#but ava's past resonates with me so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

manako-no-yami · 3 years

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not the same

Fandom: The Maze Runner Pairings: Thominewt Rating: G Wordcount: 2,183 Tags: Major Character Death, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, The Death Cure Spoilers, Post-Canon, Post The Death Cure, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Self-Destructive Behavior, Omega!Thomas, Alpha!Minho, Alpha!Newt, Suicidal Thoughts Summary:

“Shh,” Minho whispers into his hair as his breath hitches in panic. “I got you. I got you, baby. You’re safe now. It’s over.”

It’s over.

Thomas sobs and clings to Minho, trying to choke back the wails that wrench their way out from deep within his chest.

It’s over. Newt is gone.

Omegaverse Thominewt, after the events of TDC.

When Minho feels Newt’s end of the bond give out he’s bowled over.

The emptiness feels like an open wound screaming. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming, too, until the others rush to him, asking him what’s wrong. He can feel Thomas’s pain and guilt rip through him just as surely as his own. He feels his failure in the empty echo, the severed limb, the fact that neither of them are in his arms right now.

His first thought is, This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.

His second thought is, Where’s Thomas?

He should’ve stayed with them, he should have protected them. Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve.

The alpha in him does not calm until he sets eyes on Thomas again. But even then, it’s not enough.

Thomas’s eyes reflect the fire as they pull away from the building. He barely seems to register Minho’s touch as Minho hovers over him, panicking at the blood spilling from his wound.

“Thomas! Thomas?” Minho tries to handle him gently, not to shake him too hard. Not to aggravate the pain he can feel radiating from Thomas through their bond. Thomas’s eyes swim with tears, and Minho feels it when he gives up. When he finally decides that enough is enough, that he doesn’t want to live in this cruel world anymore.

“No, please,” Minho whispers, cradling Thomas closer to him. “Don’t.”

I need you. I can’t lose you, too.

Thomas always thought bonded omegan touch dependency was stupid. The way he sees it, it’s basically the world punishing him for falling in love. For daring to take one good thing for himself.

Omegas are honestly better off remaining unbonded. Unbonded omegas can survive on their own, but bonded omegas require the soothing touch of their alphas to remain healthy and sane.

Thomas hasn’t felt healthy or sane in a long time. He doesn’t know if he ever will again.

When Minho had been taken, the only thing he could think of was getting him back. Not just because of the biological need his stupid, omegan body insisted on having, but because life was not worth living without him. He couldn’t accept being safe and comfortable knowing that Minho was elsewhere, suffering. Every day Minho was with WCKD, Thomas could feel his panic and rage and exhaustion through the bond. And every day it was almost all he could do to just keep his own feelings under control so he wouldn’t burden Minho with any other unnecessary negative emotions. He and Newt had supported Minho as much as possible through the bond, never letting him forget that they were coming to save him.

And now Newt is dead. Steady and strong Newt, who Thomas could always rely on to be there with whatever he needed before he even knew he needed it. Clever and witty Newt, who ran circles around Minho with his words just to make Thomas laugh. Newt, the only one who could keep Minho and Thomas from doing something reckless. Newt, the one that held everything together.

For Thomas, there is no life worth living without Minho. But the thought of living without Newt had never even crossed his mind. He’d somehow assumed that Newt would always be there. Newt being dead was...inconceivable.

So when he first wakes up to the feeling of warmth surrounding him, face buried in Minho’s neck, he relaxes into Minho’s hold. He nuzzles into the crook of Minho’s shoulder and sighs as Minho runs a large hand from the nape of his neck down to the base of his spine, paying special attention to his scent glands and gentling him in a classic alpha move.

Then the emptiness at his other side makes itself known, and it all comes rushing back.

Newt’s beloved features twisted into a snarl.

Newt’s hoarse voice yelling, “Tommy, kill me!”

The familiar weight of Newt’s body falling against his.

The horrific choking sounds he made.

The look of shock and acceptance on his face as he let go of the knife and fell to the ground.

The way everything seemed to disappear except for his and Minho’s silent screams resonating in their bond, crackling with tension and disbelief.

Ava Paige saying, “You could save us all,” when all he could hear was, “You killed Newt.”

“Shh,” Minho whispers into his hair as his breath hitches in panic. “I got you. I got you, baby. You’re safe now. It’s over.”

It’s over.

Thomas sobs and clings to Minho, trying to choke back the wails that wrench their way out from deep within his chest.

It’s over. Newt is gone.

Thomas hasn’t spoken ever since he woke up. Even the bond is silent. Not gone, like the ever-present ache of Newt’s absence, but silent. He’s walled himself off, and refuses to even look at anyone. Minho is at his wit’s end.

His omega is refusing to accept his comfort. He’s a failure of an alpha.

He failed when he couldn’t protect them. He failed when he let himself get captured. Newt may have been an alpha too, but they were supposed to protect each other, and Minho hadn’t kept up his end of the deal. And now Thomas refuses to let him set things right.

Sometimes, Minho feels like Thomas is trying to punish him. But mostly, Minho knows that Thomas knows that no matter what Minho does, nothing will ever be “right” again.

The thing is, Minho needs it just as much as Thomas does. He needs to hold Thomas close, to know he’s alive and safe in his arms. He needs to be able to cradle him to his chest and tell him that he will never let him go, ever again. He needs to reassure himself that Thomas is still here with him, because they are each all they have left.

There was a time when all three of them were together. When Thomas slept, nestled between their arms, quiet and peaceful and safe. When he and Newt looked in each other’s eyes and promised each other that they’d do everything in their power to keep their omega safe. Nothing in the world could ever stop them, if they were together.

But they’re no longer together. And with every second that passes, he can feel Thomas slipping further and further away.

He refuses to let Minho touch him. He refuses to eat. He refuses to sleep. He refuses to nest. He’s slowly killing himself, and Minho is helpless to stop it.

“Thomas, baby,” he says as he enters the room. Thomas is sitting by the window, quiet. The bed looks untouched. “Will you eat something? For me?”

Thomas doesn’t respond.

Minho creeps forward. He puts the plate of food—barely enough for a child, but more than anything Thomas has eaten for days—in front of him. Thomas turns his head away. Minho raises a hand, hovering it over Thomas’s shoulder, and he can feel Thomas stiffen under the phantom touch.

He draws his hand away.

He wants Thomas to talk to him. To smile at him again. He wants them to cry together, to snuggle at night. Mostly, he wants Thomas to love him again. But how could he ask that of him? After everything, how could anyone dare to ask anything of Thomas?

But he can’t sit there and let Thomas continue hurting himself, either.

Newt would never forgive him.

It’s been a week. Not nearly enough time to heal, but much too long for Thomas to have been allowed to go on this way.

If Newt were here, he’d—

No. He has to stop thinking like that. Newt isn’t here. It’s up to Minho to take care of Thomas now.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, doesn’t give Thomas the chance to turn him away. But he’s gentle, because Thomas deserves gentle, even if he’s stronger than anyone Minho has ever known.

He turns Thomas towards him, carefully. Thomas shakes him off half-heartedly, but even then he’s too weak to protest.

“Let’s go to bed, okay, baby? Just to lie down. That’s all I want.”

Thomas shakes his head, curls in on himself. It hurts to see him so tired, so lacking in the fire that he’d always been full of. Minho decides that he won’t take no for an answer, so he simply wraps his arms under Thomas’s back and legs and lifts him towards the bed.

Stop it, Thomas wants to say. Don’t touch me.

He doesn’t deserve it. They should have just left him to die.

His omega is begging him to relax into Minho’s touch, to crawl under the sheets with him and just let Minho take care of everything. But that would mean moving on. That would mean leaving Newt behind, and Thomas can’t do that. He isn’t ready. He’ll never be ready to let go, even if the only thing he has left is this single reminder: pain.

Minho lowers him onto the bed and tucks the covers up under his chin, curling up behind him.

It feels good. It feels so good, Thomas could die.

His every nerve is singing with relief, pores opening up as though starved. Minho smells like sunshine and grass. He smells like the wind whipping past his face during a good run. He smells like freedom and home all at once.

It’s too much.

“Minho,” he croaks. He feels Minho startle and draw him closer.

“I’m here,” Minho says. “I’m not leaving you, ever.”

“Minho, I can’t do this anymore.”

He feels Minho’s fear and pain hammering up against the walls he’d erected in between their bond.

“Thomas...” Minho says, and Thomas has to hold back a shiver at the sound of his name whispered against the back of his neck. “What... What do you mean?”

Thomas curls tighter into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“I mean this isn’t right. I can’t—I can’t let you do this.”

Minho pries THomas’s fingers away from his elbows and turns him over. He takes his time, slowly unfolding Thomas’s body until he’s stretched out, muscles releasing for the first time in days.

“Thomas, I will never deny you what you want. This is your decision. If you—if you want me...gone. I can go.” Minho’s hands are large, swallowing Thomas’s slimmer fingers. Thomas can’t bring himself to look him in the eye.

“But I need to know,” Minho continues. “Why? I know... I know I wasn’t there for you. I know I... I didn’t protect you. But I can’t leave you until I hear it straight from your mouth. What could I have done better? Where did I go wrong? Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you?”

Thomas feels something in him shatter, something he didn’t even realize was still there. He returns Minho’s grip, tugging him forward.

“No. No, Minho, that’s not it. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. It was all me,” he begins to cry again, chest heaving. “I fucked up. I fucked up, and he’s gone, and, and I don’t... I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve—”

Minho crashes his lips to Thomas’s, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and crushing him to his body. The salt of their tears mingle between their lips. Finally, they break away, and Minho rests his forehead against Thomas’s.

“You idiot,” he whispers. “You beautiful, selfless idiot. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault. And nothing you could do could ever stop me from loving you. You can drive me away as much as you want, but I’ll never stop. You deserve everything the world can offer, Tommy. I just wish I had the power to give that to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be enough.”

Thomas is a shivery, trembly mess in his arms. “No, Minho. You’re enough. You’ll always be enough. I just—”

“You miss him.”

Thomas nods, and holds Minho tighter.

“I know. I miss him, too.”

They’re crying, still, wiping away each other’s tears, holding each other’s faces. They meet in the middle in another kiss.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, baby,” Minho says, voice breaking. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand not being able to help you. Let me help you, please.”

He keeps whispering “please” as he presses kisses across Thomas’s face, his hair, his fingers.

“Please, Thomas. I can’t lose you, too.”

Like a dam breaking, Thomas gives in.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Minho. I’m sorry... I’m so sorry.”

Minho rocks them back and forth, massaging Thomas’s neck and stroking his back. The tight ball of sadness in Thomas’s stomach is still there, but it begins to unfurl. He tries to convince himself he’s not betraying Newt by letting it happen.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Minho says, kissing his neck. “I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

And it’s true. It’s so true they can barely stand it, because as true as it is, it isn’t enough.

Love can’t save them anymore. But it’s all they have left.

#tmr #thominewt #thominho #newtmas #minewt #fanfic #clod not lefting but #angst #ummmm this is unedited #tdc spoilers #um minho tries to comfort thomas so this IS technically hurt/comfort i did not mistag #its just that the comfort doesnt really work? O:)#hahahahahahha everythings fine!

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allie1804-fan · 4 years

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A Doorway is Opened (Chapter 2)

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It was June 2020 and progress was being made with plans to re-open film production - Keanu would soon be heading back to Germany to continue shooting the Matrix 4. With the lock-down restrictions on meeting friends lifting, Keanu invited Hannah to dinner at his house. He even cooked - a dish of spaghetti with prawns, fresh tomato and lemon that his sister had taught him. This would be their first meeting in 2 months and their last in 2 months due to the shooting schedule.

After dinner, they went through to his living room and sat on the sofa to talk through the latest draft of the script.

“So, you’re glad I pushed you on this aren’t you? Gave you something to do in lock-down huh?”

“Yeah OK you win”, she laughed. “I’m grateful to you for giving me the confidence to try”

She carried on:

“You know these past couple of months I’ve felt like the clouds have lifted, the clouds of grief …. and I know that’s partly just time passing but it’s also thanks to you and your friendship” she spoke in an almost whisper. When she met his gaze he was blushing again!

“The screenplay gave me a real focus for the first time since Mark died you know other than helping the boys and just putting one foot in front of the other”

He nodded his understanding

“I kind of feel like a plant coming back to life after a long dark winter”

He smiled to think he’d helped her to loosen grief’s grip on her soul.

