advance. Now, on with the show!

The bell above the door rang and Hale used that as good of a sign as any to get up and get to work. She had technically opened up about half hour ago, but this didn’t stop her from going really underway. She rolled off her cot she kept in the space above the diner. After landing on the ground, she dusted herself off and cleaned herself up. She tied her hair quickly into a sloppy bun and wandered down the stairs. When she arrived in the kitchen, she poked her head out of the window and found her usual sitting in his spot at the counter and was looking down at his hand, allowing his hat to cover his face. Hale smiled to herself as she pulled out the bag of coffee beans, they both preferred.

“Mornin’,” He said as he looked up. Hale came out of the kitchen and smirked. She was fond of the guy that seemed to appear every morning. He had a cybernetic right hand and some sort of scarf around his neck? She couldn’t tell, and he had some sort of accent she had only started working through.

“Morning Stranger,” she replied. She had taken to calling him Stranger both because of an old, old western movie her dad once showed her, and because they hadn’t traded names. What could she say, they got distracted between not talking about what he did for a living, not talking about what Hale did before working at a diner, and most certainly not talking about the robot Hale had stashed in the back room. Hell, they didn’t really know each other outside of extremely frivolous things. Like she knew that he had a preference toward Reese’s Peanut Butter cups (and with this discovery they had made an agreement that he could have all of hers for the rest of her life), he had liked sweet pea flowers, and took his coffee black.  Besides, this routine had been going on for a couple of months it was far too late now. They were like, Gatsby and Nick. The nickname had stuck, and it was far too late to ask for his name. “The usual?” She asked.

“Of course,” He said with an easy smile. Hale started pouring the beans into the grinder and started grinding. Sure, she could’ve bought an automated, but there was something satisfying about grinding them herself. Hale was cranking and leaning against the wall. She took in her Stranger a bit more. He hadn’t shed his hat yet and had stopped lighting his cigar in the diner after the second week when Hale tore into him for it.

“Darlin, I think you’ve ground those poor beans enough.” He said. Hale snapped out of her stupor and looked down, partially to hide the blush that came from his affectionate name (a week seven development, both the pet names and her sudden affection for the cowboy) and partially to see the grounds, sure enough they were ground.

“Right, thanks.” She said. She turned on the coffee pot and set up the grounds. She adjusted her scrunchie out of habit as the coffee pot started to whir. She then was quick to pull out their respective mugs. She then disappeared into the back and started working on their pancakes, taking the batter she put in the fridge last night and lit the stove top up. “How many this morning Stranger?”

“Four should do,” he said. She nodded and started portioning them out. In doing so, she was focused on the batter and made them with care. Soon enough, 8 pancakes were made, and Hale put the pancakes on the plate. She grabbed a canister of maple syrup for Stranger. She set the plate down and passed him a fork. She then grabbed a stool and sat on a diagonal from him. This is how it was every morning since he had started coming in.

“Got any plans?” She asked. “Or at least, ones you can tell me about?” She added. Stranger chuckled and took his hat off as he started pouring syrup on his pancakes.

“Nah, could spend the day here.” He said. Hale chuckled and blushed but hid it by going under the counter and grabbing the powdered sugar. She dusted her stack and then placed it on the counter.

“You’d get called away and you know it.” She remarked. Stranger laughed and took a bite of pancake.

“You might be right about that darlin’.”

“'Course I am,” Hale said through the last bit of pancake in her mouth, “happens every time you say you’re gonna spend all day here. Maybe you should just stop saying it, so the universe doesn’t know.”

“Might have to do that, tomorrow.”

“Well see, now you can’t the universe knows.” Another laugh and Hale couldn’t help but smirk in triumph. They ate their pancakes and sipped on coffee when the machine finally stopped whirring.

“Remind me one of these days to buy you a new coffee pot, that thing looks like it’s older than both of us.” Stranger remarked as Hale poured his coffee.

