#like look I know it’s a very plot serious moment but the intonation made me laugh

[citizen-zero]

he really yanked Cazador out of that coffin like

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 astarion #like look I know it’s a very plot serious moment but the intonation made me laugh #personal #erika's blog and bar

[jrobert1698-blog]

The Mandalorian Season One Review

The Mandalorian is a Disney+ original television show starring Pedro Pascal and created by Jon Favreau.  In addition to featuring a supporting cast of Gina Carano, Carl Weathers, and Giancarlo Esposito, the show also created a legend of our time: Baby Yoda.  Logging just eight episodes in its debut season, the show follows a conflicted bounty hunter as he attempts to honor the creed of his people, the customs of his profession, and his heart’s desire.  If you haven’t seen the show yet, I highly suggest you check it out.  Some spoilers lie ahead if you wish to turn back now; otherwise, “this is the way.”

I’ll be honest: I’m a really big Star Wars fan.  I should qualify that by saying I haven’t consumed every bit of the Star Wars canon, and I’m not extremely familiar with the Expanded Universe.  I know this qualifies me as scum; force choke me if you must.  Nonetheless, it is one of my favorite franchises dating all the way back to my early childhood.  This makes it somewhat difficult to review anything Star Wars related because I’m always subconsciously rooting for it to be good.  I allowed this to get the better of me with The Last Jedi, and I defended that film for far too long.  In short, I tried to approach The Mandalorian with an open mind but without letting my inner fanboy take over my sensibilities.  I’d like to believe that this review is as neutral as possible but if I do sound overexcited please forgive me. 

Before I get into The Mandalorian in detail I want to take a brief step back to 2015.  Before The Force Awakens cam out, everybody was excited to see Star Wars again.  Despite box office success, some people dismissed Episode VII as too derivative of A New Hope.  Others were just happy to have new characters, a diverse cast, and a competent director in J.J. Abrams.  I will go to the grave believing that the single biggest mistake Disney made since purchasing Star Wars was hiring Rian Johnson to direct The Last Jedi. While he is clearly capable of creating a great film in his own right, his vision clashed significantly with Abrams’ and the end result was a very divisive movie that split up the Star Wars fan base.  It made at least half the fandom bitter and jaded towards anything Star Wars that Disney produced.  People desperately needed something to unify them and make them remember why they love Star Wars again.  I’m happy to report that season one of The Mandalorian is exactly what the fans, and Disney, needed. 

I feel as though its only proper to begin a review of The Mandalorian by discussing Din Djarin himself as portrayed by Pedro Pascal.  I liked him in Game of Thrones and I like him even more here.  Some people might assume that having a mask cover your entire face makes acting easier.  To some extent this is true.  Not having to express emotions with one’s eyes and mouth alleviates some of the burden.  However, its also a unique acting challenge to make people get invested in a character whose face they can’t see.  The fact that so many love this character is a testament to good screenwriting and Pascal’s acting ability.  The audience actually roots for Mando to keep his mask on because the writers made it a crucial part of his identity.  Additionally, Pascal has to express emotion through the intonation of his voice, the speed at which he turns his helmet, and his deliberate pace when he walks.  This is far more difficult than people realize, and Pascal deserves a lot of credit for making this season the success that it was.

The character of the Mandalorian also stands out to me because in many ways he exemplifies the qualities of a good action hero.  Again, good screenwriting.  He comes off as a believable bad ass from the minute he slices a guy in half with a door in Episode 1.  However, unlike other Star Wars protagonists of late, he never feels overpowered either.  Audiences need to feel like their hero is in danger of getting hurt or dying in order for excitement to register.  There are many moments in this season where Mando gets his ass kicked.  He gets electrocuted by Jawas, gored by a Mudhorn, pinned down by Bounty Hunters and almost blown up several times.  However, like any good action hero, he always manages to bounce back and lives to fight another day.  This is why audiences truly respect this character who, at the end of the day, is just a human being like all of us. 

Another great, and perhaps underrated, aspect of this show is the amazing score by Ludwig Goransson.  I really liked his work on Black Panther as well and I’m looking forward to any future projects he works on.  This is the first time I can remember that anyone other than John Williams has made an original and memorable Star Wars score.  The main title is freakin’ awesome.  It’s the perfect blend of tribal mysticism and the military marches we’ve come to know and love.  Fortunately, this space opera comes with some great overtures to highlight it.

Before I sound like a total fanboy, let’s talk about a few issues I have with the show.  There are certainly issues you can nitpick from a canon perspective but that isn’t my main concern.  My biggest complaint would be the sometimes haphazard nature of the show.  Episode 5 in particular felt like a sizable departure from the main story.  Episode 6, while more entertaining, similarly broke from the overarching narrative to give us a little bit of Mando’s backstory.  I don’t necessarily have a problem with this video game mission approach to the show, but I do hope that some of these side quests get paid off more significantly in future episodes.  I also would have liked a more consistent emphasis on the supporting cast members like Carano’s Cara Dune and Weathers’ Greef Carga.  Even Kuill could have used more screen time if for no other purpose than to make us more attached to him before his untimely death.

My complaints, in the long run, are relatively minor.  Compared to my overall respect and enjoyment of this show, they pale in comparison.  One major reason why is that Disney spared no expense in making this show the best it could possibly be.  The visual effects, where I feared they might skimp, were better than a lot of feature films.  The show felt cinematic, like Game of Thrones did at its best.  The cinematography was mostly great as well.  I particularly liked Taika Waititi’s direction in the season finale.  That shot of Mando finally using a jetpack to latch onto Moff Gideon’s TIE Fighter deserves to be on a poster.  I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention the closing shot of Gideon holding the fucking Darksaber.  I can’t wait to see Giancarlo Esposito in an expanded role in Season 2 and hopefully beyond.  If he can play half the villain he did in Breaking Bad it will be a success.

And, of course, I had to save the single best part of this show, by far, for last. Baby. Fucking. Yoda.  This is one of the most well-concealed plot twists in recent memory.  Disney, somehow, did a fantastic job of keeping Baby Yoda out of marketing materials and trailers in the pre-release process.  When I first saw that adorable green face for the first time I somehow screamed, laughed and cried out in excitement at once.  This character is great for so many reasons besides obviously being the cutest thing to come out of 2019.  The Child makes Mando extremely conflicted and puts him in the most difficult quandary of his life: honor his code as a Bounty Hunter or follow his instincts and protect this child in need?  Baby Yoda also kicks a lot of ass for a one-foot-tall fifty year old.  His obviously strong connection to the force presents a myriad of options for his future: will he train as a Jedi, be a powerful vigilante, or turn to the dark side?  I’m kidding, but I’m also serious; he did force choke Cara Dune after all.  And he’s grown up among a series of explosions, laser beams, and punchy storm troopers.  That’s a pretty traumatic childhood.  Clearly, Baby Yoda has turned into a phenomenon and sparked an infinite number of memes, songs, and art.  I think it’s well deserved and I can’t wait to see more adventures in baby sitting with our little green friend. 

My thoughts on The Mandalorian can be expressed very simply: it’s fucking awesome. There is a whole lot to like about where this story is going and what Favreau and the slew of directors have done so far.  They’ve managed to inject genuine excitement into the fan base for what feels like the first time in a very, very long time. Additionally, Disney needed to knock one out of the park in order to salvage their reputation and preserve fan interest in one of their most valuable franchises.  Despite a few minor missteps, season one of The Mandalorian is a fantastic and I eagerly anticipate season two whenever it comes out.  If you haven’t seen it yet, go check it out.  Baby Yoda alone makes it worth it.  I have spoken.

Rating: 9/10

#the mandalorian #baby yoda #star wars #tv #disney

[thedistantstorm]

A Steelponcho Dawning - Part 16

A Dawning romance featuring the Commander and the Clan Steward, their feelings for each other coming to a head during the first Dawning celebration following the Red War, featuring Lord Saladin, city food, smut, and a whole lot of pining. Continues from: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15.

As it is Christmas here in the US, just wanted to take a second to say happy holidays, regardless of what you celebrate. Thanks for taking the time to drop by, and I hope you’re enjoying these two beautiful disasters as much as I do. <3

They walk side by side through the main road that runs from one side of the Farm to the other. It’s nearly dark. They’ll have to leave soon, unable to spare another day to stay and help, not that there’s much more they personally can do than boost morale. It might make them feel more comfortable, but now, Suraya can begrudgingly admit she does more good in the City, fighting for what they need, than she does actually staying at the Farm and organizing scout parties to watch the people.

It still amazes her how big this place came to be. Bittersweet, of course, in light of recent tragedy - how they’d lost more survivors after the war than during - but even now, there are Dawning lanterns hanging from the front of each. Everyone is doing their best to be thankful, cheerful, and positive.

Everyone wants to look forward. Move forward. Keep on keepin’ on.

Suraya looks to her left and the Commander is watching her, his eyes intently focused on her face. She blinks back in confusion, but he is lost in thought, the lines of his face harder and his jaw set as he ponders whatever it is that's distracted him. It must be serious.

“You, uh, okay, over there?”

He blinks, concentration broken, and nods before looking away, toward the horizon. “Fine,” He states in a low register that makes her insides feel like lava. “The Dawning encourages reflection, contemplation.” He pauses before continuing. “It is important to look ahead to a brighter future, but arguably more so to remember how we've come this far.”

That, Suraya can agree with, and she does so with a subtle nod. “Well, if we're having a moment here,” She gestures around them. People carry on unaware, the sounds of work and play, young and old chiming in the background. “We've certainly come a long way. Even with the rest of the System trying to snuff us out.”

“Indeed we have.” His eyes alight on hers once more. Warm and vibrant, they are. He smiles, and it is genuine. It's staggering, every time. She's rather glad she could walk these roads with her eyes closed. “I could not have imagined a year like this.”

“Really?” Her lips pursed. “In all your years-” He cuts her off with a darker expression and she grins, always feeling a spike of joy, the rush in teasing him just a little. “Okay, okay. But seriously? For all you know about all this, all you've taught me about things like this, they… happen, y'know? I can't imagine, knowing what I know now, not to prepare for the extremes. Not that we're ever truly prepared for them, I guess, but-”

“I am not just speaking about the war,” Zavala intones. “There are… other things, that have happened since the last Dawning as well.”

She shrugs. She knows that. “I expect the unexpected.”

“Do you now?”

Her boots kick at the gravel on the road. “I mean, you kind of have to. Living the way I di- Oh. Yeah, see what you mean.” Her shoulders scrunch in a shrug once more. “It doesn't feel weird or out of place though,” She says. “I never thought I'd like living in the City again, after, well - that’s not a story for now.” Zavala's eyes narrow but he doesn't inquire. “And I definitely miss being out there,” She gesticulates toward the forest. “But, I feel like I'm where since need to be.”

If he walks a little closer to her after that, or he seems to push his chest out with just a touch more pride, she doesn't comment.

They come toward the landing area, the field, and veer around it in a wide loop, trying not to disturb the small group of children playing between the large goals. She looks toward Tyra's usual haunt, and sees her sitting beside her tools and books, Saladin and Devrim engaging her in conversation. She looks away in time to feel their gazes burning into her right side and sighs as subtly as she can.

She isn't paying attention and he bumps her with a pauldron when he intends to steer them back toward the barn they spent most of the war in, plotting and fighting and surviving. The contact of her shoulder and his plasteel armor isn't comfortable, but she recoils and recovers quickly enough that it doesn't seem as though anyone else notices. Zavala does though and looks down in concern until he sees her shaking her head in disbelief at herself. He allows a tiny chuckle, can’t help but smirk, and she looks to him furiously, leaning close.

“I should have kissed you in front of that Hunter and made a scene,” Suraya whispers madly to trip him up, eyes drilling into his own, irritated and hoping to make him uncomfortable to match. “I thought about it, too. Bet you wouldn’t have been able to talk for the rest of the day.”

Zavala stares at her. This is so very familiar, and yet so very new. Exciting. A different kind of fight, a battle that will yield sweet results. “An idle threat now,” He purrs dangerously, never once looking away. Heat coils in her belly. “Perhaps if you had something more substantial…”

“Well,” She straightens, smiling in a way that's sweet and sinister and he thinks of the night before, of dreams and of fantasies he will never admit, “Tyra, Saladin, and Dev are currently staring at us. How about if I kiss you now?”

That wins her a flush, and the widening of already naturally wide ethereal eyes. He almost sputters. “You wouldn't-”

Her grin splits wide.

“Suraya...”

“Of course I wouldn't, you big lug!” Peals of laughter escape from her in gasps that leave her desperate for air. She takes a few steps and turns back toward him. “C'mon.”

It's his turn to look disgruntled, and he does a good job of it, not quite sulking as he strides in the direction of their destination. She turns away, but she's not trying to lose him so he catches up quickly. There is no one within eyesight or earshot, he's swept the area, had his Ghost confirm. His palm is warm, through his glove, on her shoulder. The grip he has is firm, but not painful. She stills.

“If you believe you have the upper hand,” He breathes hotly over her hood, in turn heating her ear. “Perhaps you should recall last evening's activities, hmm?”

Her blush is obvious and high on her cheekbones, but her eyes dilate, and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. If she's uncomfortable, she doesn't show it. And, he realizes, maybe she isn't, because she retorts, “I don't think I was the only one who enjoyed them.”

He hums. She isn't wrong.

“Plus, it's not like you gave me the chance to return the favor,” She points out brightly, edging forward just a smidge.

“It's not as if you were coherent enough to do much more than-” When he realizes where he's about to take things, in public no less, he reigns himself back in. “In any case-”

Her eyebrows rise marginally. “Yes?”

“We need to discuss things.” He looks at her carefully. “When we get back.”

“What? Worried you won't be able to resist me?”

“Suraya, please.” He looks unimpressed. “I am the most patient person you know.”

She snorts. “Would you like to test that theory?” Judging by the sounds he made in response to her sounds last night (she does her best not to cringe, he the one who asked her what she needed, this is his fault damn it), she’s willing to bet she can at least make him feel impatient, even if he exercises restraint.

“Eventually. But you know we must-”

“I do. And we will.” She leans in close, eyes darting around to make sure they’re still alone. “And then…” That wicked smirk returns, cheeky and haughty and damn if it doesn't do something to him. “I plan on finding out exactly what I do to you.”

#destiny fanfic #steelponcho #zavala x hawthorne #suraya hawthorne #commander zavala #destiny dawning #the dawning #mutual pining #all the flirting #lots of feelings #fluff #angst #flangst #slow burn best burn #the farm #devrim kay #tyra karn #saladin forge

[arielsojourner]

Vader Strikes Back - Part the 6th

Not beta read/really rough/not really proof read/plot holes and OUT of order.  Also spoilers for the original first story in AO3 Back From the Future: Episode VI The Clone Wars.  Check the tag #vader strikes back on my page for the other parts to this mess/fic outline. Again I value feedback and ideas if you have any.