“I heard a theory about this before. They said that your grief is always the same, the same size and just as painful but your life grows around it and cushions the pain”

Keanu nodded his agreement

“For me” he said, “sometimes my grief bursts forth like an alien from my chest when I least expect it. I hope we find a way to express your concept in the movie when it’s made - I love it so much. You have some beautiful ways of explaining grief”

“Well like I said, that one’s not mine, it’s just one I found that really resonated with me”

“You’re too modest”

They looked at each other. Somehow, the atmosphere had changed with the sharing of such deep feelings. Keanu looked at her, soft brown eyes holding hers for a few moments longer than felt comfortable. Suddenly he shook his head as if a shiver went through him

“Where are my manners, would you like some more wine”

“I better not, I’m driving and I’ve already had one glass” she said.

“You could always sleep over, in the spare room I mean, I mean I’m not hitting on you or anything, not that I wouldn’t want to, oh God! ……….”

By this point, Hannah had started laughing at his befuddlement and he started to giggle as well.

“Sorry for being such a dork – could you stay though?” he beseeched her with his eyes, or do you need to be back for the kids?, I know I sound like I’m begging, I kind of am I guess ……….. it would just be nice to talk some more ………. I mean what with we me going away for 2 months, Facetime just isn’t the same!”

Hannah took pity on him and placed her hand on top of his and stroked it softly

“1 I don’t need to be back for the boys, they’re at their grandparents this week and so 2, yes I could sleep over and 3 yes please, more wine!”

Keanu beamed and leapt up to fetch the bottle from the kitchen.

“What were we talking about before I started being a total dork?!

Hannah chuckled “oh grief, death, our usual cheery stuff!”

“Oh yes, of course we were, what else is there after all?!”

A ghost of a smiled showed on Hannah’s face.

“Do you mind telling me some more about Mark? How long were you together”

“Wow, over 30 years - we were just kids when we met, literally in elementary school. But we didn’t go out until I was 17, nearly 18. I guess I kind of stalked him until he caved in! We knew we were in love about a month in I guess and we got engaged whilst at uni but married just after. I was 23 so we had been married 27 years when he died”

“Wow you were so young to be getting married!”

“I know right! - when I think Toby is already nearly that age, it freaks me out big time. Anyway, I guess you almost know the rest, from the book. We were lucky in so many ways to find each other and stay in love throughout.

A comfortable silence fell as she reflected and wondered about his romantic history. She hoped their current intimacy meant it would be OK to ask.

“What about you? Who have been your big loves, if it’s OK to ask”

“Sure – I mean I think I can be confident of not seeing any of this in next week’s National Enquirer! Let me see, errrrm there was Penny. She drove with me from Toronto to LA when I left there to pursue my career. It wasn’t exactly serious - she knew how focussed on my acting I was, but she was special, my first steady girlfriend I guess.”

Keanu then told her about a few other steady girlfriends in the 80’s and early 90s. None of them had lasted beyond a year. Film and promotional schedules often overtook his time and took him away from LA making it hard to sustain relationships.

“And then there was Jennifer. We had a long distance thing largely as I was away filming the first Matrix not long after we hooked up. I think that added in my head to the romance of it all. Writing her letters on my little typewriter after long days on set, posting them from thousands of miles away. Once I got back to LA things felt less sure, she was never confident in us, always needing reassurance and I think she found the celebrity thing both exciting and overwhelming - like she was part way a fan, partly my lover, you know? Then she got pregnant and everything changed”

“Oh so Jennifer was the mother of your baby, the one who died?”

Hannah knew this one fact about him but had steered away from looking stuff up on-line about it. She counted him as a friend now so if anything was to be shared, it had to come from him.

“Yeah, Ava’s mother. 19 years ago…….so much water under the bridge.”

“Do you think about her often now?”

“Who? Jen or Ava?”

“Both I guess”

“Yeah sometimes. You know in a sliding doors type way, especially at Christmas. That’s when we lost Ava. Christmas Eve 1999. What about you, do you think about your lost babies?”

“Yes sometime of course ……. but I think it’s different for me. My lost babies paved the way for Josh. If they’d lived, he wouldn’t be here, so I don’t mourn them as maybe you mourn your daughter, do you see? Of course I do think of them and every Christmas we’d hang stars and angels on the tree for them. That’s how we remembered them and the pain of their loss.”

Hannah was quiet for a few moments, remembering

“Do you have a way, a ritual to remember Ava? Do you and your family do something to remember her?”

“I guess they always just try to make sure I’m not alone at Christmas. That’s threatened to happen a couple of times and then Brenda or Janey or Alexandra have stepped in you know to rescue me! Stop me embodying my meme!”

“Your meme?”

You know, “Sad Keanu”?

“That one must have passed me by! I’ll get the boys to explain to their boomer mom!”

“I’m so glad you’re a boomer mum as you say and not all over it when it comes to press and internet stuff about me. It’s refreshing. Makes me feel I can be me without all that stuff informing who you think I am. Sometimes it gets in the way with new people, you know? I know I can be myself around my old old friends like Alex (he was in Bill and Ted) and Rob (he was in the band with me)

“Wait you were in a band?”

“Yes back in the 90s, Dogstar. Our folk thrash punk band”

“Sounds interesting – I clearly wasn’t paying enough attention back in the 90s!”

“Well we weren’t exactly topping the charts so that would probably explain it!”

“Can I hear some of your stuff?”

“Sure”

Keanu fetched some cds and had a look through to pick a song, going for “And I Pray”.

“Gosh, a man of many talents” she praised “what did you play?”

“the bass”

“Cool”

“wanna listen to some more music? I can hook up my phone to the speakers and we can play things on Spotify”.

“Sure, so you’re au fait with all the new tech? I took me ages to get there and I still have loads of cds and vinyl”

“me too - believe me I’m generally way behind the curve with technology but my god-daughter and my kid sister both played a role in bringing me into the 21st century”

They spent the next couple of hours, huddled on the sofa, scrolling through music choices on his phone and sharing both his and her favourites as well as reminiscing about bands they’d grown up listening to and great concerts they’d been to.

It was around 1am, with Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” softly playing that Hannah’s head lolled onto Keanu’s shoulder, the impact startling her back awake

“sorry, sorry” she said embarrassed

“hey no worries, you wanna go to bed now?” he asked

“Yeah, as you saw, my eyes are closing”

“Come on, let’s get you set up in the guest room, I’ve got a spare t-shirt you can sleep in if you like and there’s a new toothbrush in the en-suite with your room.

The room was a pretty one, perhaps decorated with his god-daughter in mind she thought. Once he’d shown her where things were and how to work the shower, Keanu bade her goodnight with a light kiss on her cheek. Despite being so tired, it took Hannah a good half hour to fall asleep. She touched the cheek where he’d kissed her and giggled inwardly at herself for feeling like a giddy teenager. In the past 2 months, she’d recognised her growing fondness for Keanu, putting it down to a mix of absence making the heart grow fonder and the Covid crisis making her susceptible. She’d found him very attractive way before she met him but she certainly hadn’t expected that he would reciprocate those nascent feelings. Tonight his lingering gaze as they talked about grief, his befuddlement trying to get her to stay and his soft goodnight kiss all made her wonder and maybe even hope. Tomorrow was another day.

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#keanu #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves imagine #fluff #romance #miscarriage #stillbirth #same age

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simplyavatrice · 2 months

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6 and 9 for the ask game for either ava or bea, your choice (lol i didnt realize the numbers no take backs)

also i love how you love these characters! it definitely comes thru in your writing 🩷

thank you!!

6. What's something you have in common with this character? i'll do ava for this one because it's easy - her backstory of disability and the struggles that come with it resonate so hard with me. i'm in a wheelchair, have been my whole life - it's not paralysis like she had, but the emotion behind it and how it affects the person you turn into when you grow up are a huge part of why i connect with ava so much. why i understand her joy and infectious need to see the best in the world, because when you're young and disabled, you feel like you're missing out on so much and losing so much that nobody really understands, if/when you fight through that and can take the world back for yourself, you don't ever take it for granted and i love how much joy ava lives her life with, despite everything

9. Could you be roommates with this character? i would LOVE to be roommates with bea, the i feel like she'd be so good at helping me sort my life out and be more organized and scheduled. we'd clean together on weekends and i'd introduce her begrudgingly to video games - all the while hiding my crush on her because like....just fucking look at her, but then her drop dead gorgeous gf shows up and suddenly i'm like 'oh i get it, i never had a shot' and then we all move past it jflsakfjalsf

#thanks for asking!

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aaronmaurer · 4 years

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TV I Liked In 2019

Every year I reflect on the pop culture I enjoyed and put it in some sort of order.

The era of “peak TV” has never been more apparent to me than the past year. I am very aware of the many shows I have not seen (don’t have Amazon Prime, for example), and yet I expanded my list from a top 10 to top 15 and still had to leave out A LOT of stuff I really liked! These picks include my legitimate favorites, ranging from truly important looks at the criminal justice system to ensemble comedies that I couldn’t wait to return to. In another year I may have been able to include the latest seasons of Barry, Stranger Things, Queer Eye, Bojack Horseman, Glow, or the finale seasons of Legion, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Veep, Silicon Valley and The Deuce, all of which I’d still recommend. But these stood out even more.

14 (tie). Chernobyl (HBO) / The Hot Zone (National Geographic)

Two limited series focusing on real-life disasters in the 1980s: the meltdown of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant and an Ebola outbreak outside of Washington DC. Chernobyl is an incredibly harrowing account of humanity’s inability to believe things that don’t mesh with their interpretations of reality and the destructive power of lies and cover-ups. The Hot Zone adapts the non-fiction Richard Preston book, a revealing look at pandemics, the power of fear and human resolve. Taken together, they raise interesting questions about governmental gatekeeping, professional competence and personal sacrifice.

13. Mindhunter: Season 2 (Netflix)

Joe Penhall and David Fincher’s look at the early days of the FBI’s criminal profiling department goes broader and deeper in its second season. There are still chilling interviews with incarcerated serial killers and criminal minds (including Charles Manson this time out), but the season really revolves around the Atlanta child murders. This focus provides a compelling look at who the justice system helps and who it ignores, and the investigative – and bureaucratic – work it takes to put together a case.

10 (tie). A.P. Bio: Season 2 (NBC) / The Last O.G.: Season 2 (TBS) / Schitt’s Creek: Season 5 (Pop)

Three great hangout comedies that really came into their own in their most recent seasons. A.P. Bio transcended its first-season preoccupation with revenge and leaned into its fantastic supporting cast – one of the best comedic ensembles around – to become a show I loved spending time with each week. (Thank goodness it’s coming back via NBC’s upcoming “Peacock” service.) The Last O.G. has had a lot on its mind since it began, but its second season covers privilege and the opportunity gap among other issues, ending with a note-perfect homage to Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing, making it an unexpectedly resonant comedy. Schitt’s Creek is obviously having a moment right now, and Season 5 (the first season I watched as it aired) was perhaps its best yet. While the whole cast is great, as a big fan of Best In Show and A Mighty Wind, I love seeing Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara share the screen again.

9. Crashing: Season 3 (HBO)

The first two seasons of Pete Holmes’ show made my list in previous years so I’d be remiss not to include the final one, which may be its finest. Pete spends the season making a lot of mistakes – saying yes to things (gigs, relationships) that he probably shouldn’t – and although they provide growth, he doesn’t come across as the “good guy” in how he deals with all of them. This adds additional nuance to the show, questioning its straight white male protagonist’s actions rather than merely rewarding him for following his passions, while still leading to an uplifting and fitting finale.

8. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt: Season 4 (Netflix)

Netflix split the final season of Kimmy Schmidt into two parts, so technically only the final six episodes premiered in 2019. Those alone warrant a spot on the list, as the show concluded by following its idiosyncratic bliss to the end. The final group of episodes includes a (pre-movie) takedown of Cats, a Sliding Doors homage and an unexpectedly moving series finale. If this one fell off your radar a few years ago, it’s worth revisiting and seeing through.

7. What We Do In The Shadows: Season 1 (FX)

Based on the horror-comedy film of the same name, this series follows a different crew of vampires who live together on Staten Island. I was initially skeptical because I love the movie and couldn’t see how a television version could do anything but dilute its charms. On the contrary, the show broadens the universe in hilarious ways by introducing characters like “energy vampire” Colin Robinson and the incredible Vampiric Council (with so many incredible cameos!). The core actors are all wonderful, but the MVP has to be Matt Berry’s louche and libidinous Laszlo whose line readings are simply hysterical.