“If it’s broke, don’t fix it.”

“Darlin’ I’m pretty positive it’s passed the broken point.”

“Leave my coffee pot alone, it has feelings and it will break when it’s least convenient now because you’ve insulted it.”

“I’m sorry,” Stranger said with a joking tone and a sly smirk. Hale rolled her eyes as she poured her coffee and then drowned it in flavored creamer, she had for just herself. Hey, just because she worked at an old-fashioned diner, didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in the finer things in life. Like flavored coffee creamer. Besides, Death Wish needed it. Once they had finished their breakfasts, Hale was quick to clear the dishes, keeping the mugs, and then came back to her seat.

“Your coffee’s improved since I started coming here, what changed?” He asked. Hale flushed unexpectedly, how to tell him that she had started serving him coffee from her stash at around week 3?

“That’s because you’re drinking my preferred bean. Not the diner’s.” She settled on.

“You’re kiddin’,” he said with a look that Hale couldn’t pin, admiration? No that wasn’t it, had to be something else.

“I’m not,” she said with a nervous chuckle. She pulled the bag that she hid in the kitchen out via leaning in the window and showed it to him. “Death Wish was for a period of time the strongest coffee. I still like it; doesn’t have the aftertaste I find a lot of coffees do.” Hale passed the bag to him and she watched as he read it over.

“I’m touched darlin’, though now I feel like I should be payin’ double.” He said.

“Don’t worry about it, keeping me company first thing in the morning is enough payment,” Hale said as she took the bag back from him, ignoring the cold from his cybernetic arm, and she stashed it back. As she straightened back up and retook her seat, she noticed he was looking at her different.

“What?” She asked with a light, slightly self-conscious chuckle as she started adjusting her bun.

“Nothin’, just… what do you want to do?” He asked. Three warning bells went off in her head. But because she had an undeniable urge (read: human biology reminding her she was a warm-blooded female) to ignore all of them.

“Wanted to do a lot, settled on stability over glory. Like that old movie speech, “I could’ve been a contender,”” she said finishing it with her worst Marlon Brando impression. Stranger chuckled.

“And ya didn’t because?” He asked. Hale shrugged and rolled her ring on her pinky finger.

“Life came up, robots happened.” She said. At the mention of robots, there was beeping from Strangers side of the counter. Hale laughed. “What did I say,” Stranger laughed and rolled his eyes as he looked to see what beeped.

“Duty calls, lovely as always darlin’,” he said.

“Thanks, I’ll be here so long as patronage is continued.” She replied. He put his hat back on and stood up.

“See ya around,”

“Adios Stranger,” and with that she watched as he walked out the door and away. Hale was quick to clean up their coffee mugs and keep herself busy, seeing as no one was likely to come in any time soon.

That was until the power went out.

Hale immediately went into survival mode. She grabbed her bracelet attachments and scrambled to put them on as she dove into a broom closet. She shut the door and was greeted with a large blue robot. She smiled and then realized what she was dealing with.

“RIOT, Grace Kelly,” she whispered. The robot whirred to life. “Covert mode!” she then quickly hissed. The robot then showed a screen on its stomach with its response

“HELLO MISS EMILIA HALE, HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?”

“Program new command voice, Stranger.” She whispered.

“READY TO RECEIVE.” She pulled out her phone and played a small recording she had taken during week eight when she was certain that this friendship was a friendship.

“What do you mean you’ve never had proper Tex-Mex.” the recording said. RIOT was silent for a minute

“STRANGER, PROGRAMED.”

“Change code word, new code: James Dean.” She said.

“NEW CODE, PROGRAMED.” The door on the outside opened and she heard the clicking of blasters.

“Shut down.” She hissed. RIOT did as he was told and shut down. Hale then slipped out of the closet and tapped her bracelets together. The electric charge hovered around the bands and up the chain to her middle finger. She fished out a frying pan without making noise.