Also, if you couldn’t tell by the gap of time between part 5 and this part 6, this was a BEAR to write. I felt it had too much talking and not enough ACTION, but I needed to set the stage a bit more. I may just scrap most of this in the final AO3 posted story, but I wanted to write something just so I could keep going on this. I hope it doesn’t suck too much.  

*

Mace Windu left Coruscant with a mandate from the Jedi High Council. He was to find Vader and kill him before he could take advantage of the chaos in the galaxy and take command of the nascent Sith Empire that Palpatine was building.  

Not everyone on the Council agreed with this course of action. Ki Ald Mundi questioned whether Vader truly was a Sith. His actions and the loyalty of his son and the 501st showed he was something very much different, he argued. Shaak Ti wanted the Order to focus more on shoring up their debilitated ranks spread thin over the galaxy. And Obi-Wan, well … his reasoning was much more unorthodox.

(“There is no evidence that Vader is amassing power or desires to control the galaxy,” Obi-Wan argued.

“Master Obi-Wan,” Yoda began after a moment of stunned silence settled over the Councilors. “Identified as a Sith by Palpatine he was.”

“Forgive me, Master, but since when do accept the word of Palpatine as truth?” was the acid reply, sharply rebuking all of the other Jedi. Mace exchanged a surprised glance with the Grandmaster. Kenobi wasn’t pulling any punches in his truly bizarre defense of the Sith. “He has spent more than the past year stopping the war and uncovering corruption we were too blind to see. Using our resources to hunt him down goes against the very spirit of what it means to be Jedi. We are not assassins and we are not authorized to play judge, jury, or executioner.”

“But it is acceptable when Vader acts as judge, jury, an executioner?” Master Koth remarked.

“Vader has never claimed to be a Jedi. We, on the other hand, are Jedi. Do his acts of murder now justify us committing murder in kind?”

“Save for another time we must, this philosophical debate, Master Kenobi. Identity of the Sith we have long sought to find,” Yoda said firmly. “Revealed, they now are. To put and end to their ways, we must. Master Windu, we will send on this mission. Confirm the death of the son and end Vader he will.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “This will not go the way you think it will.  I am telling you now, this is a grave mistake.”)

It was funny, Mace thought to himself, how much Obi-Wan reminded him of Qui-Gon at times when Obi-Wan used to disapprove of his Master’s ways when he was alive. Kenobi, for all skills as a Knight and a Jedi Master, could be short sighted at times, too focused and attached to the individual rather than the needs of the galaxy as a whole. The Republic and the Order were on the brink of the abyss. It was up to them to protect it or watch the galaxy fall to chaos and darkness.

Killing Vader was the only way to put a stop to Palpatine’s plans once and for all.

Sure in his mission, he set course for Mandalore. The intelligence reports from Senator Amidala, Kenobi, and Skywalker pointed to a strong connection between the Sith and the League of Neutral Systems. He was now going to find out just how neutral Duchess Satine really was.

*

Vader walked out of the Twilight and onto the flight deck of the Dauntless, striding forward like a man on a mission. Captain Rex found himself nearly running after the armored figure even as he rattled off a status report.

“And what of your new information, Captain? Has Senator Taal or any of the others who fled the capital been located?” Vader asked.

“Nothing confirmed yet, but through the 212th we have contacts with the locals on Ryloth. We will hear word the second he makes it anywhere near the system. There is no one willing to harbor him now. The Twi'lek Resistance were very interested in the files that Slice and the other found. But, sir, that wasn’t what we wanted to brief you on. The men and I wanted to discuss the Hutts, sir.”

That brought Vader to such an unexpected sudden stop, Rex actually overshot him before halting in his tracks.

“The Hutts?” Vader practically hissed. He loomed menacingly and Rex reminded himself firmly that while Vader  may seem to be a living embodiment of anger and violence, it was not directed at him.

“Yes, sir, the Tatooine campaign.” Rex raised the datapad in his hand. “I took the liberty of asking the men for their input. We all want to see it through. However, there are some serious concerns given that we are down to just one destroyer and so many of us are still in the medical quarters. There’s no way to set up the necessary blockade, so we’re going to have to improvise, but–“

The datapad jerked out of his hand and flew to Vader’s outstretched gauntlet. Vader skimmed through the plans and then looked up. “The campaign is voluntary. No man shall be required to join the fight. The war is over. However, if any troopers chose to come, their focus will be on search, rescue, and liberation. You will leave the attack to me.” With that, the datapad was handed back to the clone captain and Vader resumed his punishing pace forward.

Rex whirled around and followed as quickly as he could. “Sir, all reports show the entire planet is infested with slavers. Hutt control is not centralized. We need more time to develop a strategy, but in a few months we should be ready. Either that or we need more men. Until then, we can–“

Vader turned and pointed emphatically at Rex. “I have waited a lifetime to begin this campaign, Captain. The yearly auctions have already begun. I will not see another summer pass before bringing freedom to the planet.”

Rex didn’t back down. “If we do this now, sir, the casualty numbers among the civilians are potentially staggering. Tens of thousands could die if we don’t have the manpower to mount a broad enough coordinated attack.”

“No slave fears death,” Vader intoned. “Death is merely freedom from pain.  Unless there is word from Ryloth in the next five day, set course for Tatooine.” And with that Vader entered the lift and left Rex alone in the corridor.

Rex closed his eyes for a brief moment. He’d hoped bringing up Tatooine as a possible mission target would break Vader out of his relentless drive for vengeance, remind him of the way things used to be when Luke had been alive. He’d hoped that planning the Tatooine campaign would be a way for Vader to grieve and move on from the loss of his son. That was what brothers did. When they lost squad mates, they focused on the mission in honor of their fallen. But it didn’t look like it was working. Instead, he’d handed Vader a new set of targets while a large number of the men were still recuperating. 

Now he only had five days for Senator Taal to surface or find a way to take out an entire planet full of criminals and slavers with only one destroyer.

Rex wasn’t Force sensitive and he didn’t truly believe in anything (other than his brothers and his blasters), but right now he wished there was something or someone whom he could call on for help.

*

“It’s not going to work,” Fives insisted, slamming his fist down beside his thigh.

“It will,” Flare argued. “Remember with the Zygerrians–“

“With the Zygerrians, we had all three destroyers, plus the smaller cruisers. We are down to just the Dauntless.  We only had to blockade a moon last time. We don’t have enough ships to blockade the entire kriffing planet.”

“Maybe we don’t need to blockade the planet for this to work,” Echo offered to his brother, tapping away at the datapad in his hand. “If we take out the spaceport here, then–“

“The whole planet is crawling with smuggler ships. They don’t need the spaceport to leave orbit. Remember where General Skywalker got the Twilight?” Jesse asked leaning back in his chair with a huff. “Face it, we can’t do this alone.”

“If we don’t have the men, we should call the other battalions. We’ll ask other outfits to volunteer to help us,” Hardcase suggested.  “Hey, Gin,” he said, lobbing a pillow at the clone trooper standing in the corner. “You and Hack Squad can get the word out. See if we can’t get the 212th to join us or something.”

“No throwing pillows,” Quick snapped, picking up the fallen pillow. The medic made as if he was going to hand it back to Hardcase but then thought better of it.  “I’m not going to give this back until later. Knowing you, you’ll just toss it around some more. This is medical equipment not a hand grenade and I’m a medic, not your maid.”

“Should we even break comm silence?” Slice asked the men around him. “Vader’s in the middle of cleaning house. If word gets out where we are, the rest of those skragging bastards will go to ground before he can deal with them. And if the Jedi Order thinks Vader’s some sort of Sith or traitor, we definitely don’t want anyone to know where we are until we can get the truth out there.”

“So, it’s just us,” Jesse said with groan. “We’ve got to pull of liberating the entire planet with one destroyer and however many of us are on board. This is going to go great, I can tell.”

“Look, no one says anyone has to do this mission,” Fives said sharply. “This is voluntary. That’s the way Luke wanted it. Luke and Vader have never ordered us to do anything we haven’t been willing to do. That’s not changing now. If you don’t want to help, then sit this one out.”

“Hey, no one’s saying they want to sit this thing out!” Jesse protested, raising his hands. “No one’s saying that.”

“We’re just thinking it,” Mixer muttered.

“You bunch of laserbrains, you’re all forgetting the most important thing,” Hardcase said. “We’ve got Vader with us on this. He’s a one man division. A Hutt and some slaver scum aren’t going to stop him.”

“Vader can’t be everywhere at once and he can’t protect everyone at once,” Redeye argued. “We should wait, wait until–“

“There will be no waiting,” Rex said sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Vader says auction season is starting. We’re on liberation and defense; Vader alone will handle offense.”

The men were quiet a moment, taking in that piece of information. They could all to easily imagine what auction season must like after the campaign to liberate the slave camps on Kadavo.

“I’m volunteering, Captain.” Hardcase said breaking the tension in the room.

“No, you’re not,” Quick replied.

“I’m healed. It’s stopped bleeding. The bandage is just for show anyway,” he insisted, poking at it absently. “Chatterbox, are you going?” The other clone nodded. “Fives, what about you?”

“Fives is not getting up for at least another week,” Quick snarled as he stalked over and forcefully shoved the pillow under Hardcase’s head. “And if you’re lucky, Hardcase,  I might let you out on light duty. Maybe. In another week.”

“It will take us a while to get to Tatooine anyway,” Echo assured Hardcase. “With the war over and the Hutt treaty with the Republic null and void, we can’t take their hyperspace lanes anymore. Even with this ceasefire with the Separatists, we can’t just be using any old route to get to the Rim. We’re going to have to take the long way round.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” Jesse said. “Captain, do you think you can get Vader to change his mind about the plan before then? Just in case Senator Taal doesn’t show his face on Ryloth>”

Rex raised one brow in disbelief at the cocky question. “Don’t push your luck, soldier. We have our orders. If you don’t like them, you can stay aboard ship.”

“Oh, no, I’m going,” Jesse insisted. “The Hutts can join the Zygerrians, the Kaminoans and Palpatine in hell as far as I’m concerned. I just want to be sure we do maximum damage.”

“This is Vader we’re talking about,” Rex reminded him. “Maximum damage is pretty much SOP. Rest up, this is going to be a hell of a fight.”

*

Mace wasn’t sure what he expected when he arrived on Mandalore, but being asked first he’d made an appointment to see the Duchess and then being forced to wait almost two days to meet with her was not what he expected. If he’d sensed any Dark presence in the capital he would have been suspicious that she was harboring Vader and was delaying meeting with him to cover for the Sith. But all such suspicions he had on that count vanished when he finally met with her face to face.

Rather than meeting in her audience chamber, he was brought to a small room that seemed to be a disaster zone of people, overlapping commlinks, droids, and flimsi.

Maneuvering around rushing droids and nearly bumping into several aides, Mace managed to greet the leader of Mandalore with a bow. She didn’t bother to look up from the viewscreen she was scrolling through.

“Duchess Satine, it seems that I have arrived at a bad time,” he began.

“Like so many of your brethren, you are a master of understatement,” she responded picking up a datapad, tapping away for a moment before putting it down and turning to face him. “Forgive me for not greeting you upon your arrival, but as you can see, we’re a bit busy here trying to hold the galaxy together now that you have finally finished trying to tear it apart at the seams.” A droid wheeled up to her and handed her a pile of flimsis which she took and began to peruse as if the Jedi Master wasn’t even there.

Mace strove to remain calm. She was hardly the first politician or planetary leader he’d dealt with who looked down on the Order. “Then my mission coincides with your efforts,” he told her. “It is the protection of peace in the galaxy and the stability of the Republic that has brought me here.”

The Duchess scoffed audibly. “The actions of your Order the past three years as commanders of slave armies and willing enablers of Sheev Palpatine’s corruption say otherwise.”

Windu refrained from grinding his teeth. It wouldn’t help. He let his anger go through the Force. “The Order serves the Republic, not its leader and it is the safety of the Republic that brings me to Mandalore. There is a new threat that must be dealt with or the entire galaxy will fall back into chaos.”

“Back into chaos? Back into chaos?” She echoed, voice rising with every word. “Look around you, Master Jedi,” she said gesturing expansively. “The galaxy has been in chaos for years! The only thing that has held it together so that we have the smallest hope of rebuilding anything out of this contrived war has been those who have refused to fight, those troopers and Jedi who have put down their weapons and rebuilt war torn worlds, those who have worked tirelessly and thanklessly to root out corruption. No, don’t try and justify yourself! You are no Negotiator, ” she snapped at him when Mace opened his mouth to speak. “I know why you are here. You’re looking for Luke and Vader. Well I can tell you now that Vader is not here, and Luke …” here she trailed off suddenly and turned away from him.

“So he is dead?” he asked, hoping at least to confirm that fact even if his quarry was not on Mandalore.

“Yes, damn you. He’s dead and we are all the worse for it.”

Mace nodded in relief. That was one problem dealt with. “Then that leaves only Vader.”

“Of course, who care’s about the dead when there’s another enemy to hunt down and fight?” she said with a watery laugh. “There is no death, just the Force, isn’t that what you believe?”

He ignored her comment. It did no good to even discuss such matters with someone who had no understanding of the ways of the Force. “If you are in contact with him or have any means to contact him, I need that information. If you truly believe in pacifism then you can hardly condone the murders he has committed.”

“Do not lecture me about what it means to be a pacifist.”

“So long as Vader is out there he is a threat to the Republic and to the League,” Mace argued. “He must be stopped before he seizes power.”

The Duchess turned and regarded him for a long moment. She shook her head and laughed. “You really believe that, don’t you? You actually believe he plans to seize power. You’re a fool and if you try and go after him, you’ll be a dead fool.”

He lost his patience. He did not need to be lectured. “Do you know where he is?” he demanded.

A small smile graced her features. She knew that she had rattled him. Mace regretted that she’d spent so much time with Jedi before. She knew too much and yet too little of their ways.

“No, I do not know where he is,” she replied evenly. “But if I were him, I would be headed to Ryloth. The reports of Senator Taal’s activities are too loathsome to ignore.”

Mace composed himself. That was all he needed. With a lead on Vader’s next target, he would locate him and face the Sith at last. He nodded in thanks to the Duchess and began to take his leave when she called after him.

“I won’t wish you luck, Master Jedi. It won’t help you. I will, however, say that if you and your Order really cared about peace and justice in the Republic, you would be hunting down and arresting people like Senator Taal rather than focusing on Vader. Something to think about on your journey.”