6. Les Misérables (BBC/PBS)

Although it aired in the UK in 2018, the BBC/PBS production of Victor Hugo’s epic didn’t grace American screens until early 2019 so I’m including it here. I am a big fan of the musical adaptation and find it quite successful at cramming so much story into a three-hour runtime, though it obviously has limits to how much of the source material it can explore. This (non-musical) adaptation’s six episodes allow for more of Hugo’s tale of forgiveness versus retribution to live and breathe. The terrific cast includes Dominic West as Jean Valjean and David Oyelowo as Inspector Javert, as well as Lily Collins as Fantine whose backstory is more fully realized here than the format of the stage show allows.

5. Our Planet (Netflix)

Essentially a sequel to the Planet Earth documentaries, with the same production team and David Attenborough narration, this Netflix series presents another stunning collection of nature footage that showcases the incredible diversity and beauty of animal life on Earth. Each episode includes a haunting reminder of man’s impact on the featured habitats and serves as a rallying cry in the fight against climate change.

4. The Good Place: Seasons 3-4 (NBC)

The Good Place has been high on my list since its first season and shows no signs of dropping in quality or esteem as it enters its final stretch of episodes. 2019 encompassed the end of Season 3 (including the hilariously imaginative visit to the Interdimensional Hole of Pancakes) and the beginning of Season 4 (with its crew of new characters and just as many reversals and rug-pulls as you’d expect). The final episode before its winter break was “The Answer,” a touching spotlight on William Matthew Harper’s Chidi, which might have been enough to make this list all on its own. (And given the surprise cameo/quasi-crossover in its first episode of 2020, I wouldn’t be surprised if it shows up here again next year too.)

3. Unbelievable (Netflix)

The true story of a serial rape case adapted from journalism by ProPublica, The Marshall Project and This American Life, Unbelievable is one of the most simultaneously heartbreaking and satisfying procedurals I have ever seen. As crushing as it is to watch the initial investigation completely mishandled and devolve to gaslighting, it is powerful and inspiring to watch compassionate public servants and actual good detective work be carried out as the series progresses. Kaitlyn Dever, Merritt Wever and Toni Collette are uniformly excellent here (as they also were in their respective film roles in Booksmart, Marriage Story and Knives Out this year).

2. Watchmen (HBO)

Showrunner Damon Lindelof (LOST, The Leftovers) takes some incredibly bold swings in his limited-run sequel to the groundbreaking 80s graphic novel that deconstructed the ideas of vigilantism and superheroics. Picking up in the same alternate reality as that story but in present day, the main action is shifted to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the central theme is race relations. It could have gone way off the rails in a million different ways, but I found it to be incredibly successful. Each episode is a captivating work of art and it somehow seems to top itself with each subsequent installment. While I appreciate the book, I don’t love it; this series takes that source material seriously and, to me, completely transcends it.

1. When They See Us (Netflix)

As compelling as it is devastating, this miniseries from Ava DuVernay (who directed and co-wrote all 4 parts) dramatizes the lives of the wrongly convicted children the media dubbed “the Central Park Five.” Even with some familiarity of the story from watching Ken Burns’ documentary years ago, I was utterly gutted by the depiction of the injustices and systemic racism that stole these childhoods. Everyone in the cast shines, but Jharrel Jerome’s portrayal of Korey Wise (the only one of the group played by the same actor as a child and adult – and so convincingly) is truly phenomenal. Not a comfortable watch but an essential one.

Bonus! Musical Comedy Specials:

The Unauthorized Bash Bros. Experience (Netflix) – This “visual poem” from the Lonely Island presents “an album of raps” recorded by Jose Canseco (Andy Samberg) and Mark McGwire (Akiva Schaffer) at their steroid-fueled 80s peak with the Oakland A’s. Your likely enjoyment is probably about equal to your reaction to that description. The songs are great, catchy and hysterical on their own, but the videos take it to another level, parodying everything from 80s infomercials to Enya to Beyonce’s Lemonade. There is no 30 minutes of TV I rewatched more in 2019.

John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch (Netflix) – Debuting on Christmas Eve, this children’s television homage/parody snuck in just under the wire. The words of the day could be fear and mortality, as the group of kids Mulaney interacts with reveal their personal phobias and several skits revolve around existential angst. By the end of the first musical number I was sold, by the time David Byrne showed up I was committed, and by “Mr. Music’s” madcap finale I wished it could last forever.

#tv #television

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angelofberlin2000 · 5 years

Link

@HadleyFreeman

Sat 18 May 2019 09.00 BST

“Hey, I’m Keanu,” he introduces himself – unnecessarily, of course, and yet very Keanu-ishly. Despite being so famous his surname has long been superfluous, Keanu Reeves has always given the impression of being utterly unaffected by his own celebrity. He is regularly described by his co-stars as “kind” (Winona Ryder) and “humble” (Laurence Fishburne) and it is easier to imagine him walking on the moon than knocking back champagne with other celebrities on a yacht in St Barts. After all, the most famous paparazzi photo ever taken of Reeves was of him sitting alone on a bench, eating a sandwich out of a plastic bag. Hard to imagine Leonardo DiCaprio doing that.

“I’ll sit anywhere you want me to. This OK?” he says, taking a chair and offering me the sofa in the London hotel room where we meet. At just over 6ft, he is taller than I expected – also unusual for an actor – and dressed in a very Keanu outfit of dark shirt and trousers with sturdy boots. Despite being recently announced as the new face of the high fashion label Saint Laurent, Reeves has long been the patron saint of normcore, decades before it became a fashion statement. And I know this all too well because, from 1991–99, I had at least five posters of him on my bedroom walls modelling said look.

The 2010 photo of Reeves on a New York bench that sparked the Sad Keanu meme. Photograph: Splash News

Should one ever meet one’s teenage crush? Up until this week, I’d assumed I was long past the point of being starstruck – I’m a 40-year-old woman, for God’s sake! But now here I am, sitting opposite Reeves, now 54, the beard more grizzled than in my posters and the forehead suspiciously smooth, but still, most definitely Keanu. There’s that devastating smile he flashed at Sandra Bullock at the end of Speed, and there he is saying – and this is where I nearly lose all vestiges of professionalism – “Excellent!” while playing air guitar. Listening to the tape of our interview later is not an edifying experience, as I hear myself – Oh, dear God – flirt with Reeves (because, clearly, a heavily pregnant mother of two is the dream woman he’s been waiting for). Happily, my mortifying giggling soon abates, thanks to Reeves’ management of a situation he has presumably had to deal with every day of his life for the past four decades. And as he does, I get an insight into what it takes to be Keanu Reeves.

We are meeting today to discuss his latest film, John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum. It will unquestionably boost the more than $3bn Reeves’ movies have grossed over the years. When he made the first John Wick film in 2014 – directed, as all the Wick films are, by Chad Stahelski, Reeves’ stunt double on the Matrix films – few expected that a movie about a former assassin avenging the killing of his puppy would amount to much. Despite starring in some of the most successful and seminal movies of the past 30 years – from offbeat hits like Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure and My Own Private Idaho, to blockbusters like Point Break, Speed and The Matrix – Reeves has been in at least as many damp squibs, including 2013’s 47 Ronin, one of the biggest box office flops of all time. Yet Wick, a stylish, brooding, ultraviolent revenge fantasy, was an unexpected hit with critics and audiences, and is now a mega-million dollar franchise, giving Reeves his first mainstream hits since the Matrix movies.

Part three – sorry, Chapter 3 – is larkier than its two predecessors, including one incredible scene in which Reeves offs some bad guys using an actual horse as a weapon (rest assured: the horse escaped unharmed). As a testament to the success of the franchise, there are more celebrity co-stars, including Halle Berry, and despite the naysayers when it comes to Reeves’ acting, he is terrific as a man still mourning the death of his wife. (She died at the beginning of the first John Wick film, from that terrible terminal disease, Convenient Plot Device.) “We certainly didn’t know when we started on John Wick that it would become like this,” says Reeves. “We’re only getting to tell these stories because of the audience. So thank you.” He salutes me in thanks, as representative of all the Wick audiences. (If you are imagining this is one of the times I giggled at him, you are correct.)

One of the canniest things about the Wick films is how they riff on Reeves’ public image. Once dismissed as an airhead by those who confused the Bill & Ted movies with reality, for the past two decades Reeves has been seen as a melancholic loner. The famous 2010 photo of him on a New York bench sparked what became known as the Sad Keanu meme, but it only struck a chord because the assumption already existed that Reeves – then in a career slump – was, well, a bit sad. Reeves, with polite firmness, denies that this echo is deliberate – “No, no, I don’t think about that” – although it is hard to believe it wasn’t in the film-makers’ minds as they shot endless scenes in John Wick 3 of Sad Keanu wandering alone through rainy New York streets, empty hotel corridors and a desert.

It quickly becomes clear that polite firmness is Reeves’ modus operandi when it comes to nosy questions: he will give the impression of being up for answering anything while, in fact, saying very little, or nothing at all. (Sample exchange. Me: “Was there ever a moment, maybe after Bill & Ted, when people started reacting differently to you and you realised your life had changed?” Him: “Um, no.” Me: “Really?” Him: “No.”) What this distancing tactic might lack in conversational intimacy, it makes up for in shutting down any embarrassing flirtations from women who should know better. You can’t kid yourself you are soulmates with someone who is building such protective walls against you.

So I’m surprised when he volunteers that Wick’s melancholy possibly has a connection to some of the most painful moments in his life. One other big reason the public perception of Reeves shifted from comedy stoner to faintly tragic figure was because, in 1999, his long-term girlfriend, Jennifer Syme, gave birth to their daughter Ava, who was stillborn. The couple broke up soon after, and two years later Syme was killed in a car accident. Reeves has never married, had any other children or even been reliably linked to other romantic partners since. He has also never spoken publicly about their deaths, and who can blame him? But given that the heart of the Wick films is about him mourning a lost love, the resonance is hard to ignore.

“With any character, the way I think about it is, you have the role on the page, you have the vision of the director and you have your life experience,” he says.

Did he bring his experience of bereavement to the role? “Oh yeah, I thought it was one of the foundations of the role for John Wick. I love his grief,” he says, visibly perking up at the subject.

What is it about grief that interests him? “Well, for the character and in life, it’s about the love of the person you’re grieving for, and any time you can keep company with that fire, it is warm. I absolutely relate to that, and I don’t think you ever work through it. Grief and loss, those are things that don’t ever go away. They stay with you.”

Has he been thinking more about the people he has lost as he’s grown older? “I don’t think it’s about getting older. It’s always with you, but like an ebb and flow,” he says.

Anyone in particular? “Lots of people,” he says, bricking those walls right back up.

***

Keanu Reeves was born in Beirut, Lebanon, the son of an English mother and Hawaiian-Chinese father. (His first name, as all Reeves-ologists know, is Hawaiian for “cool breeze over the mountains”.) With his sister Kim, the family moved around the world, from Australia to Manhattan, before finally settling in Toronto when Reeves was six. I reckon you can often spot an adult who moved around a lot as a kid, I tell him. “Oh yeah? How?” he says, intrigued.

They tend to have a sense of detachment, self-sufficiency, maybe loner tendencies and a strong sense of independence, I say. “Yeah, I clinically belong to that. I definitely have a bit of the gypsy in me,” he agrees.

Reeves’ father left the family when Keanu was three, and disappeared entirely from their lives when he was 13. He and his sister had multiple stepfathers.

That’s a pretty hard age for a parent to vanish off the scene, I say. “For sure, I think it’s definitely traumatising. But it’s hard to know how [it affected me] because I don’t know what the other life would have been, you know what I mean?” he says.

Did his father ever contact him again? “Yeah, in the mid-90s, but I didn’t reach back out,” he says.

This was after his father had been convicted for selling heroin? “Yeah, but that wasn’t why I didn’t get in touch!” he laughs.

So why not? “I just didn’t,” he replies, and that’s the end of that. But I can’t help but think of one of my favourite scenes of his, from Ron Howard’s 1989 ensemble comedy Parenthood, in which Reeves’ character muses about paternal figures: “You need a licence to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you need a licence to catch a fish. But they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.”