“Boss!” She’s in here!” Dammit! They had night vision.

“Time to light to this party up!” She yelled. She swung her frying pan and landed a hit, she then punched him and lit him up light a Christmas tree with electric power. That lit the kitchen enough that she could see that there were three more men in the main part of the diner. She jacked the gas up on the stove top and poured oil on it. She then quickly grabbed the lighter that muscle memory told her was next to the stove and lit the stove top. Now there was light. She ran for the main operatives in the diner space. She jumped over the counter and landed on one of them. She dove for the second, punching him with the other charge she had stored. That was two down, dammit where did the third one go.

“Not so fast,” A mechanical deep voice growled out as he grabbed her middle.

“Let go of me! You mother fucker let go of me!” She squirmed and kicked and didn’t make holding her easy. She just needed to stay alive long enough to get the secondary charge going.

“Boss!”

“Let’s go!”

“There’s something you should see!”

“We’ve got the girl let’s go!”

“Alright,” the hench said.

“Let go of me!” Hale screamed again.

“Not gonna happen,” the man holding her said. Hale could feel something strange happening and she thought of the one protocol that didn’t require rebooting.

“RIOT! PROTOCOL ONE!” She yelled one more time before she went dark.

*~*

When she came to, she was in a cage that reminded her of yet another old movie. Though this time the bars weren’t conveniently spaced to be able to show the eyes. She paced around in it like an animal. They had left her bracelets on, dumb of them good for her, and there was a camera at the far end of the room.

“CCTV or live broadcast?” She muttered.

“Aren’t you clever one, Emilia Grace Hale.” The mechanical voice said. Hale whipped around trying to find the speaker.

“Are you gonna stop being a coward and tell me why I’m in a cage, or are you just gonna sit in your control room?” She growled. She didn’t like being caged, and she liked people other than family using her full name even less.

“It won’t matter. You’ll be dead.”

“Wanna bet?” She asked.

“Look into the camera.” He said. At this, Hale held up six fingers and tapped her thighs

“Tell your buddies hi.”

“Hey Stranger,” she said with the same ease she told him every morning. “The word’s James Dean. You’ll figure it out.” She said. She nudged the bar and got jolted with more electricity than she was expecting and went down

*~*

“Miss, I hardly think that this is a good position to be in.” Were the first words she heard when she came to. She lit up with a grin and struggled to her feet.

“RIOT! He found you, thank fuck.” She said. RIOT nodded.

“Stranger? Yes, he did.”

“Debrief me when I’m out, I’m assuming you didn’t come alone.” She said. RIOT shot a hole in the cage that Hale quickly crawled out of.

“I am not alone, I am with a collection of former “Overwatch” agents.” RIOT stated. Hale furrowed her brow. Stranger was Overwatch? That was an unexpected development.

“The badies?”

“Too many to calculate. You will have to settle on just escaping.”

“I can work with that, got my gear?” She asked. RIOT opened a compartment in his stomach that revealed a navy-blue coat with gold and black details, a shoulder strap with her blaster, her waist belt with here electroshock orbs, and a comms unit direct to RIOT. She slid everything on and squared shoulders.

“RIOT,”

“Centaur mode, activated.” RIOT stated as he morphed to being quadrupedal. Hale was quick to jump on and they rode up the stairs and into the main battle fray. Hale was quick to unholster her blaster and start shooting. Stranger looked up and saw RIOT and then Hale on his back with a blaster he didn’t even know she had. Granted, he didn’t even know she had a robot until about an hour ago.

“RIOT,”

“Hoverboard activated.” RIOT shifted again and was firmly attached to Hale’s feet. With the aid of the comms unit, the duo synched and dove into the main battle. She shot her way through, finding herself next to her cowboy regular who was shooting with the same amount of ease as she was, if not more.

“Need a lift Stranger?” She asked.