*

There were many stories about how freedom would come to those enslaved on the desert planet of Tatooine. Some said it would come like condensing dew, growing drop by drop. Others said it would come on like a storm, sand billowing up in the air like a visible scream. In one story, the old grandmothers said, liberation would come like rain, water actually falling from the sky.

All the stories got it wrong.

When salvation finally came to Tatooine, it fell like a hammer’s blow, striking at the chains that bound them and threw such sparks the very world seemed to catch alight and burn.

There was no water, only blood and fire.

*

#luke and vader save the galaxy #star wars #vader strikes back #prequels

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [20/20]

Chapter Summary:   Sasuke stares at Sakura, feeling somewhat inadequate beside her; she has undergone such an important change, and yet she is clearly the same woman he was first drawn to. Where it was once so easy to talk to her, now he finds himself at a loss for words.

Chapter Beta: None besides my own eyes. I’ll go through the spellchecker at some other point. I’m just kind of eager to get this finished. So don’t be surprised if you come back in a week or two to reread (assuming you intend to reread) and find a bunch of grammar stuff changed.

戦国時代

“And it will go down in history that the infamous warlord, Uchiha Sasuke, survived single combat with the jinchuriki Uzumaki Naruto…only to faint during peace talks at the thought of impending fatherhood,” Kakashi intones with false solemnity.

He is far more amused than is appropriate.

Or necessary.

The members of the main families crowd together in a smaller tent, away from the eyes of their vassals and other witnesses. Based on what Naruto told him upon his waking (while mocking him with unconcealed glee), they have been given an hour’s grace while the main families try to decide how to come to terms with the news Sakura has brought them, and while Mifune attempts to calm the rest of the clans.

That’s easier for some than others.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hyūga Hiashi demands, glaring thunderously down at Sasuke. “Is this some plot to undermine the agreements we have made?”

As if the man didn’t abscond with his entire clan, Sasuke can’t help thinking. There is a dim, almost manic hint of amusement to the notion.

“I would say those agreements were null and voided when I first came here,” Hinata speaks up, quietly but firmly. “This only furthers our need for new accords.”

“Daughter –”

“Hey, it might not even be yours,” Suigetsu suggests, peering over Sasuke’s shoulder to stare at the baby.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Naruto interrupts, obviously insulted and defensive on Sakura’s behalf.

“Are you seriously that blind?” his redheaded cousin demands, uncaring of protocol as she slaps Suigetsu upside the head. His head explodes into a spray of water.

“Hey!”

Sakura motions for them all to be quiet, and in a crisp voice says, “I don’t appreciate the insinuation. If there are serious questions about her parentage, a simple blood test would –”

“No.”

Everyone pauses and glances at Sasuke, as this is the first time he has spoken since he returned to consciousness.  

“There is no question,” he continues, in a stronger tone. “Sakura would not lie about this. Especially after everything. Besides, this child…” His gaze falls upon the infant again, and he swallows thickly. “She has inherited my eyes.”

This appears to effectively silence everyone for a moment, before another round of questions and demands starts up, far too many to answer all at once. Sasuke feels more uncomfortable at this attention than he was earlier, when he was facing possible imprisonment or exile.

Which I might still be, he thinks dimly.

Sakura is trying to answer questions and soothe insulted egos and pacify demands about their affair, while Naruto and Kakashi try to help. Words like ‘treason’, ‘dishonour’ and ‘collusion’ are thrown about. Sasuke knows he should be speaking up, but his brain appears to have stalled as he gazes upon the baby.

Sarada…

It’s eventually Suigetsu and Obito who cut through the tension of the assembly with their usual blunt disregard for propriety.

“So no one else is gonna ask the obvious question?” the surviving Hosuki clansman asks, glancing between Sasuke and Sakura.

“You mean how the hell during this whole war that’s been going on, they found time to f—” Obito begins, but Rin slaps her hand over his mouth.  

Sasuke feels an uncomfortable warmth in the back of his neck and Sakura’s is overwhelmed by a coughing fit.

“The how and the why are not what should concern us just now,” Kakashi says gravely, though his eyes still gleam with amusement. “The details can be explained later. What concerns us now is the existance of this child, an heir to the Senju and the Uchiha. I’d think we can all agree that this is a more solid promise of peace than any piece of paper, no matter what circumstances brought it about?”

“Besides, Sasuke still needs time to process,” Naruto sniggers.

Sasuke glares at him, wondering if it’s worth risking a harsher punishment than he’s already in for to punch the man.

In the background, the lull Sasuke noticed in the commotion from the main tent has faded away as well. Mifune has returned, and approaches Sakura.

“My lady, the people are demanding answers, and if they don’t get them some are threatening to leave,” he tells her. “Whatever…story you need to set straight, do it fast.”

Sakura makes a face. “There is no story. Just the truth.”

Sasuke catches the by-play, but still feels too disoriented to react to it; he is trying to force his brain to think strategically once again. His difficulty is compounded by the unwavering attention from the other people in the tent.

Sakura notices, and then says to Mifune, “If we might have a moment of privacy?”

“I would not advise it,” Mifune says. “The other clans are already worried about back room dealings between clans, but between the two belligerents—especially considering the serious circumstances of Uchiha-sama…”

“This not a meeting of two clans, but of two parents discussing their daughter,” she retorts firmly, and then levels a challenging gaze toward the head of the Hyūga. “Surely you would understand that, my lord?”

Hiashi appears to struggle with something a moment, but when Hinata lays a hand on his arm, he relaxes.

“Very well,” he mutters. “We will all await you in the main assembly. Soon, I hope.”

He leaves, and is slowly followed by the others. Naruto beams at them both as he leaves, while Kakashi offers a wink of encouragement on his way out.

And then they are alone for the first time in months.

Sasuke stares at Sakura, feeling somewhat inadequate beside her; she has undergone such an important change, and yet she is clearly the same woman he was first drawn to. Where it was once so easy to talk to her, now he finds himself at a loss for words.

But Mifune is right, and time is of the essence.

“The truth?” Sasuke prompts tightly, not knowing where else to start.

Sakura nods, and motions for him to sit with her. She kneels down into seiza, adjusting her hold on the infant. A beat later, Sasuke joins her, sitting with his knees scant inches from hers and staring at her expectantly.

“Sarada is three months old,” she tells him matter-of-factly. The words would be utter nonsense to someone else, but to Sasuke they only prompt him to count backwards.

A year ago.

A year ago it would have been possible, because they were still—

Memory hits him then – an encounter, one that wasn’t their last, but certainly one of the most memorable.

“Will anyone else ever make you feel like this? Answer me, Sakura.”

“No!”

“No what?”

“No one else…no one else will…fuck, Sasuke, please!”

His eyes widen, his ears and neck burning at the memory; Sakura nods, her own cheeks turning red. “Yes. I think that’s when it happened. There’s always a small chance of contraception failing, but I never thought we would fall into that percentage.” She snorts in an undignified way. “I suppose I should have, considering the circumstances of our entire relationship.”

Sasuke has no idea what to say to this, and waits for her to continue.

“I suspected after we healed your brother…and by the time I knew for sure I wasn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. Everything was so precarious, and I was worried it would negatively influence the peace we were trying to build,” she says. “By the time I decided to tell you and figure everything out afterward…it was that horrible day when Itachi…” Sakura trails off, struggling here, and Sasuke is reminded of the fact that she was quite fond of his brother – not only as her patient but as a friend. She clears her throat and goes on. “I was just about to, when –”

“Danzō attacked,” he finishes, eyes widening as he remembers. His lungs feel like they’re constricting.

“Yes.”

“You were…that day…” his mouth goes dry. “You could have been killed – you almost were killed. Both of you, if not for…”

“Itachi,” she agrees. “I believe that’s why he threw himself in front of me.”

“He knew?” Sasuke chokes.

Sakura’s expression is sad. “Yes. How, I have no idea. I didn’t tell him anything, I wasn’t even showing physical symptoms then, but he…he suspected. Or maybe he hoped, because when he asked – like it was a joke - but I said I was…he looked like he expected it.”

Sasuke shakes his head, unsurprised; somehow, Itachi always seemed to know everything that was going on. If he weren’t a man guided by logic, Sasuke would think his brother had mystical abilities.

“He wanted to meet her so badly,” Sakura tells him in a voice barely above a whisper. “He wanted you to be happy. And he knew what she would mean to…to everyone.”

Sasuke can’t find the right words to reply to this.

“You should have told me,” Sasuke tells her, his voice inexplicably hoarse. “If you had told me –”

“Would you have believed me?” she challenges quietly. “If I appeared before you, heavy with child, saying it was yours? In your midframe, and without seeing her for yourself, what would have happened?”

He stares blankly at her, and immediately an image presents itself to him, something so horrible he can’t help pressing the back of his hand to his mouth lest he vomit.

He probably would have accused her of infidelity and run her through with his blade; or worse, shoves a chidori through her heart.

“I tried,” she admits. “Even when you were so far gone, when you accused me of – I hoped, but – but you weren’t listening.”

Sasuke can’t repress his own shudder, as his brain provides him with detailed memories of every encounter they had in the past year. Of her full-cheeked, healthy glow that he attributed to her healing abilities, of the winter cloak that hid her growing belly, and her total absence from the battlefield in the last few months –

It’s juxtaposed with his crystal-clear memories of each and every time he put her in harms way, of the times they fought beside one another—and against one another. When she forced herself to complete Itachi’s healing, when she fought Danzō’s Susanoo, when he tried to destroy her, the way her body always seemed to move to protect her centre—

A horrifying realisation hits him.

“You knew that day. I placed you in that genjutsu, and I…”

She too shivers at the memory. “We were so lucky that Kakashi was there.”

Sasuke feels like he can’t breathe, his heart pounding erratically in his ears and a pain creeping through his chest that isn’t entirely physical. It’s like someone is digging through his ribcage and heart with a dull blade, his stomach pulling tight. Bile rises in his throat as the inescapable truth hits him like a barrage of enemy arrows.

His vision swims in and out of focus for a few long minutes as he tries to regain focus; Sakura watches him worriedly, and he wonders if the only reason she hasn’t reached for him is the baby in her arms.

So many times when I could have killed her.

“You couldn’t have,” the interrupts his chaotic thoughts as if she’s read them. “It turns out my abilities apply to part of my body. At the time, she was part of it, so she would have been fine even if you had—”

“You’re not helping,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not trying to,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “You should feel bad about it. That’s something that’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth parts in surprise at the coolness in her voice here, but then he closes it, because she’s right.

“But that’s the past,” she goes on. “The past can haunt us all it likes, but it’s done and can’t be changed. The future can be. And I know that more than anything you want that. Because we have her.”

He thinks on this, and then asks, tentative, “We?”

She nods. “No matter what happens between us, she’s ours. Nothing will ever change that.”

He ignores the pit in his stomach at the unspoken implications of that and focusses his attentions on the baby again. Tentatively, and only after receiving a nod of encouragement from Sakura, Sasuke reaches shaking fingers toward the sleeping baby and brushes her bangs from her cheeks.

“Sarada?” he asks, hesitant.

“I named her for you and me,” Sakura tells him. “And…for Itachi.”

“It’s…it’s a good name.”

She offers him a tiny, cautious smile. “I hoped you would like it.”

He rests his hand on the crown of Sarada’s head, overtaken by a sudden strong desire and yet unable to articulate it. He shoots Sakura a beseeching look, and after a moment, her smile widens. “Do you finally want to hold her?”

He nods once.

“Here,” she says, and inches closer to him. “Hold out your arms. One goes under her body, and you have to—yes, sypport the head just like that.”

“I’ve held a baby before,” he grunts, a little of his usually orneriness peeking through the disbelief.

“You’ve never held your own before,” she quips.

To which he can offer no argument.

The swaddled baby is a warm, comforting weight in the crook of his arm; a beat later, Sakura’s familiar warmth spreads across the side of his left arm as she leans closer to him.

Sasuke tears his eyes from his daughter to Sakura, and is surprised to note silent tears running down her cheeks. He can’t tell if they are from happiness or sadness, but the sight of them bother him all the same.

“I don’t mean to force this on you. I never did,” Sakura says, trying to keep the warble of emotion from her voice. “I wanted to tell you alone, away from everyone else, so that it wouldn’t influence the peace talks. This should have been more private, and I’m sorry I couldn’t manage that –”

“Sakura –”

“But she started crying, and she never cries unless something’s wrong. She’s usually so quiet and well-behaved – and I think she got that from you, because my mother told me once I was a fussy baby –”

“Sakura –”

“ – and before you think I’m trying to use her to influence your decisions, you have to know I would never do that. And whatever decisions are made today, I don’t expect you to ever love me again –”

“Sakura.”

He speaks sharply now, loud enough that the baby in his arms shifts and frowns in her sleep. Her parents are quiet a beat, watching with baited breath to see if she will wake, and when she doesn’t, Sasuke deliberately returns his gaze to Sakura.

As soon as her eyes meet his, he informs her, “I never stopped.”

Sakura’s lips part in surprise, and a tiny oh escapes her.

For the first time today, she appears to be the on at a loss for words, and it seems wasteful not to take advantage of this. 

Mindful of the baby in his arm and wary of the receptiveness of the woman before him, Sasuke leans tentatively forward. He moves slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away from him – a right she has every excuse in the world to use, and yet he is relieved to see she doesn’t. As his face draws nearer to hers, her eyes move from his eyes to his mouth and back again, cheeks turning an even darker shade of red than earlier. She rests one of her hands lightly on his arm, and he pauses to confirm whether this is a sign to stop, but the subtle twitch – fingers curling into the material of his robes – suggest the opposite.

He can see a tear beading on her eyelashes, and feel the tiny, flyaway wisps of her hair against his face.

When their lips finally meet, it is utterly chaste.

There is no push or pull in this, no desperate need to possess or taste or merge. Sasuke fits her trembling bottom lip between both of his, resting softly against her, and though she gasps, he makes no move to deepen the kiss.

For once it is Sakura who breaks away first, exhaling a shuddering sigh; there are two damp trails down her cheeks, but she is smiling at him. She opens her mouth to say something, and then abruptly shuts it again. Before Sasuke can pay much attention to the nervous, expectant feeling in his stomach, she reaches up with her hand and taps two fingers against his forehead.

“I never stopped either,” she whispers, leaning forward until their foreheads rest together.

They stay like this for a long while, resting against one another and gazing down at the child between them.

“But if you ever pull anything like that again, I will unmake you,” she tells him, voice laced with promise. “As it is, as soon as you’re back to full health, I’m going to kick your ass so hard, Uchiha Madara will feel it.”

For the first time in years, Sasuke laughs.

戦国時代

“People will still want answers,” Sasuke says eventually. “You saw earlier. They’ll want to know how this happened.”