Often the class clown at school, Reeves liked sport and loved acting, and got an agent as a teenager after being talent-spotted in a play. He dropped out of high school before graduation. “I feel really fortunate in a way, because I knew what I wanted to do, and a lot of kids that age don’t. But I had a creative ambition and I did it,” he says. After some early television work, Reeves started getting film roles, most notably in the cult 1986 teen drama River’s Edge, followed by Bill & Ted, and from there the work never stopped.

Back in the 1990s, he was the go-to pin-up for all teenagers who wanted a beautiful, gentle and safely asexual boyfriend (hi!). But his acting, if not his looks, has been a more debatable subject. “Is Keanu Reeves a Good Bad Actor or a Bad Good Actor?” a reader wrote in to ask the New York Times’ film critics in 2011 (the answer was, “Neither! A good actor, period”). Writing in the Guardian, self-professed superfan Joe Queenan put him in a small category of actors so beloved they are beyond criticism: “In most of [his best] movies, Keanu plays a character the audience views more with affection than with reverence or idolatry, like a kid brother who has bitten off more than he can chew and may need outside help to survive.”

Today Reeves has a good riposte to the criticism that he doesn’t, or can’t, act. “I certainly never got it from any of the directors I worked with,” he says, checking off some of the most respected in the business, including Bernardo Bertolucci (Little Buddha), Kathryn Bigelow (Point Break), Francis Ford Coppola (Bram Stoker’s Dracula), Stephen Frears (Dangerous Liaisons), Gus Van Sant (My Own Private Idaho) and Richard Linklater (A Scanner Darkly). “It’s not like I went to meet Kenneth Branagh [who directed him in 1993’s Much Ado About Nothing] and he was like, ‘Excellent, dude!’ You know?” He chucks in a little air guitar to boot.

It would have been pretty funny if Branagh had said that, though. “Of course! But the pigeonholing just comes from journalists and, yeah, that happens a lot. I generally don’t read the press but when I do I’m like, ‘Oh, OK, you’re doing that again,’” he says with a shrug.

I’ve never really understood the criticism. OK, he might not have been perfectly cast in Much Ado and acting opposite John Malkovich and Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons when he was only 24 was never going to be a fair fight. But he has always been a far more varied actor than the snarkers allow. He proved his superlative comic timing and endearing charisma in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure and, when it comes to drama and sci-fi, no one is better at maintaining an inscrutable blankness. That quality is precisely what has driven so many directors to cast him, often as a messiah-like figure in movies such as Little Buddha, 2005’s Constantine (one of Reeves’ favourites), 1995’s Johnny Mnemonic and, of course, The Matrix. And of all the improbable actors who became action stars in the 1990s – Alec Baldwin, Nicolas Cage – Reeves seemed the most at home in the genre, in the still deliciously enjoyable Point Break and Speed, which he made in between smaller indie fare. So did he do the big movies in order to fund the smaller projects?

“Honestly, I try not to do anything I don’t want to do. But I guess those movies were in reaction to each other. It wasn’t as thought out as, OK, I finished Point Break, so now I’d better play a street prostitute. It was more like, OK, I finished this, now I want to do that,” he says.

“That” refers to 1991’s My Own Private Idaho, in which he and River Phoenix play street hustlers. Reeves had already met Phoenix through the latter’s girlfriend Martha Plimpton, with whom he had worked in Parenthood. The two quickly became friends, and it’s not hard to see why: both were young actors on the rise with a love of music and a pronounced lack of interest in the glitzier, red carpet side of their job. They were the anti-Brat Pack, and Phoenix, along with Alex Winter from Bill & Ted, were, Reeves says, “definitely my closest friends from that era. We shared an artistic sensibility. River was just so down-to-earth, spiritual and a unique artist. Yeah, I miss him,” says Reeves quietly. When Phoenix suggested the two of them make My Own Private Idaho, “I was in right away,” he says.

They had something else in common, a shared experience suggested in the now almost unbearably moving scene where the two sit by a campfire and talk haltingly about their childhoods.

Mike (Phoenix): If I had a normal family, and a good upbringing, then I would have been a well-adjusted person.

Scott (Reeves): Depends on what you call normal.

Mike: Didn’t have a dog, or a normal dad. Anyway, that’s all right. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I feel like I’m, you know, well-adjusted.

Scott: What’s a normal dad?

Phoenix’s dysfunctional childhood, growing up in a rackety family who for a time belonged to the Children of God cult, has been well-documented. Reeves’ was different, but no slouch when it came to potential trauma. Was that another thing that drew them together?

He ponders the question a full 10 seconds. “Certainly our histories played a role in that movie and in that scene. So I’ll say yes to that, yeah,” he says.

Two years after My Own Private Idaho’s release, the actor who desperately wanted to avoid every Hollywood cliche died the most cliched death imaginable, of a drugs overdose on Sunset Boulevard in 1993. Plenty of his contemporaries were also caught out, either self-destructing or becoming victims of their own success. Reeves adamantly refused to do either. When I ask how he avoided falling victim to drug addiction as Phoenix did, he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: “I just wasn’t into that scene.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s being blithe or defiant when he insists he still lives his life totally normally, unaffected by fans. But if Leonardo DiCaprio went into a supermarket, there would be hysteria, I say.

“Yeah, but Leonardo has fame and fans that I don’t have in that way. Definitely. I don’t know what his experiences are, but I think someone from the outside would think [going shopping] might not be easy for him. Whereas I can, which is good,” he says.

Come on, surely fans bother him all the time? But the worst he can come up with is someone quoting Point Break at him in the airport the other day and someone, once, quoting River’s Edge when he was queueing at an ice-cream van. “And that’s fun!” he says cheerfully.

In the 1980s and 1990s, he was offered every hot young part under the sun, including the lead in Platoon (which went to Charlie Sheen) and Val Kilmer’s role in Heat. But when I ask if he regrets turning any of them down, he smiles and instantly replies, “No.” He also turned down a $12m pay cheque to make Speed 2 because he, rightly, thought the plot was nonsense, which resulted in him being shut out of 20th Century Fox films for the next 11 years (and no, he doesn’t regret that, either). He is about to start shooting Bill & Ted Face The Music, in which the now fiftysomething duo have to write a song so good it will save the universe. “There has to be a reason for making a movie, and the writers have come up with a good ‘why’ for telling the story,” he says. When I ask what gives him an ego boost, given that he’s not driven by money or fame, he is so baffled by the idea of his ego needing a boost that he is silent for a full 28 seconds before finally answering, “The work.”

Maintaining his privacy has been a major factor in helping Reeves retain his sanity, yet away from the press he can be extraordinarily open and laid-back. By a weird fluke, I have two friends who, separately, spent time with him in the 90s and both still talk about his generosity: he took them for rides on his motorbike and stayed in touch (yes, I am furious with them for not including me in any of this). There are legions of stories about Reeves’ kindness: buying his stuntmen motorbikes, renegotiating his Matrix contract so that the crew got a better deal, at a personal cost of millions of dollars. Shortly before we meet, Reeves was on a flight between San Francisco and Los Angeles that was grounded due to a mechanical fault. Instead of pulling rank with some “Do you know who I am?” A-list entitlement, Reeves encouraged his fellow passengers to board a van with him so they could drive to LA, keeping the mood up by sharing fun local facts and playing music from his iPhone. (Needless to say, footage of this quickly went viral.) So his four decades-long reticence with the media might well be Reeves’ most brilliantly sustained performance.

How we made Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure Read more

But he bristles when I mention these stories. “I’m pretty private, so when that stuff doesn’t stay private it is not great,” he says.

Because he worries it will look like he’s just doing it for show? “No. Because it’s private,” he says with emphasis.

Ah well. I have accepted by this point that we probably won’t ride off together into the sunset on his motorcycle. But if the price of Reeves still being so recognisably Keanu-ish is him retaining a firm grip on his privacy and at least a pretence of normality, that feels like a fair trade-off. I assume doing this interview has been a torturous experience for him, so as we get up to leave I ask how he’d have preferred to spend the afternoon, in a dream scenario.

“Oh, I don’t know. This dream ain’t so bad!” he says, and gives me that full end-of-Speed smile again. And reader, I giggled.

• John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum is in cinemas now.

If you would like a comment to be considered for inclusion on Weekend magazine’s letters page in print, please email [email protected], including your name and address (not for publication).

#keanu reeves #the guardian

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saintmccann · 6 years

Text

B I T T E N / P A R T T W O

synopsis of the B I T T E N series When Ava wakes up, she’s stuck in the 18th century with strangers who can do even stranger things, and no recollection of her past life. As she learns to cope with what, and who, now surrounds her, she realizes there’s one thing so much bigger than the battle between life and death: love.

filling the requests “more bondy please!” + “you’re interested in both van and bondy” + “you’re mad at bondy for whatever reason and how he would react, maybe you guys had a fight or something.” Changed the last one up a bit to fit the story - hope you don’t mind. If it’s not what you had in mind, message me and we can work something else out! x

warnings Mentions of lowkey kidnapping, swearing. Mentions of daddy, but I’m sure y’all are filthy enough to enjoy my jokes.

[read part 1 here]

_______________________________________________________________________

When Maise dressed Ava the next day, she did the same steps meticulously again: shift dress, petticoat, corset, pockets, petticoat, silk kerchief, gown petticoat, front panel, gown, apron. This time, the gown itself was a robin’s egg blue. And with nowhere for Ava to rush off to, Maise took her time, although she always worked with a fastidious hand. Ava looked around her room with wonder once again, the feeling not settling in yet that this was to be her permanent residence until further notice.

“Anywhere you want to go today, Miss?” Maise asked, dark hairs falling from her tidy bun onto her forehead as she bent to secure Ava’s shoes.

“You mean I can leave the house?”

“‘Course you can. You’d probably want to check with your master first, but --”

“My master?”

A knock at the door sounded just as Maise was affixing the final piece, the white embroidered cloth, to the crown of Ava’s head.

“Well that’ll be him now!” Maise exclaimed, more chipper than Ava could say for herself, whose mind was reeling with the words Maise had spoken.

Maise drifted to open the door, and Bondy’s fist was closed and mid-knock when she opened it.

“Hello love,” Bondy smiled at Ava, white pointy teeth evident against his cherry red lips. “Care for a house tour?”

Bondy led Ava down the hall, around the grand staircase, and into the dining room. He spoke confidently the whole way, as if he’d recited the stories he was telling her hundreds of times. She didn’t think he had, but his confidence was alluring nonetheless.

“This entire house was rebuilt by myself and a team of contractors after it burnt down in 1732. As Maise probably told you, she and her entire family of seven, mom, dad, brothers, sisters, everyone, died in the fire. For some reason, she and her brother are the only ones who attained ghost status. We’re still not sure why that is,” Bondy said thoughtfully, and paced through the door to the old-fashioned kitchen.

“Is that why you set the table for seven?” Ava called to him.

He poked his head through the doorway to the kitchen and laughed. “Partly for that, partly because seven of us now live here in the manor, and partly because it’s Van’s favorite number and he won’t have the table set any other way.”

“That’s a little…. strange… don’t you think?” Ava remarked.

“I’ve been telling him for years.” Bondy smiled down at Ava, who happily returned the smile. She was finding that Bondy was easy to get along with. When he popped back through the doorway, she followed, eager to hear more about the old house she now lived in.

“Here’s the kitchen. Lovely little space. Antique! We don’t use it much, except for when Jack cooks meals for us, like he did last night. Thankful the bugger didn’t lose his skills in death.”

“A helpful poltergeist?”

Bondy snorted. “I like you.” He switched his gaze back to the kitchen. “In this cupboard you’ll find some snacks to eat. It’s full of all kinds of foods, from all different places of the world. But don’t eat anything from a jar. Seriously. My friend Lou likes to fuck with the jams.”

Ava walked around, picking foreign utensils up and surveying the rest of the area as Bondy waited for her to finish perusing.

“This is a special room,” Bondy said softly, knocking his knuckles absentmindedly against the aged wood door. He looked about the rest of the kitchen and its old wrought iron fixtures, and settled his eyes on Ava. “You aren’t allowed to go in here yet, but you will someday.”

“What is it?”

“The cellar. It’s where we keep our….. valuables.”

“Oh.” Ava’s mouth watered at the thought of what kinds of treasure could lie beneath the old house.

“It was the only part of the original house that remained. It’s enchanted by us, but originally it held a large store of energy for the owners. Want to hear my two cents? Maise and her brother were the only ones who became ghosts. But they were also the only two who were unfortunately locked in the cellar at the time of the fire.”