“You don’t look like hell darlin’,”

“Feared I would?” She said with a smirk. Battle situations tended to make her more confident than she really had right to be. Stranger chuckled. “Get on, she said offering her hand. He accepted it and got on. She pulled RIOT up and they went shooting up. They were both shooting and came to a window.

“I’ve got it!” Hale exclaimed. She grabbed an electroshock orb off her belt and set it to ‘glass break’ and chucked it at the window. The window promptly shattered, and the duo and RIOT were through.

“Where’s the rendezvous?” She asked.

“The truck!” Hale dove for the truck and landed.

“RIOT!” Mid-drop, RIOT changed back to centaur form and ran for the bus. RIOT bucked and threw the both of them into the truck. RIOT changed from again and joined them in the truck.  He became a little orb and rolled over to Hale. “Deactivate.” she said. With a happy whirr, RIOT complied. Hale looked across at the man she typically didn’t see outside of the diner.

“You can just, drop me back at the diner. If it’s not burned down.” She said, nearly forgetting about the fire she lit before she got nabbed

“Nice little robot you’ve got there,” He said with a chuckle.

“Thanks, RIOT’s been in my family for years.” She said. The duo fell into silence until they pulled up to the diner. Where it was surprisingly not burned down. “Good job RIOT,” she muttered to the orb. It had followed Protocol One: Damage Control. She tapped RIOT once he rolled out of the truck and watched him shift to a GNK droid, though much larger than one would be traditionally. Hale jumped off the truck and watched as he jumped off as well.

“Guess this is goodbye,” He said with an uneasy look in his eye.

“What are you talking about, the diner’s still here.” She said.

“You don’t get it,”

“Get what?”

“I’m the reason Reaper came after ya, I’m… darlin’ I’m not letting that happen to ya again.” He said. Hale laughed and for once in their several month-long friendship, initiated contact (He usually had to do it, and it didn’t start until at least week six). She held his face and brought it to look down at him.

“I have a robot. And blasters. And a past I don’t talk about. Don’t take this burden all on you. I’m sure he dug up something on me while I was out and found out who I was.” She said. She gave him a soft smile. “Besides, I can’t have you disappearing without me knowing your name Stranger, I might have to get it out of RIOT.” She added. He chuckled and kissed her forehead, which proceeded to light her up like a Christmas tree. It was tender and he was so much warmer than she expected.

“McCree. Jesse McCree.” He said. Another soft smile from Hale as she rolled it around in her head.

“Jesse McCree,” she let it roll off her tongue, “suits you Stranger.” He chuckled at her still calling him Stranger.

“RIOT managed to not let your name slip.” Good robot she thought to herself.

“Emilia Hale. Call me Hale. Or Milia if you must.��� She responded. Hale watched as McCree’s face seemed to express the same process of rolling the name around in his mind.

“Emilia Hale, I like it.” He said. The duo stood there in an embrace they hadn’t expected. Hale was still holding onto McCree’s face, lightly letting her fingers play with the short hairs, and McCree had looped his arms around her waist, his cybernetic arm resting against her back. There was something about a traumatic experience that led to the release of weeks of pent up emotions that had been festering since week seven for Hale and even earlier for McCree. Hale, in a stunning turn of events, kissed him first. Lightly, as a parting gift, a way of saying goodbye. But McCree quickly recaptured her lips. Passionate, like he was quickly taking back what he had said about saying goodbye. When oxygen became necessary, he looked down at her.

“It won’t be easy.”

“The best things in life never are. Besides, I can get used to living my life on “red alert.” Might fulfil that “could’ve been a contender” thing.” Hale said. McCree chuckled and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. Hale wiggled her head to look up at him. “I’m keeping the diner though.”

“RIOT will have to stay out of storage.” McCree said.

“Done, now just kiss me Stranger.” She said with a smirk.

And he did.

#overwatch #overwatch imagines #overwatch imagine #Jesse mccree imagines #mccree imagines #in which em writes