“I doubt we have to explain that.”

Sasuke gives her a look, causing Sakura to laugh, and then turn serious.

“We won’t tell them about Itachi’s illness,” she decides. “That’s his own secret, and as your brother and my patient, I see no reason to make anyone aware of it.” Sasuke is grateful for this. “As for our time together before…”

“They don’t need to know about that, either,” Sasuke says, feeling unexpectedly protective of those secret nights together. “As far as anyone might know, the day of the failed summit we…”

He flounders, trying to find the right words, and Sakura grin, and supplies, “Went for a stroll?”

The way she says it drips with innuendo.

“Yes,” he answers shortly, ignoring how warm his clothes feel just then.

“Perhaps we even discussed uniting our clans to ensue the peace,” Sakura goes on.  “And then Danzō’s betrayal stopped any possible plans.”

Sasuke nods thoughtfully, and then asks, “Is that why you brought it up?”

“What?”

“That day – the last time we – you mentioned bringing the two clans together,” he reminds her. “Was it because of Sarada?”

Sakura sighs and nods sadly. “Partially. Of course, I want peace…but I also want a better world for her. Don’t you?”

He does. More than he has ever wanted anything in his life.

Yet, even as he thinks of the bright future his daughter has in front of her, he can’t help sensing a darkness that threatens it. A shadow cast by her own father, hated and reviled by the people of this land for his deeds.

“She will be judged for my actions,” he realises, “if they aren’t judging her for them already.”

“Let them try!” Sakura says fiercely.

“No,” he shakes his head. He carefully hands Sarada back to Sakura, who automatically takes the baby though she looks confused. “My legacy will harm her and anything she aspires to in the future. It would be better for her if I left. This world is for her, not for m –”

Sakura’s free hand snaps out and slaps him. It’s not a particularly powerful for her, but enough to make his teeth rattle.

“You damned, stupid idiot!” she snarls. “How could you think of doing that!” She shakes her fist at him, and he suspects the only reason she doesn’t do worse is because of the baby in her arm. “We both lost our parents, we both know what that feels like! And you would subject our daughter to that?”

“We had parents worth emulating,” Sasuke replies stiffly. “She already has one of those in you. My being in her life would do her more harm than good.”

“If you’re worried about your legacy here harming her, then we’ll all leave!”

Sasuke opens his mouth to argue, and then realises what she just said, and blinks. “What?”

“All three of us,” Sakura goes on, expression stubborn. “Together. We can start over somewhere else – change our names, become…I don’t know, farmers or something. It doesn’t matter, because we’ll at least stay together!”

At this point Sasuke’s jaw has dropped in shock, because this was the last reaction he expected to his suggestion.

“We’ll sign this peace accord and then leave,” Sakura goes on. “We could even make it a condition of the accords, that to ensure peace remains here, the Senju and Uchiha will leave this land. I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince people of –”

“No. You and Sarada would be better off here. My leaving has nothing to do with you –”

“Nothing to do with me?” Sakura demands angrily.

Sarada begins to fuss in Sasuke’s arm, and they both fall silent once more, conscious that their argument is disturbing their daughter.

“You can’t give up everything on my account!” Sasuke hisses.

“I already have!” Sakura shoots back in a harsh whisper. “You and your damned eyes, that first day we met!” He goes still, stunned, because those are his words. “I’ve been ready to give up everything ever since that day, and it’s been hell! Do you know how hard the past few months have been? Especially since Sarada was born? Some days the only way I got through it was by telling myself that today would be the day. Today you would come back to me. To us.”

He looks away. “If I have put you through so much…it would be selfish to stay.”

“It would be selfish to leave. If you do, Sarada will be without her father…and I will be without the man I love.”

“Sometimes that which we love can cause the most harm,” he murmurs. He thinks on the generations of Uchiha who threw away their lives for the clan they loved so deeply.

“You’ve already done me enough harm to last a lifetime – would you do more?” she asks him bluntly, and he winces, because he deserves that. She sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Naruto explained your reasons and…I know you weren’t in your right mind...”

“It’s no excuse.”

“No, but I’m offering it anyway,” she replies, and tries to smile. This time, she is unable to do it. “If you leave, you take my heart with you. People can’t live without their hearts, Sasuke-kun. Not me, nor you.”

“I don’t deserve any of this, Sakura,” he sighs, though he feels himself wavering. “I’ve taken so many lives—”

“And I haven’t?” she counters. “I told you once before. The reason I became a medic was to make up for the lives I had to take. You can’t make up for your mistakes if you’re dead, or if you leave.”

“Sakura…”

“Stay,” she implores him. “Build the future your brother wanted. Be the father Sarada needs, and try to make up for the damage done to this country by being a part of it. I’m not saying you ever will—you’ve done a lot of things wrong. But it’s better than the alternative. Exiling yourself is the same as running away, and it goes against everything that you are.”

“I still face a tribunal,” he reminds her. “I doubt they will care to take into account this future of yours.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever they decide, we will deal with it as a family.”

He stills. “Is that we are?”

“It’s what we have always been,” she insists. “Even when you were too stubborn to see it.”

He clenches his fist against the swaddled form of his child, and then relaxes; the rest of the tension in his body drains out of him.

“Stay,” Sakura whispers one last time, leaning close, those damned green eyes shining with determination and love.

And he does.

つづく

Stay tuned for the Epilogue!

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a ko-fi button at the top of the page, or you can find my tip jar here.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

Next Chapter

#naruto fanfiction #sasusaku #warring states #sss family #warring states period #rating: teen #au #kuriquinn #drama #romance #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #sarada uchiha #all's well that ends well #fluff #forgiveness #sakura is a better person than i am

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Connections.

Imagine Claire and Jamie (unlucky in love) met while speed dating and clicked instantly.

Brown.

Green.

Blue.

Some sort of amalgamation of grey, blue and green.

Eyes.

A whole host of them flashed before her, the memory of them blurring almost immediately as the next guy pulled out the chair and sat in front of her.

Speed dating.

It was hideous and boring but she’d promised her friend, Geillis, so here she was. At the thought of her meddlesome companion she internally rolled her eyes and re-focused on the man in front of her.

“So, what’s your name, pretty lady?” The lightly-bearded gentleman cooed as he reached for her hand. Four minutes was all they had, and thank goodness for that. *Pretty lady*? Who said shit like that these days?

Claire looked up and blinked coquettishly. If he was going to resort to antiquated phraseology to *woo* her, she’d return the sentiment tenfold.

“Claire, Claire Beauchamp. And you?”

The only thing that was missing from this whole futile interaction was a muted sepia tone and some cigarettes.

Ignoring the listlessness of her tone, her companion winked like some sideshow comedian and licked his lips.

Claire withheld the shudder and looked at the clock. Only a minute to go. She could do this. One minute and then only another candidate and she’d be home with her television and a very large glass of wine…alone.

“I’m Tom, Tom Christie. What do you–”

The buzzer sounded and not a moment too soon as Tim…or Tom, whoever he was, stood and offered his hand to Claire.

“Nice to chat to you, Claire, maybe we’ll meet again soon?”

Choosing civility over hostility, Claire stood and took his sweaty palm before nodding -she left his open ended question hang in the air though, not wanting to have to disappoint him whilst she was in such an awful mood.

And with that her penultimate suitor faded into the massing crowd of men that were deciphering where to go next.

Having opted to drive - the safest way to ensure a quick getaway at the end of the evening - Claire hadn’t had anything alcoholic to drink, only a large glass of water to tide her over but with all of the cheesy chat-up lines rolling around her head she’d begun to wish that she’d ditched the car in favour of the booze. Sighing, she scratched the back of her neck as she awaited her final guest.

It seemed to take an awfully long time for the room to settle, so long that she almost hoped that it was done and over and there wasn’t another man destined to sit at her table and discuss inane tosh. But just as the hope had arisen it was quashed by the arrival of her final four minute date.

“I’m sae sorry, lass…” the mystery man panted, his hands running nervously though his longer than average hair as he pulled the chair aside and sat down. “I had a de’il of a time getting through.”

“T-that’s alright,” Claire returned, momentarily befuddled by the bright red hair and the vibrant blue eyes of her guest, “I’m Claire, who are you?”

–

Geillis sat on the other side of the bar with a large smile plastered on her face. She knew Claire probably wouldn’t take to most of the men here, but she understood her friend’s motivations better than Claire herself.

True to his word, Jamie had been late *and* had found it difficult to shimmy through the crowds, but he hadn’t actually been there before now. Geillis and Jamie had met years before, when Claire was still dating that boring dolt, Frank. She’d seen instantly how Jamie and Claire would be perfect for one another, but whilst Claire was still inextricably tied to another she couldn’t conceivably link the pair up on a hot date.

Instead she had played the waiting game, knowing it was futile. Claire and Jamie would be together, she could just sense it.

She watched for a minute longer and Claire dipped her head and laughed, the telltale blush coating her cheeks as Jamie captivated her in record breaking time.

“You get her, Jamie lad.” Geiliis whispered into her large glass of rose, “get her good.”

–

Before she’d even blinked the timer rang out for the end and Claire slunk back in her seat.

Jamie was…interesting. It had shocked her, and instead of backing away she found herself leaning into him as he spoke.

“Look, Claire,” Jamie said, tapping his fingers nervously against the heavily marked desk, “I ken we’ve no’ had long to chat. But would you like to continue. We could stay here…or go somewhere else?”

Claire’s heart missed a beat and she hiccuped over the rim of her glass as she took another sip of water. She wanted to, badly. But something was chewing at her and she wasn’t sure whether to accept or not.

“No pressure,” he continued, seeing the indecision in her eyes.

“Okay,” she decided with one meaningful glance at Geillis, who’d been propping the bar up all night. Her friend definitely had something to do with this. “But not here,” she continued, noticing some of the creepier guys as they hovered around waiting for the waifs and strays of the evening to pick them up in the aftermath.

“Aye, I agree.”

Out in the cool Glaswegian night, Claire and Jamie walked side by side letting the cold air surround them as they walked further and further from merchant city. The bars, restaurants and general hum of central Glasgow began to fade as they walked quietly onwards.

“Did Gellie set this up?” Claire finally chirped, her voice much more stable than her emotions. “You can be honest, don’t worry.” She smiled up at him as their brisk walk slowed a little the closer they came to Kelvingrove.

Jamie laughed, a small thing that barely registered but Claire could see the gentle shudder of his chest and the subtle twitch of his lips.

“She might have had something to do wi’ it, aye.”

“How long has she been plotting this?”

Claire wasn’t wasting any time. She knew Geillis and she knew that her friend had been containing something even before she’d separated from Frank.

“Weel…” suddenly Jamie felt very coy, but since Claire was being so direct with him, he could see no way other than honesty. “A while. She spoke to me of you maybe a year back. I didna think she was serious, o’ course. And then nothing came of it, so I didna mention it again.”

“Until now?”

“Aye.” His voice was deeper now, the intonation of the single word sending shivers down Claire’s spine. Fortunately the wind was high enough for her to pass it off as the cold.

“She mentioned…in passing…that ye might be here tonight and I was suitably intrigued that I didna think it would do any harm.”

“Are you lonely, Jamie?” Claire asked, with one lift of her left eyebrow.

“Are you, Claire?” He returned, nudging her shoulder with his own as they perched on a bench overlooking the still waters of the river Kelvin. Glasgow lit up was the most amazing sight, the university in the background almost glowed on the horizon.

“Nice return, Mr…”

“Fraser, it’s James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie…Fraser.”

“Quite the mouthful,” Claire chuckled, her fingers coming into contact with Jamie’s as she turned a little, watching his profile as he took in the twinkling lights of the buildings beyond. “I only have one middle name; but then again, I’m not greedy.”

Jamie laughed, the deep baritone of it reverberating through the cheap wood that supported them. “Blame my sentimental parents for wanting to keep all of the family names on the go, aye?”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said, her walls slowly crumbling under Jamie’s gentle handling. “I don’t mean to be so …irascible.”

“Dinna werrit…you arena ir- irass–”

Claire snorted, holding her hand to her mouth as she tried not to giggle at his mispronunciation of her choice of words. “Irascible. Bad-tempered or foul.”

“Ha. I ken what it means, lass. I just canna say it.” Jamie winked leaning back on the bench now as his arm came up and settled loosely behind Claire’s back. “But you arena any of those things. I like your humour. Putting the ‘sass’ in ‘sassenach’, aye?”

Letting her head loll backwards, Claire couldn’t contain her laughter anymore as she let her mouth fall open and her head hit Jamie’s warm arm. “Sassy, am I?”

“That’s one word for it, aye. But I like you fine, Claire.”

Ordinarily such a statement would have grated on her, but with Jamie, Claire felt some sort of kinship which kept her from rolling her eyes and cutting their extended date short.

Sassy.

She’d been called much worse by less good looking people.

Sassy, she could cope with.

As for his bold choice of words in regards to his assessment of her, something warm was glowing inside her, a distinctly feminine heat that she rarely felt. A feeling that Frank had never elicited from her and she found that she was…glad…that he liked her.  

“Well, Jamie,” Claire said, a slight happy lilt to her tone, “ I like *ye* just fine too.”

–

As the frigid evening air began to cut through them, Claire stood and offered Jamie her hand bypassing the opportunity for Jamie to do it. “Shall we?” She led with the quirk of an eyebrow.

“Did ye have something in mind, Mistress?” he returned, taking her soft hand and standing by her side with a miniature bow as he stood.

“I think we probably should give Geillie her money’s worth, don’t you think Jamie? Since she’s been orchestrating this for *such a long time*.”

Suitably intrigued, Jamie chuckled and followed as Claire began ambling towards the exit to the park. It wasn’t far to her place from Kelvingrove and the homely light of her apartment made her quicken her steps. The thrill of bringing Jamie back with her made the excitement bubble just beneath her skin.

“Your place?” Jamie questioned, nerves fluttering in his belly as he watched Claire reach for her keys.

“I don’t think there are any bars left open now, Jamie,” she said, fumbling through her large tote in search of her ring of keys, “so if you fancy a nightcap, then…yes?” She posed it as a question, worried just for a second that he might think her too forward but as soon as she’d said it she squashed those insecurities. If he didn’t want to join her, she’d continue alone.

“Ach,” he replied, making a distinctly Scottish noise as he looked behind him down the deserted road, “it would be my pleasure.”

Her flat was toasty as she closed the door solidly behind him. Grabbing two tumblers from the sideboard she turned and looked at him with one eyebrow cocked, holding the glasses aloft and clinking them together. “Whisky? Or is that a silly question?”