Ava’s heart dropped as her eyes stared beyond the cellar door. Maise and Jack died in that room beneath the earth.

“Don’t get too morbid on her first day, christ,” a short, squat man said as he walked through the kitchen doorway and grabbed a roll of bread from the reed basket on the countertop, ignoring Ava’s surprised sqeak and jump at the sound of someone behind her.

“Larry, lad, let me do my thing, I’ve got to set the scene for her,” Bondy joked.

“You don’t think the scene’s already set? She’s livin’ in a junky old prepster’s house with a bunch of freaks three hundred years before she’s even s’posed to be alive. It’s dark literally everywhere and she knows we bite.”

Ava gulped, and spoke up. “He’s kind of right.”

Larry looked at Bondy with an I-told-you-so smirk, and walked back out to who-knows-where with his bread, gone as quickly as he’d came.

“So that was Larry. I guess I’d better show you the rest of the house, and then we can get going? I’ve got to run a few errands in town. You can come if you’d like,” Bondy stated, chewing on his lip afterward in waiting for an answer. Ava noticed he gave her a choice this time. Perhaps speaking her mind in this household didn’t come with repercussions. In this state, Bondy looked almost… endearing.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, and gave him a bashful smile.

After they ascended the grand staircase to the floor Ava’s room was on, and as she stood panting at the top in all her layers of clothing, Bondy chuckled.

“Whew. That was a lot of stairs,” Ava huffed, wiping the sweat from her brow. “How did I get up those so quickly yesterday?”

“Technically, we just went up two flights of stairs in one. We’re on the third floor now. Oh, and you might notice your strength ebbing and flowing while you’re here. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

Ava trudged after Bondy, the buckled boots starting to rub the backs of her sweaty feet. She was so focused on the floor and her steps that when Bondy stopped to unlock a door at one end of the hall, she smacked right into his back.

“Sorry!” she said, stepping back, cheeks reddening. He shook his head with a fond grin, and twisted the key in the lock.

Bondy’s room was the most lavish room she’d ever seen. Once, she’d been on a school trip to Versailles, and she’d caught tiny glimpses of the king’s quarters behind red velvet ropes and security guards. This time, she was living the reality, and up close.

Gold.

It adorned the ceilings, the chairs, the chaise lounge, the chandelier, even the clock had gold leaf accenting. She’d seen Rococo in paintings before --- that bright cobalt paired with white trim and gold, gold, everywhere --- but she realized now why the royals took to it so easily. Everything gleamed. Astonished, her eyes feasted on the sight before her.

“There’s no way this is real,” she said, full of awe, mouth agape as she swirled around in place, skirts swishing beneath her.

“Did you expect anything less?” he asked quietly, watching her reaction. His low voice resonated across the smooth floors.

“I don’t know you that well, but… I guess not.”

Bondy winked, and opened the door to his actual bedroom. The fireplace near his bed was marbled, his bed frame was gilded, the furniture still covered in gold, and a literal suit of armor complete with chain metal was stood proudly in the corner.

Ava pointed at it expectantly.

“What can I say? I’m a collector,” he laughed.

“Uh-huh,” Ava snickered, eyebrows rising. She followed Bondy back out into the hallway from which they’d come.

“As you can see, the hallway wraps around in a square. Can’t ever get lost. You, Bob, Benji, and myself have the corner rooms. Van’s situated in between you an’ me, Larry’s situated in between me an’ Bob. There are four other empty rooms in the house that we use for storage, and stuff. Although this is the fullest this house has ever been, since the original owners had it.”

Ava knew the house was big, but ten rooms? Who could ever need a house that big? And for what purpose? Her thoughts raced as Bondy filled her in on unimportant mechanics -- “and here’s the guest bathroom” -- and she remembered Van’s room was next to hers. It must have been easy for him to deliver the letter last night. Her heart swelled.

“That’s about it,” Bondy said, snapping Ava out of her thoughts. “Want to go into town?”

******

The walk down the impossibly narrow cobblestone streets, wherein only three to four of Ava dressed up in skirts could walk arm in arm, was troublesome. Ava wasn’t getting used to her boots, and needed to walk slower than she usually did. Not that she remembered how she walked before she woke up in a different century; she could just feel that it was dissimilar. The change in her comfort led to a change in her attitude, and topic of conversation.

“Earlier today Maise told me that you’re my master,” she questioned Bondy, trying to walk dignified next to him as they passed citizens of 1739 France on the roads. She could tell they were dressed much less lavishly than she and Bondy were.

“So it would seem,” he replied casually, eyes squinting in the sunlight, looking for something.

“But why? Stop speaking ambiguously. I want to know why I’m here,” Ava huffed, kicking a loose stone across the street, which earned her looks from passersby.

“I bit you.”

“Yeah, got that part down. The marks in my neck? Pretty deep, I’d say. Vampire bite? It’s the latest trend,” she replied snarkily.

“Blix.”

“Okay, blix, whatever. So what’s going on? Does that just make me your slave? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bondy guffawed, head cast up to the sky in laughter. The sound made her cheeks burn in the best way. He turned to Ava, and smiled. “Here’s some terminology for ya. Because I bit you, I’m your sire. You’re sired to me forever by my bite. Maise uses the word master. But she’s the maid. It’s just…. different dynamics as a whole. And by the way,” he stopped to tap on Ava’s nose. “The reason that we’re here in the first place: we’re looking for a shop called Violet’s Dresser. Help me find it, lassy.”

*****

The shop was quaint, to say the least. Vintage knick knacks of all kinds littered the shelves, but in a classy sort of way that made you understand that if you broke it, you bought it. And the price wouldn’t be pretty.

“Violet, I’m the one who sent a telegram the other day,” Bondy spoke at the counter to the large woman in a giant feather hat. “I’m here for a fitting for my fiancee, Ava.”

Ava’s eyes bugged out of her head, but Bondy gave her a sharp Just go along with it! look. She supposed he had to do things this way. After all, it was 18th century Paris. Why else would a dashing young man be buying exuberant gowns? Certainly not because he’s keeping a girl he bit on the neck, captive.

Violet circled the counter and disappeared through a set of heavy curtains.

“Come into the dressing lounge, you darling thing. You’ve got a certain je ne ses quoi about you, you know that?” the rounded dressmaker whooped from the other room. Bondy nudged Ava to go on with an encouraging look.

Once she parted the aptly violet curtains into the dressing lounge, she came face to face with a team of seamstresses. They immediately stripped her of each layer down to her corset, petticoat, and cotton shift.

“Little Johnny’s spoken nonstop of you since he knew you’d be arriving. How long have you been here, dear?” the dressmaker asked huskily. She pulled a velvet dress bag from a hook and untied the gold ribbon holding the bag closed. The seamstresses worked to pull the new garments over Ava’s head quickly.

“Uh, just two days so far,” Ava stuttered. She hoped for her sake that answer would line up with Bondy’s story. The approving harrumph she received from the dressmaker made her sigh in relief.

The seamstresses worked in tandem, suiting Ava up in a whole new outfit; the petticoats for this gown were of the finest white linen. The gown itself was a brilliant crimson silk encrusted with thousands of jewels on the bodice. The apron was gold, along with an underlying petticoat. Ava had never tried on anything more glitzy. Or expensive.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Violet asked her. She nodded her head up and down, mouth gawking at the sight in the mirror.

“What’s this gown for?” Ava asked the dressmaker.

“You’ll soon find out,” she smirked, and lit a cigarette.

“Okay then,” Ava muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure Johnny’s loving the attention he’s getting from you, sweety. He was a lonely young man before he met you. Never smiled. Now look at him!” she poked her cane through the curtains and parted them slightly so Ava and she could peek through.

“He does look happy,” Ava replied, watching Bondy look around the room of knick knacks with an inkling of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but he looked content.

The curtains fell back into place, and Violet snapped her fingers. The seamstresses began undressing Ava as quickly as they’d dressed her.

“Surprisingly enough, he got her measurements perfectly correct,” the seamstress whispered to Violet.

“And that’s a man who loves his woman,” Violet howled with laughter. Ava’s cheeks flushed unintentionally.

Redressed and out in the main shop, Ava couldn’t meet Bondy’s eyes.

“Fits like a dream!” Violet stated, and Bondy stepped toward the counter to pay for it. One of the seamstresses brought out the large box, and Violet stamped it with the address of the manor.

“Delivery by tonight,” she winked at Ava, and went to put Bondy’s money away. “Threw in a little something extra for ya, doll!”

*****

“So what you’re saying is,” Ava clarified as she followed Bondy’s footfalls through the cobbled streets, “is that I’m something called sired to you? And that means we’re forever bound together by that energy?”

“Exactly.”

“But why’d you bite me?” she inquired.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well obviously I’m not leaving for a while.”

Bondy pivoted on his heel and stopped her from walking forward any farther. He took both Ava’s hands in his, and the serious gesture took her by surprise. She looked into his baby blue eyes and shivered.

“Usually when a blix bites, for sire purposes… well…” He trailed off, unable to continue. His eyes searched Ava’s. “Let me explain it to you this way. When a wolf sires a cub, it means it’s the cub’s father.”

“Bondy, I am not calling you Daddy.”

“Let me finish! Christ, you’re hilarious,” Bondy snickered, not letting the crude joke go unnoticed. “Like I was saying… when a blix bites and doesn’t kill, it’s a forever bond. You… change. And our bond ties us together forever.”

Ava stood flabbergasted. “Wait, are we ---? Am I actually going to become one of you? Like in the movies?” she trailed off in shock. Her hands began to shake.

“Ava, look. It’s already started. Your eyes are the color of your dress.”

Ava looked down at the blue of her dress, and drew in a deep breath. She saw a shallow well near a cart of flowers and raced to look at her reflection.

“Ava, wait --” he called out behind her.

Despite the ruddy water, and the ripples from the wind, she could still see herself looking down into the water. As she peered closer, she saw it: chocolate brown had brightened to a striking icy blue. The same color the others in the manor had. Her breath hitched. Bondy’s footsteps stopped a ways away from her.

There hadn’t been any confirmation of their existence as monsters yet. Yesterday the bite on her neck was almost funny. It didn’t hurt. It was a joke. Maise concealed it before they went out in the street today. In the back of her mind, she’d been hoping this was a twisted dream. The reality hadn’t set in yet. It couldn’t.

But there she was. Changed. Concretely. Blue-eyed.

Her face looked wrong. And she hated it.

She touched her cheeks beneath her eyes and hated them. She stared deep into her foreign eyes. She couldn’t look away. She was disgusted.

“I’m really changing,” she whispered. A sob caught in her throat. “I--”

She felt herself losing control. Her thoughts raced blindly behind her eyes, and her mouth dropped farther and farther open.

I’m a lectoblix.

A monster.

I kill people to stay alive.

I’m living in a house full of monsters who can kill me.

I’m changing.

I’m stuck with a monster for the rest of my life.

I’m stuck being a monster for the rest of my life.

I don’t even know who I was.

They changed me.

And now I’m changing again.

Her mind went blank with panic.

She sat there, on the edge of the well, for too long, soaking the edge of her skirts in the water, not caring about the water damage to the blue silk. She numbly watched the way her silent tears shimmered against the new blue of her eyes, and down her cheeks, tracking through the powder Maise applied earlier. It was all too real now.

Motion behind her made her turn slightly, like a caged animal. But she didn’t care enough to turn all the way around. Her body was numb. No turning back.

A bouquet of red roses was placed by her knees resting on the edge of the well.

Only then did she turn fully. And there he was, standing in shame with a receipt from the flower cart.

“I made a mistake,” Bondy’s face crinkled, with enough frustration to shatter Ava all over again. “Fuck. I’ll take you home.”

******

Ava sat in her room, alone, writing on the expensive stationery supplied in her desk. Shortly after they’d come home, and Bob had seen her waterlogged skirts and tear-tracked cheeks and pulled Bondy aside, calling for Maise.

Ava had been taken upstairs, flowers placed in a vase, and bathed in steaming hot water until it was cold. Now, she sat, pen in hand, wondering how to begin.

I am Ava.

She wrote. She couldn’t remember her last name.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, and put the pen to the paper once more.

I like to dance. I like cheese pizza.

I can’t remember any of my family. Or do I even have one? Every time I try to remember something, it’s like a wall is put up.

She sat, pensieve.