–

Jamie sat cross legged on the sofa, his whisky balanced carefully on his knees as he watched Claire lighting candles in her small lounge. “Ye told me you were a doctor, Claire. But do you have a specialty?” Not wanting the silence to stretch on he tilted his head to the side as he asked the question. He was captivated by her. The woman who’d spent mere hours with him and yet wanted to bring him into her home. Although it had a strange one-night-stand feel about the whole affair, it didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.

“I’m a surgeon by trade. I wanted to work in A&E, that was always where I wanted to end up - so it came down to a choice really. I’ve always been hands on, so my mentor suggested the path that involved less diagnosis and more…cutting and investigating.” Smiling, she blew out the lit match, her lips pursing in the most glorious way.

“It sounds like a noble profession. My mother is a nurse so I ken how difficult it can be in a hospital. Especially with the hours.”

“Noble,” Claire whispered, perching on the single seat next to the sofa where Jamie sat. “I’ve been told that a lot, but I’m mostly selfish. I always did the things I wanted to do.”

“We’re all selfish, Claire. Nay doubt about that.”

Nodding, Claire swilled the amber liquid around her mouth and swallowed. “So, farming,” she stated, bringing up his career to end the conversation about her own. “What made you choose that?”

“It’s a family enterprise really. My da and my grandda were both farmers. It was just passed down, really.”

“Didn’t you ever want to do anything else?”

“No,” Jamie answered simply, his eyes alight with joy as he licked his lips. “I didna. I love the farm, I love working the land and I’d hate to have to work indoors again now. I’m used to the freedom.”

Claire brushed the hair from her eyes as she finally toed off her shoes. “So that’s how you know Geillie, then? Through the business?”

“Aye, she’s my accountant…as she was my father’s before that.”

Quiet filled the room once more as they each downed their drinks. Jamie’s heart began to race as he watched the light reflecting in Claire’s eyes. She looked seductive, the silk of her top rippling almost like water in a burn as is slid against her milky skin.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” he said, his heart sinking at the prospect of leaving her, but knowing that it was late and awfully presumptuous that he might be asked to stay.

Claire nodded, her lips twitching into an almost lascivious smile as she made to stand. He was right, of course. It was after midnight, but the part of her that relied heavily on her instincts rebelled. She hadn’t invited him inside to have one drink and leave. Pushing herself out of the comfy chair, she walked slowly over to Jamie and took his glass from him - purposefully running her pinkie finger against his large digits.

Jamie shuddered, her touch causing his fingers to twitch in midair.

“Do you want to leave, Jamie?” She whispered; her head dipped, her eyes focused directly on him.

Her cheeks were pinked, the muted rouge spreading down and along her neck as she stood in front of him, her hands clasped tight around the empty tumblers as she awaited his response.

Negating to answer, he stood, shifted his head to the side and nudged his nose against her - offering his lips up to her. Jamie wanted to kiss her, but since she’d been making the moves, he decided to leave the control with her. He quite liked her gumption.

“Me either,” she sighed, interpreting his actions for herself.

Her kiss was intense to say the least. He could still taste the Talisker on her tongue as she guided him soundlessly towards her bedroom. Jamie was so incapacitated by her caress that he barely registered the move, it was only the sense of darkness surrounding them that brought him to his senses.

Claire took advantage of the situation, peeling the shirt from her shoulders and dropping it on the floor by her feet.

Jamie was stunned, his irises large as saucers as he blinked in the dim light of the master bedroom. “Christ yer beautiful, Claire,” he gasped, the air suddenly dissipating from his lungs as if she’d drawn it directly from his chest.

Claire exhaled, her fingers toying with Jamie’s belt. She knew how to act, but she didn’t know what to say to return the sentiment. In lieu of words, she stuck to actions. Jamie’s belt dropped to the floor with a clatter to join Claire’s top before he could even move an inch.

“Are ye sure?”

“Yes,” she replied instantly, fusing her mouth to his as she continued to undress him.

In no time at all she had him naked. Jamie didn’t protest. It had been so long for him, it wasn’t that he’d abstained - just that he’d not met anyone who’d driven him to want. But Claire had. Mere moments after he’d met her he’d known that Geillis was right.

Claire hadn’t been with a man since Frank, and she hadn’t anticipated the mounting feel of desire that had sparked upon meeting Jamie. What she did know, though, was that she wasn’t willing to stop. She didn’t care about the implications or what may or may not happen in the aftermath. She wanted him, and since he was equally partial to their union, she was *going* to have him...

#Anonymous #;Mod MBD #Jamie and Claire AU #submission #Connections AU

[airmid79-blog]

Straight Faced & Tightly Laced

SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 8 | airmid79 vs @inkbleeder

Prompt: Straight Face Ship: Michael/Dean Word Count: ~ 2.2k Rating: T for language, no other warnings Summary: Don’t play drinking games with people who know you uncomfortably well. Set in the bunker in a nebulous future. AO3

See Notes at the end for information on the game itself.

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“Did you get it?”

There was a wary look in those eyes, like Dean was plotting terrible things towards his friend and he wanted to point out that he was innocent on that front. Totally innocent.

Now, the terrible, not so nice things that he planned to do to a certain stuck up ex-archangel that was still sort of an angel? Yeah, he could be accused of those things.

“Yes.” Cas’ voice was like gravel on his nerves. Everything seemed overly bright even in the dim garage of the bunker and he tried an innocent look. Cas didn’t look like he was buying at this point as he went on. “This is very powerful. What are your intentions for it?”

“Can’t you just trust me for once, Cas? Huh?” Dean tried for his sheepish grin that used to work on Sam until Sam wised up and realized Dean was at his least trustworthy when it came out to play. It looked like Cas felt that way to as the angel took a step closer, those eyes becoming little judgmental slits.

“Whatever you have planned is a bad idea.”

“Look, man, thanks for the advice,” Dean started, managing to grab the bottle in his friend’s arms, “but I’m a big boy.”

Cas looked less than convinced. Seeing that the angel wasn’t trying to take it back, Dean made himself scarce, climbing up the stairs into the bunker proper. At the very least maybe he could figure out if the quasi-archangel free loading with them actually felt anything. Push a few buttons, have a little fun along with getting that stick that was lodged up Michael’s ass loosened a bit.

At least if he got an angel hammered and not a total bastard for a while in the process it had to be worth doing, right?

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There was a little pile of paper sitting in front of Michael as he sat all straight laced at the table in the war room. Dean was fairly certain given the perfect edges and corner that the angel had taken a pair of scissors and painstakingly cut each little strip to the same size before folding it.

Because Michael was an over acting ass apparently.

“I see you are serious about my participation in your insisted upon proceeding,” the archangel said, tilting his head slightly. Unlike Cas there wasn’t any emotion in those eyes, just cold authority as he waited. It was already unnerving that he was like the ghost of dad’s long lost brother, that God hadn’t really done a lot when popping him into the vessel.

In fact, Dean wanted to argue, the close but not quite resemblance made things all the more worse. His life had enough sketchy corners as it was, he didn’t need tall, dark haired, blue eyed with a more severe face glowering at him in constant judgement. No, no Mikey’s face was often unhelpful and the dick knew it.

“Just for you, buttercup,” he said, pushing the bottle in front of the angel. “Get it done?”

“Yes, as per your instructions though I fail to see what you get out of this.”

“Can you just not have a massive cosmic point to everything? Just think of it as the price of getting to stay here.”

Even with his back towards Michael he could feel the angel seething and he smiled, picking up a whisky bottle that was mostly full and two shot glasses before returning to the table. He scooped up the little pile of perfect paper and inwardly sighed. This, this was what he wanted to not have for a while, as he fished his own out of his pocket. There was nothing wrong with a few crinkles, a little smudge of dirt. Gave them a personality.

“You remember the rules?”

“Yes Dean, despite what you feel I am not senile due to my age.” Those eyes focused on him again as he stood his ground. “Read what’s on the paper with no reaction. If there is a reaction of any kind, drink.”

“Good, Sparky.”

He kicked back in the chair opposite the archangel and passed over the first paper. Those slender fingers unfolded it, and Michael sat quietly. If he was honest, and he wasn’t a lot of the time, he would be worried since the silence dragged on. So he tried to distract himself by working off a smudge with his shirt cuff and wondering what Sam was using to give the table this high velocity gloss.

“I’m not saying this.”

Michael’s face was slightly pinched, looking as though he longed to incinerate the paper in his hand as Sam of course chose that moment to flounce in. Probably meddling Cas had sent him, hoping Sam could be the voice of reason.

Dean snorted.

“Say what? What are you two doing?”

The paper exchanged hands, Sam’s face getting that same dark look to it as he slowly turned his eyes on Dean. There was a reason Dean had started off with that one, stack the deck in his favor. Michael’s pride, well it could be something sharpened to push right back the other way. Which was awesome in a game like this, especially when your opponent had an ‘at will’ poker face pre-programmed in.

“Jesus, Dean.”

“He doesn’t have to say it but he reacted so down the hatch it goes.”

“Dean, dude, I don’t think you’d even say this out loud.”

“Them’s the breaks, Sammy. He can either wimp out or grow a pair.”

The cute little helpless look that Sam had almost withered when Michael realized he was losing and they had just barely started. No words, not even an angry comment as he poured out the shot of that liquor that smelled faintly of flowers before he downed it. A wince, tightening of the jaw as the glass was placed back down, eyes calm.

“Fine, Dean. Go ahead.”

Somehow he managed to do it. Somehow he managed to say “I am in love with Sam’s hair and ache to run my fingers through it” with a flat voice. Which he was fairly sure just pissed off the angel more.

“I don’t even want to –“ Sam raised up his hands and backed away from them. “Just don’t burn anything down.”

“You can see all those years of lying paying off,” he yelled after his brother who just shuddered.

“Do you even pay attention to what comes out of your mouth?”

Then Sam was gone, Michael was smirking and he had no one to really protest that he meant scamming people, not that he secretly loved his kid brother’s hair. Christ.

It was going to be a long night.

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“I like to –“ Michael squinted at the paper, his posture more slack, head almost lulling to the side. “No Dean, it was Gabriel who liked to rub himself on everything in creation.”

“I’m gonna give it to you because you managed that somehow,” Dean mumbled as he felt deliciously warm. Something like a haphazard smirk was on the angel’s face now and Dean got a finger to respond in order to point. “Never mind, drink.”

“I was reacting to you after you told me I passed,” came the words, Michael’s head tilting like a lazy bob. “I don’t believe that counts.”

Dean grunted as his own fingers fumbled with the next little perfectly folded card that showed the habits of anal retentive angels. Or sort of angel. He was fairly certain Michael might have a spot of spittle on his lip and that didn’t seem highly angelic.

“I like the thrill of having semi-public sex in closets.” All he could do was just blink a few moments, feeling some hot sensation flash through his face. “Just, dude, I don’t want to know how you think you know that.”

A slight curve of Michael’s mouth, something strangely triumphant, like the archangel had guessed the world’s most important secret. Dean took another shot, not even feeling the burn at this point.

Well cared hands reached for the next little slip and Dean wondered that if Mike ever became fully human if he would get manicures. And…he needed to have stopped thinking about five minutes ago.

“This isn’t true,” came the soft response to whatever happened to be up. “I’ll take the drink, I won’t say this to you.”

Damn, his brain was a fuzzy, buzzy, lacking logic place right now. What had he written that wouldn’t be true enough to make Michael that vehement over the whole thing? Usually he could do better than this, maybe sitting next to that pagan sacred crap was making it harder as he pressed his face against the cool surface of the table. It did have that heady hippie smell of honeyed flowers that was rather nauseating.

He decided to blame his sudden inability to not handle his liquor nearly as well on that.

A click of a glass being set down and then fingers were rubbing his head. He’d jump if it wouldn’t make the sensation that he was going to puke more pronounced. He didn’t need to see the last couple hours in reverse.

“You’re making this weird,” he complained and got a happy noise. He didn’t have to look up to know that the angel’s eyes were all shiny and bright and like two deep pools that caught all the light.

Jesus, he was getting bad.  

“I’ve never thought that about you,” Mike continued, voice all hazy like some luxurious blanket and he wanted to wrap himself in it. “I think the smell is getting to you.”

“As long as we agree it’s your fault.”

He cracked his eyes open and saw that the angel was leaned back in his chair, fully relaxed, almost like he was actually smiling, something genuine for once. A hand wave and the cork was back in the bottle, a few blinks as if Mikey was surprised he managed to pull that off without blowing something up.

They were so done, and he closed his eyes again deciding that he would get up maybe when his body didn’t feel like it was full of sand.

“You’re a very sweet drunk,” Michael intoned as Dean pondered if he had enough left to throw something at him. “If I didn’t think just the residue in my mouth would kill you I’d like to see what is so alluring to you about closets.”

“Oh my God,” he got out, feeling his face flush all over again because that had been a stupid kid thing and why had Michael even felt the need to know about that?

“If He was here He’d probably watch.”

Because only Michael could find a way to make this totally worse and act completely normal about it.

“Please, just stop talking,” he whispered to the table.

Mercifully, Michael took up humming instead.

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Damn, did his head ache. Some sort of sour, stale taste all glopped in his mouth and he felt like he was laid out on something hard and very unforgiving. Wincing, snapping his eyes open and shut a few times against the glare off the white he found that was because he was on the floor. Shifting his eyes up without moving his head full of sea-sick feelings, it seemed he was also under the table.

This was about the time he became really more laser focused on the fact he was being cuddled by something very warm. His still not steady hands checked to ensure he had all his clothes on.

“What the hell?” he muttered and he was fairly certain it was Michael who was all tucked in like an overgrown cat behind him. Which was only a shred better then Sam on the floor with him in weird positions.

“You decided to lay down on the floor under the table as it provided good cover and complained to be cold. I, at the time, thought it would be good to help you.”

“Uh huh,” he said slowly realizing that the archangel was not impaired, or at least not by nearly as much and was still wrapped around him. “And now?”

“I’m enjoying your discomfort,” came the amused answer but the arm around him pulled him slightly closer and Dean wondered just how much of a half-truth that was.

Better to wig out over the whole thing later after he managed to get vertical without emptying his gut into the nearest trash bin. “I am so never going to live this down.”

“Nope,” came another voice and he groaned. Sammy. Sammy had walked in being all smug, putting stuff on the table loud enough that it sounded like he was re-enacting a buffalo migration up there. “Coffee and breakfast on the table, Dean.”

Goddamn, was Sam way too smug.

“Thank you, Samuel,” Michael was saying as his brother lumbered away and at least the archangel had stopped him from poking Sam to even more vindictiveness.

Though when he got himself free from the overly handsy angel and away from the dust bunnies down here, he decided no more drinking games. It wasn’t like any of this was enjoyable. Nope, it was just to keep his eyes from seeing the world in vomit inducing ways and giving Sam more ammo later to blackmail him with.

Laying his head back down, Michael a sun at his back, he decided getting up could wait just a few more minutes.

~Fin

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NOTES:

While I have played a few drinking games I ended up having to look up Straight Face and found a rather helpful video of three dudes demonstrating it. For humans playing, a lot of the fun comes from trying to say what's been written down without laughing. Due to the participants not all being human in this case the rules were much stricter - saying what was written without any reaction at all. Which of course was what Dean was going for by writing things that at first Michael would refuse and just play out of pride and later on getting him to say things that would cause most creatures discomfort.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#spnrareshipcc #Dean x Michael #inkbleeder #round 8 #crack #fluff

[wellamarke]

top five things to change? Two hard ones: cabin pressure and humans :)

ooooooh thank you!! very hard because y’all know those are my two absolute favourite shows in the whole entire world and i frequently claim that they are pefect, but I will try!!

5 things I would change about Cabin Pressure:

1. Alphabet what now?! I would, obviously, extend it to at LEAST one more series! Its only flaw of note is that it ended :/ 

2. I know that the actors had very minimal rehearsal time and that when recording, they can’t always go over lines for a very tiny slip, and I also know I am overly pedantic, particularly for someone who isn’t particularly eloquent out loud….. but the only person of the main cast who never miss-emphasises a line is John. Cause, you know, he wrote it. Benedict straight up changes the company name to ‘MGN’ more than once in series 4, Carolyn and Douglas both lose the one-syllable game by choosing the two-syllable pronunciation of ‘beer’. And I was listening to Douz today and remembered this, which I cannot unhear now that I’ve noticed it: 

MARTIN: I am the senior pilot on board, Carolyn.
CAROLYN: Yes. But Douglas is the better pilot on board.

why does she inflect pilot and not better? That’s what she’s correcting him on, after all. I adore Stephanie Cole with EVERY FIBRE of my earthly being, and if this was a normal show that she had extensive rehearsal and reshoot time for, they would have got it right, I know. But since we’re picking faults, I’d change that line for sure! 

3. The change in Caitlin’s name, from Cayt-lin to Caht-lin, will always annoy me. I know that it has WOG explanation, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I would have them stick to saying ‘Caytlin’.

4. The timeline! Arthur’s 28 and a half in Boston, and “nearly thirty” in St Petersburg, but when asked, the Finnemore usually claims that the timeline is supposed to run sort of parallel to its broadcast. Somehow, July 2008 to August 2011 - more than 3 years - is condensed into 18 months, and as someone much cleverer than me has worked out, somewhere, this throws out other people’s ages too, and messes with things like the length of time Martin’s worked at MJN. So I’d change Douglas’s line in SP. Or maybe make Arthur 26 and a half in Boston! 
(But outside of this post, my theory is that Arthur understands the word “nearly” to mean “around the general area of”, so he doesn’t correct Douglas - 31 and a half is nearly 30, after all, it’s just after rather than before.) 

5. Although I loved Zurich and thought it was a beautiful end to a beautiful show, it’s forever devastating that Martin leaves. Give me that Air Liechtenstein AU any day of the week. 

Lol, most of these are so petty and tiny, and maybe someone who isn’t me could think of really smart, conceptual improvements to the show as a whole, but…. I…. just really love Cabin Pressure, okay. 

5 things I would change about Humans

(which got a bit long, sorry lol)

1. Obviously, I would put Fred in series 2. At first I wasn’t sure how I would put him in, but I think I would have had Athena trying to fix him/introduce V into his mainframe in the early episodes, despairing and going after the other prototypes when she couldn’t, and then maybe repairing his code with Karen’s help? This would kill two of my series 2 birds with one stone: because one, I really missed Karen interacting with any of the Elsters this year (she literally exchanged one look with Mia, that was it.) and two, I started joking that Athena and Milo’s scenes were actually a crossover into another show, because they interacted almost exclusively with each other (and V) for most of the series. I had an easy time getting to love Renie, Flash and even Hester, because they were so involved in the lives of characters I already loved. In the early episodes, the most connected I felt to Athena was when she went to talk to Hobb, of all people, hehe. So giving her Fred to fix would (a) fix Fred and (b) make Athena feel more part of the show’s core. 

2. Joe and Laura’s interactions with Sophie in the second season. Well, more particularly Joe, since Laura had other niskesque things on her mind. How does Joe not realise specifically that Sophie is mimicking synth behaviour very early on? Instead he talks vaguely about her ‘putting up walls’, when it’s painfully obvious what she’s actually doing. He tries, repeatedly, to talk her out of it in hushed, Serious Tones, rather than trying to engage her properly in childlike activities (although props for the foodfight scene, and maybe the lack of anything similar that went before it is what makes that so affecting). And the most!!! annoying thing!!!! is that in whichever episode it is that Renie comes over (4/5?), they let her answer the door and let Renie inside, like? is it just me? or should they have been at least listening out - just in general when a child answers the door but particularly when a child who’s supposed to be staying away from synths answers the door to -apparently- a synth! Who’s come to visit your son, no less? Like why didn’t they even check what was going on? This is made worse by the fact that when the Ominous Utility Synth of Doom arrives, they’re suddenly all about knowing who’s coming and going. Basically, Joe and Laura are only interested when it’s convenient, when it’s not interrupting their covert whispering about how worried they are about Sophie. Less whispering, more parenting, guys. 

3. I gotta get in one petty intonation point, okay - the way Lindsey Kiwanuka, bless her, says that Vera can do “ten times what the D-series can do” instead of “ten times what the D-series can do”. It just… sounds so wrong, so I would substitute that line for the proper inflection. I don’t know if you’ve noticed haha but I am a person who italicises for emphasis, like, a lot. I speak quite emphatically IRL and I like that to be reflected in anything I write. So I guess I’m quite tuned in to it, and whenever I hear some poor actor botch the inflection of a line, I think to myself “I bet the writer didn’t italicise that properly in the script!” (oops, there I go again). So, yep, that. But kudos for Humans for having very few examples to choose from. I actually can’t think of any others. 

4. Pretty much all the deployment of Odi in series 2, like… need I say anything more, that was just heartbreakingly inadequate. I loved parts of it very much, but it sort of feels like they wasted his character and kind of implicated Mattie (and all of the Hawkinses except Sophie, really) by having them neglect his needs. It’s just sad. Not the kind of tragedy his character provided in series 1, which was art. Just sad sadness. 

5. Above all else, though, I would change the length of each series!! It’s a common complaint that series 2 tried to stretch itself over too many storylines, but honestly I don’t know which one I’d go without, per se - really, I just wanted more of pretty much everything, except Joe, because no. Every plot is intriguing and valid and has amazing points, but they pretty much all suffer from underdevelopment and scarcity of scenes. I feel like the stuff with Hester was very well done, good pacing, excellent development, but she was pretty much the only character I found wholly satisfying as regards her narrative deployment. Everyone else left me wanting explanations, extensions, more of the quiet llittle character moments series 1 was full of. The Hawkinses, for example, seemed like more of a unit in series 1, when they were divided and tense, than they did this year - all spread into their little corners of the plot. Does Mattie even know Renie exists? Does Joe know Odi’s name? Imagine if we had, like, 12 episodes even - I’m not saying go 24 like some American shows, necessarily, though I’d obviously love that - you wouldn’t need to add much plotwise, just give us some breathing space. C’mon. Commission a slightly longer 3rd series, powers that be…… you know it makes sense. 

Thank yooooou this was fun! 

Send me a show and I’ll try and come up with 5 things I’d change 

#ask things #2 #3 #4 #5 #cabin pressure #c4 humans

[dan-wreck]

BOWIE #2 - STARDUST MEMORIES 

Photo by Mick Rock

Oh stop groaning, you can name a piece of writing with a Woody Allen pun when the person you're writing it about is a cultural Zelig.

Soon there's going to be a whole generation where the Bowie they remember is the dead Bowie. The sanitised version who is forming in the popular imagination. Then after that there's going to be a generation who don't have a Bowie. Figuratively and literally, kids born into a post Bowie era. Pity them more. I guess how you first encountered him is a question of when you grew up and your surroundings: a guy I worked with at my last job, 20 years older than me, announced "That guy from Labyrinth is dead!". Presumably, somewhere, there's a die hard Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence fan who was mourning the death of Jack Celliers. We may never know.

For many people the Bowie they remember is Ziggy Bowie, whether they were alive to see him bringing bisexuality onto the BBC or not. Maybe this is one of the reasons behind the recent cringeworthy trend of calling him "the Starman" the same way that faux-matey twats call Paul Weller the Modfather. Maybe it's just that these people are idiots. Bowie himself didn't really seem to think of Ziggy as an enduring character or perhaps he just felt like he’d said all he could through that conduit. He laid him to rest after Aladdin Sane after all: around 42 years before he finished creating. Ziggy was really strictly speaking a footnote. The relatively anonymous figure of Major Tom, however, was one he kept returning to: after Space Oddity he came back in Ashes To Ashes, then again in Hallo Spaceboy (the Pet Shop Boys remix particularly) and then finally we see him dead in the Blackstar video.

Ashes To Ashes for instance: Major Tom is strung out in heaven's high and hitting an all time low. This, though, at a time when Bowie's cultural stock was quite high. He was incredibly cool. He was still selling a lot of records. He was the one person who could hang out in the living room of a confused and senile Bing Crosby or at a tiny punk gig and fit equally well with either. There was no point reviving Ziggy because a whole load of New Romantics and Goths were doing it. The fact that this new flock of painted birds were very inspired by him was something that'd become crushingly obvious when Bauhaus did their borderline karaoke version of Ziggy Stardust in 82. Bowie embraced his bastard children with open arms, casting them as his grim entourage in his video, with one notable exception.

Gary Numan. A huge fan who wound up getting thrown off the set of a TV show they were both on and being dismissed as the "same old thing in brand new drag" in Teenage Wildlife because our man was feeling a bit insecure about this new pretender. Which is a bit rich, really, considering that young Bowie himself was a fusion of Iggy, Newley, Scott Walker and whoever else he could latch onto. Numan was certainly no more derivative than Bowie and it wasn’t just Bowie he was drawing from: he drew as much from JG Ballard and Philip K Dick novels and John Foxx as he did from the Spider from Bromley. It’s allso amusing considering that he sings Teenage Wildlife in a voice uncannily similar to that of Billy MacKenzie, who his people had recognised the grand high art high camp potential of when they heard the Associates cover of Boys Keep Swinging and offered them a publishing deal; then later on "The midwives to history put on their bloody robes" is delivered in the voice of another Bowie acolyte, Richard Butler.

Make no mistake, Ashes to Ashes is simultaneously a high water mark, a brilliant pop record and the point where Bowie stopped being ahead of trends and started chasing them. It just so happened that a lot of these trends were started by people catching up to him. Confusing, no? In fact, this is the one point where you could maybe give some credence to the lazy critics idea of Bowie as "chameleon". Now at his best Bowie was never a chameleon. Especially when he was first Ziggy, actually because there's no way Bowie / Ziggy was blending into the background: he was an incredibly beautiful, sexually ambiguous peacock character. But during the 80s he did blend in quite a lot. He was just another one of the rank and file whether prancing about onstage with anonymous session hacks on the Glass Spider tour or just being "one of the guys" with Tin Machine. It didn't really suit him. It was unnerving. It still seemed like a costume but a very lazy one. The equivalent of Bowie turning up to the macabre Halloween coke party of 80s pop in casual clothes and saying "I came as David Jones".

So the next time we saw Major Tom in a lot of people's eyes he really was hitting an all-time low. Not everyone's, not the die-hards and not people who buy and listen to music based on what they hear, not what they're told by a music press who had been swallowed up by the sexless and jingoistic Britpop craze. See, with Outside what he'd done is released an elaborate concept album rife with pervy sexualised violence, violent sex, drugs, strange invented characters and references to obscure artists and art movements like Chris Burden (already visited in the Berlin days on Joe The Lion), Herman Nitsch and the Vienna Actionists. The visual component was a huge part of it all again, with unnerving videos like Samuel Bayer’s The Hearts Filthy Lesson. In interviews he was talking up Tricky and The Young Gods and saying how much he wanted to work with Glenn Branca. Being ahead of the curve by talking about the power of the internet as everyone thought he was nuts. He was even working extensively with Eno again.

You know - the sort of thing you want from Bowie!

This isn't what the British music press wanted. They wanted safe flag-waving and to be told what they knew to make them feel like they hadn't dumbed down to a degree which is still marring pop music with waves of Oasis clones because for a while it was acceptable to make bland drivel devoid of imagination or sensuality. They smeared Bowie's dabbling with jungle and drum'n'bass as a sad old man trying to stay in touch when in reality it was really just in continuity with him learning to play sax as a teenager because that's what all the cool jazz musicians he looked up to did, making "plastic soul" on Young Americans and welding the cold European sensibility of Low, "Heroes" and Lodger to the beating heart of the black American rhythm section of Davis, Murray and Alomar. Cultural segregation, two world wars and one world cup was what they wanted and they didn't want ageing mavericks showing up and demonstrating how hopelessly conservative they were.

A lot of the incredibly dull music being hyped up to the skies was, just like it was with the New Romantics, made by Bowie fans. So the time was right for him to come back but could he have not just have given them Ziggy again? Something with nice short songs, loud guitars, some dramatic strings. This time a bit more hetero, though, so the lads mag readers weren’t left shifting about uncomfortably again the way they were whenever they saw Richey James Edwards.

"Do you like girls or boys? It's confusing these days"

If you're not paying attention you can almost miss it but Hallo Spaceboy is, in fact, mentioning Ziggy / Bowie as much as it mentions Major Tom if not more. In those two lines we see Bowie cagily re-opening the closet door now it's safe for him to do so, and doing so on a mind-fuck of a concept album closer to the spirit of Ziggy or Diamond Dogs than almost anything he'd done since (The Thin White Duke was as much coke psychosis as an actual character). Before this the last time he was really clear about this was on Scream Like A Baby where he talked about queer bashing ("They came down on the faggots") and obliquely mentioned a gay love affair. Then let's look at the remix: it doesn't get much gayer than The Pet Shop Boys, really, does it? The Pet Shop Boys remixing a song from a polymorphously perverse album where he sings from the point of view of various genders: just listen to his alarming pitched-up Baby Grace voice or the strange androgynous Vocoderised ice queen voice of Ramona A Stone. 

Most offensively of all, though, however much you laughed at him it didn’t really work because he was very aware that it was funny. The segues between tracks were full of gallows humour and the Algeria Touchshriek voice sounds like nothing so much as Peter Cook’s E.L. Wisty character; it’s very serious stuff but as you hear Bowie intone “The screw is a tightening atrocity, I shake as the reeking flesh is as romantic as hell” in The Voyeur Of Utter Destruction (As Beauty) there’s a faint smirk under it. He is always aware of his own absurdity.