I tried on a red dress today. It was incredibly beautiful. It was like wearing the Crown Jewels, but on my body. The dress is supposed to arrive tonight. Bondy paid for it. I don’t know why he’s spending all of his money on me.

She scrunched up her nose as she remembered the rest of the afternoon.

“Ava! There’s a package for you downstairs!” Maise’s voice called from the walls of the mansion. Ava liked that her voice could travel without her having to materialize in front of her. She put her pen to the paper once more.

But Bondy and Van are of similar kind. They can’t be too bad... right?

Ava slipped her silk robe on over her shift dress and tied it tightly. The house was cold; she’d have to make her trip downstairs quick.

Jack was already halfway up the stairs with the large box by the time Ava reached the landing.

“Thanks, Jack,” she said happily, and he followed her into her room, placing the box on her bed. He pretended to tip his nonexistent hat and exited.

Ava removed the top of the box, and sighed. The crimson dress was folded impeccably neatly inside. She caressed her hand over it, and decided to lie it flat on the bed. She read the card inside:

To Ava soon-to-be-Bond

From Violet

Hope you enjoy this dress, babydoll! You’re worth every penny it cost him.

P.S. - Wasn’t joking about the surprise.

Ava rummaged through the fluff and tulle of the box, and her hand hit something silky soft, yet hard. She pulled out the garment and gasped.

A crimson red corset, matching the dress, stitched with intertwined gold and black thread. Ava held it up in front of her face, and said, “Oh, baby. That’s hot.”

A low whistle coming from the hall interrupted her admiration for the thing, and she quickly stuffed it back into the box before the offender could see any more of it. Her heart pounded as she realized who was there.

Van stood with a shit-eating grin on his face: guilty, but nevertheless pleased. Ava’s stomach pulled again, and she tried to play it cool.

“Where ya goin’ with that thing?” he laughed, leaning into the door jamb, as casual as ever.

“I have no idea,” Ava whispered, not believing she just pulled that out of the box. In front of him.

“It’s right gorgeous, I say,” he said, resting his hands in his pockets. “You should wear it some time for the lucky fellow.” Ava’s heart quickened, her cheeks beet red.

Van was wearing 21st century clothes: black leather jacket and black denim. “Anyways - came to tell ya we have a meeting at nine. Meet us on the second story. You can dress normally. We’ve enchanted the place for the night with a distractor spell so no stragglers’ll come and ruin it all for us.”

“How do you get to the second story?” Ava said just as he was about to usurp himself from the comfort of the door jamb.

“Oh. Bond didn’t show ya the best parts on the house tour I see? Hmm. I can walk you there? Meet us here at 8:55,” he smiled happily.

“Sounds good.”

“Okay.” He drug out the O sound, and the short kay! echoed down the hall with him.

******

“What is this place?” she asked Van as they tucked themselves down a secret door under the staircase; it hid behind a painting of Louis the Beloved. Ava knew it wasn’t classified as sneaking around when she had a destination, but it was new, and fun, and she was exploring.

“The second floor, love.” Ava’s heart fluttered at the sound of that.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you ran an operation,” she chuckled.

“I’m a simple guy,” Van said, tongue between his teeth in jest. “I mean what I say.”

“Good to know,” Ava flirted back. She couldn’t help it. She felt that she and Van had clicked from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other.

“Van, how do you know where you’re going? It’s pitch black,” Ava noted. She was able to ascend the flight of stairs before the painting swung shut, but now the halls were swathed in complete darkness.

“Got that good eyesight. Blix stuff,” he replied. Ava shivered.

Her hand brushed up against something and immediately felt a piercing shock run through it, searing her hand with burning pain that made her cry out loudly in a harrowing shriek.

“What the fuck was that?” she yelled at Van, clutching her hand. It was hot to the touch. They both stood stock still in the hallway. Ava’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness as adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she saw Van’s eyes mirroring her own in confusion.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, scratching the back of his neck. “Just tried to grab your hand to lead the way.” Ava’s slight panting mixed with Van’s nervous breathing in the narrow space.

“I still can barely see…” she said, voice wavering. “And my hand hurts.”

“Hold on... I want to try something,” he said softly. “If it does it again, just... yell.”

Van reached forward slowly and touched Ava’s hand with the most delicate of caresses. Electricity zinged between their fingers and buzzed in their veins. Ava let out a shaky breath. Van’s touch became harder as he laced Ava’s fingers with his. Their eyes never left each other. Ava could feel Van’s cool breath fanning over her face.

“This is weird,” Ava whispered.

“I know,” he responded in a similar tone. “Glad I didn’t shock you again.”

“Why did that happen?” Ava looked up at him, desperate for answers, desperate to feel the reverb of his voice resonate through her body again. It was..... good.

“Guess since you’re sired to Bond, no one else gets to touch you,” he whispered. “Let’s go. They’re expecting us.”

#PART TWO YEE HAW #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #catb fanfic #catfish fanfic #van mccann #johnny bond #oo boy i got a lil flirtin going on with both of them what are yall gonna do #enjoy ladiez #two fics in two days? who am i?

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There were hardly any blockbuster albums in 2018, but there definitely was no shortage of great albums either. For that reason, the year in music was better off for it. Similar to how this year's 30 Best Songs came from an open field where newer artists breaking through the underground could take a seat at the same table as innovative veterans and modern pop royalty alike, the 30 Best Albums of 2018 tells a similar story of a past not showing any signs of being beyond its prime, and a very promising future as to what its rookie artists might create one day when they're no longer the buzzworthy genre outsiders, punks, dance makers, and indie rockers the scene's radar. And speaking of the latter, it looks like many of this decade's earliest risers have proven themselves as worthy of the hype through greater substance and hitting their own strides. Less obvious, however, was that 2018 was a banister year for a new wave of hardcore band that continue to challenge the status quo beyond every circle of sound imaginable. If you've been waiting for the real thing, this year's top honors delivered it to you. 2019 has a lot to live up, because if it's half as interesting as the 30 Best Albums of 2018, we'll still be very lucky as listeners.

30. Hovvdy - Cranberry [Double Double Whammy]

With their graduation to Double Double Whammy for its sophomore effort Cranberry, Hovvdy have removed much of the digital tape deck hiss from their debut to make memories even more vivid when being stored inside their songs. And yet, Cranberry is still as soft a listen in a lovely way as its predecessor was despite its sharper clarity, which leads one to believe that the duo of Will Taylor and Charlie Martin are more focused on the way the listening experience captures a feeling rather than seeks out a way to recreate it. The songs’ tempos oft slowly trot through crisp strums and repetitive drum steps, occasionally fluttered in the warm hum of Casiotones (courtesy of fellow Austin DIY scene peer Hannah Read of Lomelda), but in defining their shapes in bolder lines with proper pop construction, Taylor’s plainspoken singing have a bigger space on the canvas to paint broad-stroked stories onto and allow the details – as muted as they are – to sink in full.

29. House of Feelings - New Lows [Joyful Noise Recordings]

What started as a radio show and dance night spinning some of the most esoteric sounds in dance and electronic vibes is now a living, breathing music collective of creatives from all corners of the underground built on an unbreakable foundation known as House of Feelings. On the NYC troupe’s debut full-length New Lows, multi-faceted songwriter Matty Fasano, YVETTE drummer and producer Dale Eisinger, songwriter Joe Fassler, and a cast of HoF collaborators familiar and new including Perfect Pussy’s Meredith Graves, Shamir, Denitia, and EULA’s Alyse Lamb, the group steps back into the darkest time line of our present reality after tripping out in an ambient post-apocalyptic freak out with last year’s club banger Last Chance EP. The pathways through which they travel are still treacherous as ever, but with blood-soaked shoes, sweaty bass lines, brass spirits, and synthetic doppelgangers for human emotion, they’re able to create a chic antidote for corrupt modern connections.

28. Oneohtrix Point Never - Age Of [Warp Records]

Oneohtrix Point Never breaks free of self-imposed insularity through collaboration and his own version of mass pop deconstruction to create “nightmare ballads” on Age Of. It is – along with the performance art installation that accompanies it – simultaneously Daniel Lopatin’s most ambitiously detailed, yet cohesively-defined auditory experiences since breaking through in 2010 with the melodic MIDI warping of Returnal, as it reconvenes into a pattern of brain teasing pleasure that had until now, been marked for deletion in his virtual garden. Dismantling pop cliches into a morbid art form has always been Oneohtrix Point Never’s M.O., but never has Lopatin challenged them so heavily as he has on Age Of by putting what’s obvious in front of listeners, then ripping off its outer layers of gloss to reveal what makes them work. Whenever these songs feel as though they are encroaching upon a natural climax, OPNs pulls the hook away from our ears, as if to tantalize our reward ever so softly while testing the natural habits of our cerebral mechanics no doubt shaped by larger machines in the process. Now, that’s a scary thought...

27. Ava Luna - Moon 2 [Western Vinyl]

Moon 2 is the perfect title for where Ava Luna are today as artists. It’s their new phase – One in which the NYC art pop band shed the skin of the term “collective,“ and instead join tentacles to become a fully collaborative species as varied as their backgrounds are. That LP 5 is their most streamlined effort to date may come as an even bigger surprise given the latter detail, as each member of the five-piece has spent the interim since 2015′s Infinite House expressing themselves mostly on their own. It could be, however, that in learning to stand on their own feet and flexing these creative muscles that Ava Luna has become stronger as a unit, as stylistic cohesion is threaded through the album from the moment it creaks into infinite space. Gravity-free vocals and ambient waves glide through Felicia Douglass’ hushed breaths and silk-covered runs, Becca Kaufmann bumps energy into the alien disco, while guitarist Carlos Hernandez’ and the band’s rhythm of Julian Fader and Ethan Bassford maintain its physically kinetic geometry. In this phase, there’s no one who can do it all with the fashion and finesse like they do.

26. Gouge Away - Burnt Sugar [Deathwish Inc.]

Maybe more exciting than the arrival of their breakout Burnt Sugar is that Gouge Away are really only getting started. At its core level is vocalist Christina Michelle who lives and breathes her every word, be it gnarling in daily anxiety and frustrations with hope, or controlling the chaos with a sung seance. Since their debut ,Dies, she and her bandmates have evolved into a more intentional force with in their use of emotional intensity as Mick Ford’s guitars remain razor-sharp when need be, but conceal themselves in a softer casing that rolls down your spine before tearing into your skin. Burnt Sugar also gets some of its charred flavoring by pillaging the grime and grunge of ‘90s post-hardcore and noise influence, as Tyler Forsythe’s bass lines dent and wobbly through tension without resistance as Tommy Cantwell’s drums find a gnarled groove between the dark crevices they leave in their quake. Its brimming with so much possibility as to where they can go tomorrow, but for now, leaves a lasting bittersweet taste in your mouth.

25. Hop Along - Bark Your Head Off, Dog [Saddle Creek]

Bark Your Head Off, Dog finds Hop Along mastering the art of embellishing rock with finer detail. While it may require additional lengths to let it sink in, it’s definitively the Philly band’s most ambitious effort to succeed on all fronts.Their latest sonic evolution continues to bristle with rawness, yet hooks are deeply entwined in intricate chord progressions while Frances Quinlan’s storytelling has become a thing on the scale of an American classic in literature as she continues to observe the mundane of everyday living with deep existential analysis. The quartet’s overall sound reflects that need to uphold that imagery with compositions just as tangled in the ornate, and demanding greater patience on the part of the listener to hear exactly where knotted guitars untie themselves and fray into choruses, or where elastic, funky footwork begins to effortless flow with ease into melody. Bark Your Head Off, Dog is not just something to behold because of its creative maturation, but a fun practice in dissecting and digesting music (and subsequently, the world around us) that rewards the experience with resonating tunefulness hidden in between.

24. Deafheaven - Ordinary Corrupt Human Love [ANTI-]

Deafheaven’s fourth studio effort Ordinary Corrupt Human Love shares many of the same organs and bone structures as its ancestors, but it’s a different animal altogether. It’s Deafheaven putting every one of the eccentricities they have nourished in their sound out there from the start into the wilderness, free to roam and form an album that embodies the humanity within their metal machine. Piano interludes, dreamy soundscapes indebted to slocore and indie rock traditionalism alongside guest vocal apparitions both weave even further layers to an an already ornate tapestry of scorched earth black metal and post rock, if maybe adding a touch of fragility to Clarke’s core existentialism. He ruminates plaintive thoughts on nature, aging, and empathy with a poetic grandeur that makes no apologies for being transparently earnest. That earnestness in all facets is what differentiates Ordinary Corrupt Human Love from any other Deafheaven album, or any other album that seers together a heavy heart and inner peace for that matter.

23. Janelle Monáe - Dirty Computer [Epic Music / Sony Records / Wonderland Arts Society]

Dirty Computer bares the familiar signatures of Janelle Monáe’s past work – a rollout full bonkers visuals overlaying forward-thinking production that sets synthetic futurisms on an asteroid collision with the funky torchbearing of the Purple One’s legacy – yet it doubles down on radio-equipped hooks and choruses grounded like no other effort she’s set forth. There’s a full reveal of the political being personal in that aspect, as the album celebrates Monáe’s “PYNK”-themed coming out party as a pansexual woman of color, redefining the “Crazy, Classic, Life” of the modern American dream in the process. Her freedom roar, be it sung with sex and smoothness as she exudes in album bangers ”Make Me Feel” and “Screwed” or rapped with sharpened poise on ”Django Jane” is limitless is strength. Monáe’s star power dwarfs even the legends of tomorrow accompanying her journey back to Earth, be it Brian Wilson’s cosmic harmonies on its title track, or the electric empower-ade made with Pharrell Williams on “I Got the Juice”. Now that she’s graced us within arm’s length, it’s time we start recognizing a world where everything revolves around Janelle Monáe’s universal message to be just as you are.

22. The 1975 - A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships [Dirty Hit / Interscope Records]

On their third LP A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships, it’s here where millennial melody makers the 1975 come into their own with their most actualized commentary on modern connection and pop music. Frontperson Matty Healy’s guides the dialogue through astute observations as a voyeur as well as his own ugly overshares for public consumption The album especially glorifies the latter in its arrangement. Like the dopamine rushes and exhaustion of life’s sudden highs and unexpected lows, A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships is pieced together in an unpredictable path of emotions in mind as it plays out. The listen combs through a post-Burial static plane, Auto-tuned trap pop, power ballad bombast, and even pulling off some oddity moments of loungey jazz. There’s a lot to not like about how our world is revolving, with the only optimism echoed here is the acknowledgement that we’re suffering through the darkest timeline together. For a generation whose attention’s spans are at peak deficit, hashtaggable plugs and genre-hopping get that message across through production-perfect content baiting reach.

21. Kamasi Washington - Heaven and Earth [Young Turks]

The year’s biggest adventure through the sonic cosmos comes by way of Kamasi Washington who takes you further out than you expected with Heaven and Earth, his latest grandeur display of avant jazz adventures composed with the special powers of the video game superheroes he invokes when aligning big brass purists and less discriminatory crossover crowd on the same universal plane. The double LP featuring 16 tracks average in 10 minutes in length each may as well be a quadruple one by today’s standards, though it also finds the Los Angeles saxophonist and his band in top form with cohesively connecting the dots in his experimentally sound genre reconstructions that encompasses free wheeling eruptions and percussive winks into the realms of rock, soul, and R&B. Heaven and Earth mediates his world of the weird and technically proficient with out current pop climate changes, and there’s more than enough sonic sight seeing in this journey to keep your senses in awe.

20. Iceage - Beyondless [Matador Records]

What began as an exorcise in violence, nihilism, and anxiety personified in the least suspecting of scenes within Denmark’s desolate DIY basements has evolved into a meticulous exercise in punk polyglot experimentation on Beyondless. Here, Iceage weaponize gothic purveyance to subdue their louder abrasions, but not necessarily their ability to confront the dark with any softer hesitation for a grander stage. The Danish quartet’s fourth studio effort is a new peak culmination in their insatiable desire to further themselves well beyond the limits previously drawn in their musical sculpture. The way they brandish danger and bleak existentialism in tandem with their bootsy grit is sexed up for pomp and glam through its incorporation of strong brass winds and cantankerous jazzy fits. Elias Rønnenfelt has written himself a charismatic stage persona to match – Consumed by the theatrics of a rock god and the Devil himself at once. Their unholy ritual has been completed and satisfies all heathens.

19. Tomberlin - At Weddings [Saddle Creek]

Sarah Beth Tomberlin was born to a strict Baptist household where her father was a minister, and she honed her craft as a songwriter through praise hymnals sung at Sunday sermons. She wasn’t allowed to discover a musical world outside of that sphere until she began secretly sneaking Bright Eyes CDs into her possession during her formative years. At Weddings, her debut full-length, is her way of forging her own path in a post-theist world that gives her – as she puts it on its opener “Any Other Way” – a sudden feeling that she doesn’t “have a place.” There’s more to her story than just existential queries hollowed out in a negative space where her voice, rendered in a delicate, yet devastatingly beautiful coat of reverb, echoes out as vast as the Midwestern fields she was raised. While At Weddings doesn’t conclude with her finding that place in the world she can finally rest comfort in, the ellipses it leaves listeners with is awe-striking in the way it makes you wonder right alongside Tomberlin where her path will lead her in the end.

18. Speedy Ortiz - Twerp Verse [Carpark Records]

Ever since they arrived on the scene as fresh-faced college grads of the school of indie rock with their 2013 debut full-length Major Arcana, the combination of singer Sadie Dupuis’ particular prose and she and her Speedy Ortiz bandmates’ higher level learning of idiosyncratic songwriting has been the thing that has made them stand out in a pack in the scene’s new wave of artists heavily influenced by the thinking person’s underground. With 2015′s Foil Deer, they proved that they had not only studied up on every book inside the indie rock laureates' libraries, and knew how to put that knowledge to proper use in writing their own chapters within it for today’s impressionable minds, but their latest effort Twerp Verse is a selfless endeavor devoid of needing to prove anything to anyone. Instead, it’s the quartet’s most outspoken commentary on modern day righteousness made all the more digestible with some new tricks from Dupuis’ second degree in spooky pop experimentation gained during a semester abroad under her sad13 guise. Speedy cram a lot to chew on here about common decency, but rest assured, these are choruses that will stick to your brain as much as the corrective lessons for a better society do, too.

17. Daughters - You Won’t Get What You Want [Ipecac Recordings]

Before going on indefinite hiatus in 2010, Daughters helped carve out a particular sound that stylized post- and grindcore scenes in the mid-2000s. Elastic guitars, intense drumming fits, and a frontperson in Alexis S.F. Marshall who sounded like an unhinged cog thrown in the machine whose job was to cause malfunctions at every turn was their modus operandi. Through sealed rifts, Daughters have since reunited with its most recent incarnation of Marshall, founding drummer Jon Syverson, rhythm guitarist Nicholas Andrew Sadler and Samuel M. Walker on bass, yet they're not the same band we heard on their return effort You Won’t Get What You Want. The Providence quartet’s fourth studio effort makes a concentrated effort in reshaping the outlines of their hardened history in an industrial fusion of human parts and robot arms melding into one alongside sea-sawing droning, smoldering blues, and gothic epics. Just as Daughters’ past indefinite hiatus status made no promises, You Won’t Get What You Want feels like they’ve entering a new phase where the unease in uncertainty fuels the thrill ride to defy any expectation/

16. Wild Pink - Yolk In the Fur [Tiny Engines]

Despite having cut their teeth in the Brooklyn indie scene these last several years, Wild Pink don’t sound so much like your standard guitar-chugging city dwellers on their breakout sophomore effort Yolk In the Fur. The trio of John Ross, TC Brownell and Dan Keegan have grown beyond the concrete jungle and ventured into an equally captivating impression here of ‘80s synth-bleeding, Americana-influenced rock that has made storytelling sentiment glimmer like a borealis in the way it has for the album’s kindred spirit Tom Petty and more recently, the modern day journeys of the War On Drugs. Yolk In the Fur has its own handwriting to share, however, with Ross emoting existential philosophies while gazing through the monotony of the every day and millennial melancholia. It’s there where Wild Pink transcend beyond subways and human-saturated streets and into the vast fields, rivers and star-lit skies -- Their own version of escapism becoming contagious.

15. Camp Cope - How to Socialise & Make Friends [Run for Cover Records]

Speaking to Camp Cope’s How to Socialise & Make Friends is a daunting task, especially from this end seeing that any cisgender straight male isn’t the most qualified to do the kind of heavy lifting these Melbourne indie rockers’ do here on their sophomore effort. The listen protests and shouts just as much as it lets out heavy sighs as singer Georgia Maq airs her grievances, be it via acid tongue or a higher road empathy. Her targets include gendered double-standards and an exhaustion with cultured misogyny in every facet of her daily life. She sings from both the unjust experiences as the frontperson of an all-women band within a male-dominated punk scene and as a humanist, with dudes behaving badly toward both in and out of those circles. The sound Camp Cope wage war with words with burns with an anti-authoritarian DIY spirit and emotive frustration equivocally, as Maq’s unfurling guitars over Kelly-Dawn Hellmrich and Sarah Thompson’s steady rhythm clear a path for her to break the patriarchy, if even by throwing just a single stone into every glass ceiling at a time.

14. Snail Mail - Lush [Matador Records]

Lindsey Jordan knows the roller coaster emotions of being young better than most indie rock songwriters out there right now, perhaps because she’s still figuring out a way to deal with them. With her debut album Lush, the 19-year-old’s creative outlet Snail Mail invites the entire world into the thick of her Tiny Little Corner of Anywhere where the doldrums of suburban living collide with teenage romance and its ensuing anguish in a manner where even a minor happening in heartache is enough substance to soundtrack a turning point in the coming-of-age experience. How she does so is through a stronghold in sharp earnestness wise beyond her years with lyrical specificity wrapped up in slowburning melancholic hooks that might otherwise suggest what ‘90s indie rock might have sounded like had it been put to her eloquent pen in the present. Yet, Lush is through and through about living in the moment, growing pains and all, and Snail Mail is in no hurry to shake the ride.

13. Vince Staples - FM! [Def Jam]

FM! -- an 11 track, 23-minute-long project from Vince Staples -- extends the Long Beach M.C.’s streak of success through an endless summer party meant for momentary escapism. The listen is no different than tuning into the long-running Los Angeles hip-hop station 92.3 and its show, Big Boy’s Neighborhood, that serves to bind together Staples’ latest duality of disenfranchised disparity against fame and prosperity over a series of intros, skits, interludes and, to greater effect, a group of Cali-minded guest features that would fit in effortlessly next to the radio fodder Staples’ cult rap skills usually sit on the outside of. It’s a current snapshot of the Vince Staples of today without forgetting where he came from, and he gets a few hits in that way by dropping ugly realities into an otherwise mostly white Coachella crowd-pleasing playlist where tough-as-nails honesty and ear-softening commercial pleasure find a middle ground. FM!’s fun from the outside looking in, yet a complex commentary when you stick your head in closer, and nothing less than we’ve come to expect from rap’s best thinkers.

12. Vein - errorzone [Closed Casket Activities)

The Greater Boston legacy of heavy has long been a place where hardcore and metal collide with an awesome vigor, and that lineage continues to expand beyond the Baystate today with Vein, a group of Merrimack Valley thrashers who are amplifying the intensity of the scene’s groundbreakers in the likes of Cave In, Converge and American Nightmare, and bare down the void with their own young nihilistic bulldozing. Their debut full-length errorzone uses the framework laid before them and fuses its pieces into a sound of apocalyptic proportions where human adrenaline and natural forces smolder into the quintet’s firestorm to form a death-wielding vehicle. The end result tears shit apart in every which way. Lead screamer Anthony DiDio is a wrecking ball on his own two feet, but backed by Vein’s seismic riffs and stone pummeling rhythmic core, errorzone is unapologetically harsh in seeing that everything burns to the ground. Taking into account the current state of the world, that might just be what this place needs.

11. Beach House - 7 [Sub Pop]

With 7, Beach House’s singular sound has settled on a narrative that has no concrete objective in sight, but rather, an unharnessed exploration into the unknown of what possibilities may manifest. That it’s their most curiously daring listen in a career that’s already been defined by surprises is a fete most veteran indie rock acts these days should be envious to achieve themselves, and for that, Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally can thank their lucky intuition for guiding their spirit in a directionless path. 7′s specific magical power is their ability to transform that darkness into an unsuspecting beauty, as the album oft confronts such instances fit for these tumultuous times by embracing the ability for empathy and love to grow out of that trauma, capturing the free-fall from resistance into giving in with a lightness. Explorations with psychedelic hues and cosmic lights in their smoldering, vapory dream-pop soothe even the bleakest questions that float through the timeline of an otherwise frightening reality. Beach House, in their present formless existence, endure in its brave embrace of it.