1.Outside didn't spawn any of the sequels he talked about doing but it's no surprise: artists tend to talk about at least five times as many ideas as they actually follow through and work on. There were drum'n'bass and jungle rhythms creeping in on I'm Deranged and We Prick You, some classic Bowie ballads like Strangers when We Meet (itself, like Teenage Wildlife, in the "Heroes" continuum and one of my favourite Bowie songs) and some homages to what Scott Walker was up to at the moment like The Motel or A Small Plot of Land. He wasn't setting the trends now: he was following them and the best you can hope for is that rather than trying to assimilate into it as he did in the 80s he was putting them into the Bowie blender.

This, however, misses the point that he was never that original in the first place! The way he presented his ideas was, and he had a unique singing voice but the fact is that he just had his ear to the underground and did these things to a mass audience so they just looked new. In that respect Outside is no more or less original than Low or one of the records everyone goes on about it just happens that when it came out it wasn't the first time the masses were hearing these sounds as it was when he made the second side of Low which sounds like Cluster or Harmonia. Bowie’s value wasn’t as an inventor of new sounds it was as a way of making them digestible and emotionally accessible to everyone in a way which may then allow the actual innovators (and he did always cite his sources) to break through to more success: this is quite laudable.

So then of course he went on tour with NIN, continuing to refuse to "act like a man his age". Now this raises an interesting question about Bowie's public perception. How is it that he was an old man 20 years ago when he was in his late 40's - early 50's but then when he died he was too young to go? Could it be that as rock'n'roll, still a young artform, develops that our perceptions of performers capability changes? The fact is that for a pervy old man, as he was labelled at the time, he still looked very youthful and very vital. Far sexier, far more dangerous than any of the Britpop boys who'd grown up on his music but who shuffled about in tracksuit tops and shapeless jeans. As this live TV clip shows, with Gail Ann Dorsey looking just as androgynous and unworldly as he ever did but with seemingly the minimum of effort; and Mike Garson looking deranged.

The right people were listening: Fincher saw the potential to run The Heart’s Filthy Lesson over the credits of Se7en and Lynch used I’m Deranged in Lost Highway. Both were similarly grim end of the 20th Century blues, meditations on madness. Both soundtracks, coincidentally enough, featured the work of NIN and Coil: it’s a little frustrating how close in terms of interests Bowie and Coil are, how few degrees of separation there are between these immensely influential queer occultist artists and that they never actually worked together. 

He continued in this vein with Earthling, still upsetting everyone by continuing to do what he felt like doing rather than digging up old characters. A subtle “fuck you” to the beige whitewashed sounds of Brit-pop in the cover where he wears a stained and tattered Union Jack coat as he looks out over an idealised version of England’s green (screened) and pleasant land. This on an album as infused with contemporary black music as Young Americans was. Even his huge 50th birthday show was as much of a celebration of Bowie present and looking forward as a fond look at what had been. Then, of course, "Hours" came.

Now "Hours" is perhaps an unfairly maligned album: if anyone else had put out an album with songs as great as Thursday's Child and Survive on they'd be praised to the skies and rightly so. They are moving, perfectly constructed pop songs but there's no real fire or spark of innovation in them. What little emotional impact there is has been drowned in high-tech production that covers everything in an unpleasant sheen. This is possibly as much Mark Plati and Reeves Gabrels fault as Bowie's as this is his most straightforwardly collaborative album (with every song co-credited to Gabrels) but I'm not sure. I feel like Reeves Gabrels gets unfairly criticised as he's been involved in some of the most ridiculous things Bowie has done (i.e. Tin Machine) and he appeared onstage in daft outfits playing wanky guitar solos.

He's also been involved in some of my favourite Bowie songs, however, and if you see him playing with The Cure he's not as huge a presence. He’s not jumping all over everything with fretboard tapping and lunging around waggling his tongue like Gene Simmons with a PhD: this implies that he cut such a larger than life figure because his boss wanted him to as much as anything else. So despite his persona bordering on that of a middle-aged man enthusiastically demonstrating FX pedals to you in a guitar shop, blaming him too much is misguided.

According to the excellent Pushing Ahead of the Dame blog, it was around this time Bowie started thinking about making a Ziggy Stardust film and as such he was annoyed by Velvet Goldmine's fictionalised steps into the same territory. Todd Haynes' Velvet Goldmine is an enjoyable film but I can see why he'd be so annoyed with it: it is clearly the work of a gay fan feeling betrayed by him “going back in” circa Let’s Dance. Possibly the great man was realising this wasn’t one of his best moves however well it worked at the time. After "Hours" was out and around the time of Heathen in 2002, Bowie changed his tune regarding Ziggy: “I’m running like fuck from that…Can you imagine anything uglier than a nearly 60-year-old Ziggy Stardust? I don’t think so!".

Similar ambivalence towards the idea is hinted at by the shelving of the video for the Pretty Things Are Going To Hell (itself a dual reference to The Stooges and Hunky Dory) where Bowie is menaced by huge puppets of past characters: the Pierrot from Ashes To Ashes, The Man Who Sold The World, The Thin White Duke and of course Ziggy. Maybe he judged it to be a bit on the nose.

It is an interesting change in perception we've undergone. In 1996 he was too old to be performing like he used to do but in 2013, at the age of 66, there were whispers about how great it'd be if he toured again. Not in any other industry do you expect a 66 year old man to get up onstage and dance about trying to be sexy for two or three hours a night. He could've done it like Dylan or Cohen (who only started touring again when he was much older than Bowie, true) but it wouldn't really have been his style: here was a man for who dance and mime and stagecraft had been an integral part of what made him a star. It’s still very present in his last videos and one of his final works was an honest to God musical after all.

So in the Blackstar video when we see that Major Tom is dead and at peace at last what are we to make of it? Clearing house for a whole new phase of experimentation and new ideas or a man on his last legs knowing that even if he didn't die straight after making this album he didn't have forever and was in the winter of his years? This is where we start to maybe give him too much credit. He was a man, and a great man but not a superhero. Superheroes don’t do things like release terrible covers of Iggy Pop songs with Tina Turner bolted onto them. “Ah but he only did that to keep his good friend financially solvent.”. Okay, good point.

He was a very intelligent man but not some towering inhuman intellect who could've predicted the moment Blackstar's "Something happened on the day he died, his spirit rose a metre and stepped aside" soundtracking the moment we knew we knew we knew. Maybe he predicted that it'd be a long while before somebody else took his place because things aren't set up that way. The industry has no interest in promoting bravery, the shock of the new. But he can't possibly have predicted that he was soundtracking millions of people thinking "He's gone, isn't he?" when he wrote that in remission. To think that he did is ridiculous, isn't it?

Isn't it?

#david bowie #1. outside #ashes to ashes #ziggy stardust #blackstar #brit pop #jungle

[afutureinnoise]

DAVID BOWIE, PART 2

BY DAN WRECK

Photo by Mick Rock

BOWIE #2 - STARDUST MEMORIES 

Oh stop groaning, you can name a piece of writing with a Woody Allen pun when the person you're writing it about is a cultural Zelig.

Soon there's going to be a whole generation where the Bowie they remember is the dead Bowie. The sanitised version who is forming in the popular imagination. Then after that there's going to be a generation who don't have a Bowie. Figuratively and literally, kids born into a post Bowie era. Pity them more. I guess how you first encountered him is a question of when you grew up and your surroundings: a guy I worked with at my last job, 20 years older than me, announced "That guy from Labyrinth is dead!". Presumably, somewhere, there's a die hard Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence fan who was mourning the death of Jack Celliers. We may never know.

For many people the Bowie they remember is Ziggy Bowie, whether they were alive to see him bringing bisexuality onto the BBC or not. Maybe this is one of the reasons behind the recent cringeworthy trend of calling him "the Starman" the same way that faux-matey twats call Paul Weller the Modfather. Maybe it's just that these people are idiots. Bowie himself didn't really seem to think of Ziggy as an enduring character or perhaps he just felt like he’d said all he could through that conduit. He laid him to rest after Aladdin Sane after all: around 42 years before he finished creating. Ziggy was really strictly speaking a footnote. The relatively anonymous figure of Major Tom, however, was one he kept returning to: after Space Oddity he came back in Ashes To Ashes, then again in Hallo Spaceboy (the Pet Shop Boys remix particularly) and then finally we see him dead in the Blackstar video.

Ashes To Ashes for instance: Major Tom is strung out in heaven's high and hitting an all time low. This, though, at a time when Bowie's cultural stock was quite high. He was incredibly cool. He was still selling a lot of records. He was the one person who could hang out in the living room of a confused and senile Bing Crosby or at a tiny punk gig and fit equally well with either. There was no point reviving Ziggy because a whole load of New Romantics and Goths were doing it. The fact that this new flock of painted birds were very inspired by him was something that'd become crushingly obvious when Bauhaus did their borderline karaoke version of Ziggy Stardust in 82. Bowie embraced his bastard children with open arms, casting them as his grim entourage in his video, with one notable exception.

Gary Numan. A huge fan who wound up getting thrown off the set of a TV show they were both on and being dismissed as the "same old thing in brand new drag" in Teenage Wildlife because our man was feeling a bit insecure about this new pretender. Which is a bit rich, really, considering that young Bowie himself was a fusion of Iggy, Newley, Scott Walker and whoever else he could latch onto. Numan was certainly no more derivative than Bowie and it wasn’t just Bowie he was drawing from: he drew as much from JG Ballard and Philip K Dick novels and John Foxx as he did from the Spider from Bromley. It’s allso amusing considering that he sings Teenage Wildlife in a voice uncannily similar to that of Billy MacKenzie, who his people had recognised the grand high art high camp potential of when they heard the Associates cover of Boys Keep Swinging and offered them a publishing deal; then later on "The midwives to history put on their bloody robes" is delivered in the voice of another Bowie acolyte, Richard Butler.

Make no mistake, Ashes to Ashes is simultaneously a high water mark, a brilliant pop record and the point where Bowie stopped being ahead of trends and started chasing them. It just so happened that a lot of these trends were started by people catching up to him. Confusing, no? In fact, this is the one point where you could maybe give some credence to the lazy critics idea of Bowie as "chameleon". Now at his best Bowie was never a chameleon. Especially when he was first Ziggy, actually because there's no way Bowie / Ziggy was blending into the background: he was an incredibly beautiful, sexually ambiguous peacock character. But during the 80s he did blend in quite a lot. He was just another one of the rank and file whether prancing about onstage with anonymous session hacks on the Glass Spider tour or just being "one of the guys" with Tin Machine. It didn't really suit him. It was unnerving. It still seemed like a costume but a very lazy one. The equivalent of Bowie turning up to the macabre Halloween coke party of 80s pop in casual clothes and saying "I came as David Jones".

So the next time we saw Major Tom in a lot of people's eyes he really was hitting an all-time low. Not everyone's, not the die-hards and not people who buy and listen to music based on what they hear, not what they're told by a music press who had been swallowed up by the sexless and jingoistic Britpop craze. See, with Outside what he'd done is released an elaborate concept album rife with pervy sexualised violence, violent sex, drugs, strange invented characters and references to obscure artists and art movements like Chris Burden (already visited in the Berlin days on Joe The Lion), Herman Nitsch and the Vienna Actionists. The visual component was a huge part of it all again, with unnerving videos like Samuel Bayer’s The Hearts Filthy Lesson. In interviews he was talking up Tricky and The Young Gods and saying how much he wanted to work with Glenn Branca. Being ahead of the curve by talking about the power of the internet as everyone thought he was nuts. He was even working extensively with Eno again.

You know - the sort of thing you want from Bowie!

This isn't what the British music press wanted. They wanted safe flag-waving and to be told what they knew to make them feel like they hadn't dumbed down to a degree which is still marring pop music with waves of Oasis clones because for a while it was acceptable to make bland drivel devoid of imagination or sensuality. They smeared Bowie's dabbling with jungle and drum'n'bass as a sad old man trying to stay in touch when in reality it was really just in continuity with him learning to play sax as a teenager because that's what all the cool jazz musicians he looked up to did, making "plastic soul" on Young Americans and welding the cold European sensibility of Low, "Heroes" and Lodger to the beating heart of the black American rhythm section of Davis, Murray and Alomar. Cultural segregation, two world wars and one world cup was what they wanted and they didn't want ageing mavericks showing up and demonstrating how hopelessly conservative they were.

A lot of the incredibly dull music being hyped up to the skies was, just like it was with the New Romantics, made by Bowie fans. So the time was right for him to come back but could he have not just have given them Ziggy again? Something with nice short songs, loud guitars, some dramatic strings. This time a bit more hetero, though, so the lads mag readers weren’t left shifting about uncomfortably again the way they were whenever they saw Richey James Edwards.

"Do you like girls or boys? It's confusing these days"

If you're not paying attention you can almost miss it but Hallo Spaceboy is, in fact, mentioning Ziggy / Bowie as much as it mentions Major Tom if not more. In those two lines we see Bowie cagily re-opening the closet door now it's safe for him to do so, and doing so on a mind-fuck of a concept album closer to the spirit of Ziggy or Diamond Dogs than almost anything he'd done since (The Thin White Duke was as much coke psychosis as an actual character). Before this the last time he was really clear about this was on Scream Like A Baby where he talked about queer bashing ("They came down on the faggots") and obliquely mentioned a gay love affair. Then let's look at the remix: it doesn't get much gayer than The Pet Shop Boys, really, does it? The Pet Shop Boys remixing a song from a polymorphously perverse album where he sings from the point of view of various genders: just listen to his alarming pitched-up Baby Grace voice or the strange androgynous Vocoderised ice queen voice of Ramona A Stone. 

Most offensively of all, though, however much you laughed at him it didn’t really work because he was very aware that it was funny. The segues between tracks were full of gallows humour and the Algeria Touchshriek voice sounds like nothing so much as Peter Cook’s E.L. Wisty character; it’s very serious stuff but as you hear Bowie intone “The screw is a tightening atrocity, I shake as the reeking flesh is as romantic as hell” in The Voyeur Of Utter Destruction (As Beauty) there’s a faint smirk under it. He is always aware of his own absurdity.

Outside didn't spawn any of the sequels he talked about doing but it's no surprise: artists tend to talk about at least five times as many ideas as they actually follow through and work on. There were drum'n'bass and jungle rhythms creeping in on I'm Deranged and We Prick You, some classic Bowie ballads like Strangers when We Meet (itself, like Teenage Wildlife, in the "Heroes" continuum and one of my favourite Bowie songs) and some homages to what Scott Walker was up to at the moment like The Motel or A Small Plot of Land. He wasn't setting the trends now: he was following them and the best you can hope for is that rather than trying to assimilate into it as he did in the 80s he was putting them into the Bowie blender.

This, however, misses the point that he was never that original in the first place! The way he presented his ideas was, and he had a unique singing voice but the fact is that he just had his ear to the underground and did these things to a mass audience so they just looked new. In that respect Outside is no more or less original than Low or one of the records everyone goes on about it just happens that when it came out it wasn't the first time the masses were hearing these sounds as it was when he made the second side of Low which sounds like Cluster or Harmonia. Bowie’s value wasn’t as an inventor of new sounds it was as a way of making them digestible and emotionally accessible to everyone in a way which may then allow the actual innovators (and he did always cite his sources) to break through to more success: this is quite laudable.

So then of course he went on tour with NIN, continuing to refuse to "act like a man his age". Now this raises an interesting question about Bowie's public perception. How is it that he was an old man 20 years ago when he was in his late 40's - early 50's but then when he died he was too young to go? Could it be that as rock'n'roll, still a young artform, develops that our perceptions of performers capability changes? The fact is that for a pervy old man, as he was labelled at the time, he still looked very youthful and very vital. Far sexier, far more dangerous than any of the Britpop boys who'd grown up on his music but who shuffled about in tracksuit tops and shapeless jeans. As this live TV clip shows, with Gail Ann Dorsey looking just as androgynous and unworldly as he ever did but with seemingly the minimum of effort; and Mike Garson looking deranged.

The right people were listening: Fincher saw the potential to run The Heart’s Filthy Lesson over the credits of Se7en and Lynch used I’m Deranged in Lost Highway. Both were similarly grim end of the 20th Century blues, meditations on madness. Both soundtracks, coincidentally enough, featured the work of NIN and Coil: it’s a little frustrating how close in terms of interests Bowie and Coil are, how few degrees of separation there are between these immensely influential queer occultist artists and that they never actually worked together. 

He continued in this vein with Earthling, still upsetting everyone by continuing to do what he felt like doing rather than digging up old characters. A subtle “fuck you” to the beige whitewashed sounds of Brit-pop in the cover where he wears a stained and tattered Union Jack coat as he looks out over an idealised version of England’s green (screened) and pleasant land. This on an album as infused with contemporary black music as Young Americans was. Even his huge 50th birthday show was as much of a celebration of Bowie present and looking forward as a fond look at what had been. Then, of course, "Hours" came.

Now "Hours" is perhaps an unfairly maligned album: if anyone else had put out an album with songs as great as Thursday's Child and Survive on they'd be praised to the skies and rightly so. They are moving, perfectly constructed pop songs but there's no real fire or spark of innovation in them. What little emotional impact there is has been drowned in high-tech production that covers everything in an unpleasant sheen. This is possibly as much Mark Plati and Reeves Gabrels fault as Bowie's as this is his most straightforwardly collaborative album (with every song co-credited to Gabrels) but I'm not sure. I feel like Reeves Gabrels gets unfairly criticised as he's been involved in some of the most ridiculous things Bowie has done (i.e. Tin Machine) and he appeared onstage in daft outfits playing wanky guitar solos.

He's also been involved in some of my favourite Bowie songs, however, and if you see him playing with The Cure he's not as huge a presence. He’s not jumping all over everything with fretboard tapping and lunging around waggling his tongue like Gene Simmons with a PhD: this implies that he cut such a larger than life figure because his boss wanted him to as much as anything else. So despite his persona bordering on that of a middle-aged man enthusiastically demonstrating FX pedals to you in a guitar shop, blaming him too much is misguided.

According to the excellent Pushing Ahead of the Dame blog, it was around this time Bowie started thinking about making a Ziggy Stardust film and as such he was annoyed by Velvet Goldmine's fictionalised steps into the same territory. Todd Haynes' Velvet Goldmine is an enjoyable film but I can see why he'd be so annoyed with it: it is clearly the work of a gay fan feeling betrayed by him “going back in” circa Let’s Dance. Possibly the great man was realising this wasn’t one of his best moves however well it worked at the time. After "Hours" was out and around the time of Heathen in 2002, Bowie changed his tune regarding Ziggy: “I’m running like fuck from that…Can you imagine anything uglier than a nearly 60-year-old Ziggy Stardust? I don’t think so!".

Similar ambivalence towards the idea is hinted at by the shelving of the video for the Pretty Things Are Going To Hell (itself a dual reference to The Stooges and Hunky Dory) where Bowie is menaced by huge puppets of past characters: the Pierrot from Ashes To Ashes, The Man Who Sold The World, The Thin White Duke and of course Ziggy. Maybe he judged it to be a bit on the nose.

It is an interesting change in perception we've undergone. In 1996 he was too old to be performing like he used to do but in 2013, at the age of 66, there were whispers about how great it'd be if he toured again. Not in any other industry do you expect a 66 year old man to get up onstage and dance about trying to be sexy for two or three hours a night. He could've done it like Dylan or Cohen (who only started touring again when he was much older than Bowie, true) but it wouldn't really have been his style: here was a man for who dance and mime and stagecraft had been an integral part of what made him a star. It’s still very present in his last videos and one of his final works was an honest to God musical after all.

So in the Blackstar video when we see that Major Tom is dead and at peace at last what are we to make of it? Clearing house for a whole new phase of experimentation and new ideas or a man on his last legs knowing that even if he didn't die straight after making this album he didn't have forever and was in the winter of his years? This is where we start to maybe give him too much credit. He was a man, and a great man but not a superhero. Superheroes don’t do things like release terrible covers of Iggy Pop songs with Tina Turner bolted onto them.

“Ah but he only did that to keep his good friend financially solvent.”.

Okay, good point.

He was a very intelligent man but not some towering inhuman intellect who could've predicted the moment Blackstar's "Something happened on the day he died, his spirit rose a metre and stepped aside" soundtracking the moment we knew we knew we knew. Maybe he predicted that it'd be a long while before somebody else took his place because things aren't set up that way. The industry has no interest in promoting bravery, the shock of the new. But he can't possibly have predicted that he was soundtracking millions of people thinking "He's gone, isn't he?" when he wrote that in remission. To think that he did is ridiculous, isn't it?

Isn't it?

#david bowie #by dan wreck

[datinginthedot]

New year, old relationship

I originally wrote this post on November 4th, the two month mark of my relationship with Mr. Handyman. I was absolutely smitten and never ended up posting it as we were were just too infatuated with each other to spend a moment apart. HE was my priority- not my silly little dating blog!

After everything that has transpired this past weekend (spoiler alert) I feel incredibly upset rereading this. What happened!? 

At the time this is how I felt and what I wrote:

No one wants to hear me win and have the best life. No one wants to hear about our passionate make out sessions or him being the absolute sexiest [handy]man in the world… no one wants to hear how he gazed into my eyes and told me all the things he loved about me. No one wants to hear how I’m in a very happy place in my life having a normal time doing normal relationship things with a normal guy (read: better than average ie great).

But if you do care to hear about some of my success in the dating world you can continue to read on.

Everything between me and Mr. handyman has been a dream. I've never been with someone quite as attentive and caring towards me. He doesn't need to tell me how much he loves me, although he has (more on this later) because I can feel it through his touch and actions. When we go out he lets me be the life of the party. He may be more reserved but he's the ying to my yang. He listens to my every word and legitimately cares to hear what I have to say. The mutual respect is strong and I never have to question our level of trust.

What I like most is the amount of quality time we spend together. We can see each other for five days in a row and there is never a dull moment. Whether we are going to a concert/event together, watching a movie, going for cocktails or buying a TV from Best Buy everything is so effortless. In fact, I kind of like the mundane moments the best. I LIKE going grocery shopping/cooking and driving around in his truck. I LIKE the way he wants to hold my hand while driving. Or the way our knees are touching when we eat dinner or the massages he’ll give me while watching a movie. He is so absolutely adorable and makes me feel so genuinely loved. Plus he looks like an Italian male model so I'm also fine with that.

Sometimes I think— that's it, i've won the game (the game being dating). It's pretty soon- but in this month so many things of happened. We have practically spent almost every day together and this is not something I see ending anytime soon.

Plot twist: Earlier today, we broke up.

To be honest, the wound is fresh but I feel like writing this post will help me come to terms with it.

The bottom line is that my intellectual needs were not being met. I live for stimulating conversation about big-picture ideas and just enjoy general discussion. Something I mentioned to him on more than one occasion.

That said, you can’t change someone. Nor did I want to.

After landing my dream job at the end of a five-week-contract (officially beginning Jan 3rd) my life has changed. I have serious goals and am surrounded by highly motivated individuals.

My goals do not revolve around living on my moms couch, smoking cigarettes/weed on a frequent basis or ‘thinking goals are stupid’.

I strive to be the best I can be in all aspects of my life. I want to surround myself with inspiring people who can add value to my existence and achieve my personal vision of success before I’m 30. I recognize where I am now and where I need to be... and I will get there.

During our relationship I noticed that whenever something important happened to me, the first people I wanted to tell were my friends... not my boyfriend red flag #1. The reason being that he would probably just respond with “cool” or his classic “I don’t know” said with the intonation of a grumpy 12-year-old boy.

I wanted more out of my relationship yet at the same token couldn’t expect him to change. To be fair, he had been consistent from the day I met him in regards to intellectual curiosity. What made me think he would suddenly develop a mental tenacity to learn now?

The straw that broke the camels back was this past New Year’s. He invited me to his house for a house ‘party’.

Earlier that day, I came to the realization of just how empty I felt. Despite being a in a relationship I was mentally lonely. Over the day my feelings transpired into resentment. It didn’t help that I met someone in a coffeeshop with my mom (lol) that sparked my intellectual curiosity. He engaged me in a conversation that checked off all of my ‘ideal conversation’ boxes. We talked at a high-level about the acceleration of technology, societal advancements, human-nature, the future of design and travel. For the first time in months I felt like I was having a conversation with another male that was adding value to my life. Though there was no sexual attraction I still gave him my number to continue our conversation. We are meeting for coffee tomorrow. But I digress, the point is- the lack of engaging conversation in my relationship made me feel resentment.

My feelings were brewing and by the time I arrived to the ‘party’ (which encompassed Mr. Handyman's MOM, fabulous brother, stunning sister and a sprinkling of friends) I was beside myself. 

For starters, I walked into a silent room of everyone about to do some orange-flavoured jello-shots. The vibe was just off. I sat at the kitchen table camouflaged with almost every carbacious finger food under the sun. Handyman’s mother was a cooking machine constantly replenishing the spring rolls, mini spinach quiches and cheesy ‘za. 

I noticed that every 10-15 minutes everyone would go outside to smoke weed and cigarettes. Because I wasn’t interested in either I stayed inside making small talk with the mom. The cycle of indoor snacking sessions followed by miserable smoking ones continued. I hung around for just short of 2 hours.

This ‘party’ was simply DISMAL. That’s the only way to put it. The look on everyone’s face was somber and I’ll never forget looking at one of the friends who stared at the ground mouthing the lyrics to an Anti Rihanna song while stirring the straw in her blue solo cup glumly.

This last week our relationship was strained (re: Christmas festivities) and due to my pent up hostility, sitting at that table I could feel myself on the verge of exploding. I was shaking out of anger. WHY WAS I THERE?! WHAT VALUE WERE THESE DEADBEATS BRINGING ME?!

I could go on forever about all of the nuances that made my blood boil but ultimately at 10:45pm I had to leave. I seriously HAD to. It wasn’t an option to stay. I rather make a clean break than burst into tears ruining my perfectly-applied glitter and double-stacked lash NYE makeup. I didn’t consider the feelings of my ‘boyfriend’, his mother or quite frankly any of the other individuals at the party.

I called an Uber and luckily when no-one was on the porch I made my getaway. 

After I departed, nine missed phone calls were interspersed with the following messages. I made sure to turn off location sharing immediately:

Maybe I should have answered, or even responded with a cool ‘I had to leave. Let’s talk tomorrow’ text. But I did not. I went to my friends house where I proceeded to do a scandalous outfit change from my nun-style dress to some plunging-neckline Kim K body con realness.

I felt great.

The rest of my night was great.

I woke up to the following two texts:

*You’re

In contrast with:

...Skeptical of the “1/2″ numbering scheme (do people still have text messaging limits in 2017?!) I appreciated the message from the guy I had met at the cafe.

Back to the topic at hand: Later today Handyman came over to drop of the keys he had to my apartment (long story short he had my moms spare) along with the bar tools I accidentally left at his house in my hasty exit.

Finally convincing him to sit down we talked it out. 

I didn’t mean to be wishy-washy but it was hard in the moment. I explained how I wasn’t happy... yet I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to break up yet I also longed to hug him. 

He was PISSED. He explained how everyone at the party viewed me as a ‘controlling bitch’ because I made the sentiment “you can smoke all you want... I just won’t date you” alongside other uncalled for remarks.

Do I regret my actions? Absolutely not. The relationship ran it’s course and he was not adding value to my life.

Was I wildly attracted to him? Absolutely. But his intellect was lacking for me. I’m not saying he wasn’t smart but in the context of engaging discussions... simply put, there were none. I didn’t even care WHAT he talked about, I just wanted to feel close to him in some verbal capacity! I tried to watch movies and spark a preceding conversation. Nope. Send articles to discuss, nope. Talk about current events.. again, just nothing.

Breakups are never easy. There is no ‘good way’ to do it. It was hard seeing him burst into uncontrollable tears sobbing wildly into my neck. Tugged at the heart strings if you will. Cue the waterworks on my end. In fact cut to both of us sobbing- kleenex’s being pulled out of the box by the dozen. Thanks Costco! It was disorderly!

After a long poignant embrace by the door, I kissed his cheek softly and said goodbye.

I feel bad for the guy. He has a heart of gold but we just weren’t a great match. I think our best lives consisted of different things. I wasn’t happy and I didn’t want to change him. I think that’s fair! Moreover, I didn’t want to lead him on any longer after my realization.

I also recognized that the second I felt more negative emotions coming to the forefront than positive ones... I know a change needed to occur.

Though I suspect our grieving processes will be vastly different from one another I truly hope he is okay. Like I said, I do not hold any animosity towards him but the thought of him with another girl makes me feel sick.

But hey, I think that’s normal.

On the positive side thanks to Mr. Handyman for installing my TV, painting my wall, putting up a hook in my bathroom, making me a custom cutting board and most sentimentally, spending over 30+ hours carving me a beautiful heart shaped box for Christmas...

Fuck I miss him.

#handyman #datinginthedot #breakup #reaction gif #dating blog