10. Earl Sweatshirt - Some Rap Songs [Tan Cressida / Columbia Records]

Aside from being a grade A wordsmith, Earl Sweatshirt stands out among other rappers from the younger era thanks to his ability to connect with audiences by talking to real life context in ways that never look like fashion statements or image crafting. It’s neither a Drake-ism or an emo rap algorithm ploy -- It’s honest, ugly reality checks that have gone toe to toe with anxiety, depression and death talk without glamorizing any of them as a welcome lifestyle. Last we’d heard from him were the incisive cuts levied through weed clouds and paranoia on 2015′s I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, yet, like many of his Odd Future alumni, Earl has grown out of his tumultuous teens, and with Some Rap Songs, the 24-year-old cult hero is beginning to piece together life’s puzzles clearly -- at least through prose. Throughout the listen, his rap style transcends any comparison to what his peers are creating as he delves into an abstract collage of background noise made of layered beats, samples of voices from the outside, and a control over his own as a hookless wonder. With the smoke clearing from the room, it turns out that the avant direction fits Earl Sweatshirt perfectly.

9. Robyn - Honey [Konichiwa Records]

In the 8 year absence releasing her ultimate legacy-cementing effort Body Talk, Robyn’s footprint on the pop universe has become permanently entangled in the DNA of its modern current. Now that she’s made her return on her sixth full-length effort Honey, however, we’re not just given everything we could hope for in a Robyn album – But something from a different creative pop genius than the one we last danced our worries away with. Experiences with grief and loss have changed the shape of the way she breaks our hearts and teaches us how to put them back together this time around, as Honey brings different facets of light into her singular sound to separate itself from similar flavors. Bright, shimmering whirls of synths and soft caresses sweep up a familiar warmth as any other Robyn endorphin rush, but glamorous house parties, funked up bass lines and breezy lite R&B turn the corner toward a different perspective in the healing process. Though we never truly know what pains life may bring our way, Robyn reminds us that there’s always a way back to the sweet stuff with Honey.

8. Pusha-T - DAYTONA [Def Jam / G.O.O.D. Music]

Stretches of ominous silence in between releases have worked to Pusha-T’s advantage in massaging his work into a hard craft. Ever since his 2013 debut My Name Is My Name and 2015′s followup King Push – Darkest Before Dawn: The Prelude, the pursuit of perfection has equated to him needing to waste less time to get people talking about what he’s saying. His X-acto knife precision consistently coupled with an ultra modern beat design never ceases to cut right where it needs to, and with his latest album DAYTONA, we get 7 tracks in just a little over 20 minutes where the Delaware son savors his words for deep impact. What’s left in its wake is a proper torching of the entire hip-hop landscape with his long shadow and knife-like flow that gave 2018 one of the year’s most talked about rap beefs. Darker moments surrounding loss of friends and the double-edged sword of fame swallow the soul whole into itself as well, and in aligning himself with Kanye West’s post-Pablo production (basically, the only good thing ‘Ye gave music this year...), the reign of King Push remains unrivaled.

7. Soccer Mommy - Clean [Fat Possum Records]

The opening moments from Soccer Mommy breakout Clean don’t idealize romantic expectations, so don’t get your hopes up that the rest of the album is going to find its way to some kind of happy ending either. Clean is the result of an ongoing bedroom-born lullaby inward that had been slowly forming the outlines of Sophie Allison’s persona over the years, with her debut full-length transforming early broad brush strokes into more detailed ones through a rickety walk of structurally-sound acoustic strums, hints of twinklecore in her alternative slow burn, and a healthy measure of studio trickery that puts a stamp with Allison’s name all over her confessionals. There’s an intense relatability to her storytelling as well as her underdog status of being on the losing end of relationships that makes her work resonate deep within the every-person, and they’re all necessary, too. Unlike all of the girls who she isn’t we meet here on Clean, owning up to her differences is what makes Allison sound realer than the rest.

6. Cardi B - Invasion of Privacy [Atlantic Records]

Social media-assisted personal brands may seemingly grow overnight these days, but one thing that won’t ever change is how they’re only a piece of the puzzle – if at all – in guaranteeing a successful rap career. If you were expecting Cardi B’s debut album Invasion of Privacy to change any rules of the game, it doesn’t over-promise in that regard, but it’s still an assured first step that includes Cardi delivering on her end of the it with a solid performance of real life character work backed by a roundtable of reliable modern production crafted by the likes of Boi-1da, Murda Beatz and Benny Blanco. It’s an early indication that proves she knows herself better than most others have in this position when it came to making money moves with natural instinct, and it’s perhaps the biggest reason why Cardi B managed to parlay her hustle from behind a smart phone into a #1 dream come true while her detractors keep bloating streaming algorithms in hopes of guaranteeing themselves a cheap hit.

5. Kacey Musgraves - Golden Hour [Mercury Nashville]

With Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves continues to be just as brave enough to color outside the lines of country with her honesty as she does in the palette she paints with as well. Disco-inflicted pop crossovers, cosmic countrypolitan, psychedelic steel pedaling, a refracted spectrum of ‘70s style classic rock piano balladry worthy of Elton’s rhinestoned co-sign, and in between everything, Golden Hour shining with that simple purity of fully lucid designs Musgraves has always brought to the table in dripping honey-combed acoustics into melancholia and pop that bring even a basic approach to songwriting into widescreen view. The album amounts to something akin to an actual rainbow for that matter – All colors vivid and unique in their own way, but when they collect together, they suggest something much more, be it in its wonders of life, love, and enjoying every second of it in the present with your senses filled with them.

4. American Pleasure Club - A Whole Fucking Lifetime of This [Run for Cover Records]

At the end of 2017, Sam Ray ditched the Teen Suicide moniker in favor of something more empathetic and conscious by redubbing his punk band American Pleasure Club. After years of making music inspired by depressive fits, substance abuse, and an aggressively nihilistic world view, he’s realigned his sound as well thanks to sobriety and finding domestic bliss with fellow musician Kitty Ray. With that, the band’s third proper album A Whole Fucking Lifetime of This is where Sam Ray has adulted beyond the bitter teenage malaise of his past while giving his loyalty of listeners every reason to continue working toward defining happiness in their own messy lives. That’s mirrored in a juxtaposition of vibes throughout the listen, varied in mood and style as vast as bedroom pop melancholia, pop-punk jitters, wallowing alternative waves, and hazy R&B that circle back to a big picture of coherency. Its a soundscape Ray has tinkered with tirelessly since the project’s inception, and has now found a fulfilling sweet spot in American Pleasure Club’s sound thanks to acknowledgement the reality of a love in a world that will never truly be a personal heaven nor hell.

3. Mitski - Be the Cowboy [Dead Oceans]

Mitski’s fifth album Be the Cowboy is brimming with ideas in brevity, yet it never falls short of articulating them with considered judgement that proves Mitski Miyawaki is in full control of her directive wheel. To give of herself even the slightest glimpse into the 27-year-old songwriter’s psyche through song is her gift to the Earth, with her pen blurring a universal connection between the personal and creation by mining its many striations of disconnect. Her other half on the surface level is often framed like a lover, though she’s hinted that sometimes the relationships that break her heart the most are those not reciprocated in her commitment to her work. Be the Cowboy finds her acting out every role in the story inseparably through the bombast of indie rockisms,an incorporation of songwriting worlds both traditional and modern that render new benchmarks of perfection for her timeless prose and even disco-pop, making it all the more difficult to decipher, yet that’s the point: They’re all designed as self-reflections given equal moments to be honored in her dark and light.

2. Low - Double Negative [Sub Pop]

Slowcore innovators Low have evolved far beyond the patient wonder of their music in several different styles over their storied 25-year career as a band, but nothing in their catalog is anything like their latest studio effort, Double Negative. The listen answers the question of what may exist of the Duluth trio if you were to destroy in their sound all the natural beauty that has endured gracefully these last three decades, and attempts to reconstruct it by fragment, particle by particle. That’s done intentionally, as the band holds a shattered mirror up to the world and reflects it onto themselves, as LP 12 embraces their most abrasive traits fearlessly through deconstructed and corruptly digitized instrumentation sucked into the vacuous production of. B.J. Burton, go-to producer at Bon Iver’s April Base home studio. The uncertainty in Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker vocals, while remaining tender all the way through, surface anxieties felt by many humans amid the disarray. We don’t know what tomorrow brings, though Double Negative captures the present in all its brokenness flawlessly.

1. Turnstile - Time & Space [Roadrunner Records]

Pull the 25-minute-long sprint that is Turnstile’s major label debut Time & Space apart by its guts, and you’ll hear that it’s so many other things than just a record that is guaranteed to insight a lot of free-falling bodies flying off stages wherever they take this record live. Even as a screamer, Brendan Yates is rather Svengali in his anti-et. al resistance, feeding his existential crisis into grungy despair and plunging down that rabbit hole lined in hybridized metal. Guitarists Brady Ebert and Pat McCrory alongside bassist Franz Lyon and drummer Daniel Fang are integral to controlling the listen between a slam dance and a hardcore meditation, meeting every signature call to the pit with a far out reverberation such as “Moon”, a lush, hazy pop-punker of a track. If there’s a single takeaway from Turnstile’s proper introduction beyond the DIY spaces they came through, it’s that the Baltimore quintet are prepared to take risks to reshape hardcore as something more than just punk’s harder edge of sound. It’s one continuous nonstop feeling, and one that’s bringing the whole scene into an entirely different level of being.

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purple-dahlias · 2 years

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for get to know your author: 1, 15 and 25!

1. Is there a story you're holding off writing for some reason?

oh there are quite a few! but one of them is a multi chapter fic that I've been wanting to write for a while, based off of this fic I wrote for medtober, I have this idea where it continues with Ava missing and explores what happened and where she went and how Sarah deals with it all. I know exactly where I want it to go (I even have an ending planned out) but it's gonna be very angsty

15. why did you start writing?

Ooh okay, so since I was like six I always used to write stories and make up all these characters and scenarios and things and always had a notebook close by. Writing was always something I loved and at one point I was convinced I wanted to make a career out of it. But I guess in relation to fic, that was something I started doing when I was 14/15 and mainly it was as a form of escapism and like a coping mechanism because there was a lot of stuff going on. And I guess since then it's been something I've continued to do for that. Oh, and also, specifically relating to now and writing for Med, it was after I watched the show and idk I guess Sarah's character just really resonated with me and I wanted to write for her? But I'm really grateful I did because I've met some truly amazing people through it!

25. copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

hmmm oh this is hard I am really, really bad at trying to pick out things I like from my own writing but, I do like this, it's from a fic I wrote for my haunted house au:

A chill works its way through the house, despite it still only being early September. It comes in through the cracks in the gaps between the windowpanes, small as they might be, and under the doorways, making a low, mournful sort of noise that is only amplified by the gathering wind outside. Beyond the house, the darkness grows, streetlights one by one flickering on. Somehow, though, their light does not seem to penetrate the house. The windows mist up as the rain continues to beat down mercilessly upon the world outside. The gloom of the day is drawing to its close. And it is only made worse by the fact that Sarah is alone.

thank you so much for sending in the ask!

get to know your author asks

#asks #ask game #anon

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sithlordintraining · 6 years

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She’s No Angel (Part 23)

A/N: Guys, everyone watch I, Tonya. It’s sooooo good!!! Like my parents are jumping off their rocker because they lived through it and they’re hype af talking about it. Also, watch Scandal because this show gives me LIFE!!

She’s No Angel Masterlist

You sighed reading the last page of the proposal of a new allying planet. There was a knock on your door, you pressed the button underneath your desk to open the blast doors. It was Lucky, with a tray in hand. You smiled up at him setting down your datapad. “You’re really taking personal trooper to the next level, you didn’t have to.” Lucky set the plate in front of you and snorted. “Yeah and if I didn’t Ren would have my head on this tray.” He removed his helmet and sat in the chair opposite the desk. You propped your head upon your hand wearing a bright smile at your best friend. “So you guys are talking?” Y/N teased. “It’s only about you, Angel.” He scratched his head. “So,” You shrugged. “After all this time, it took another technician.” Lucky groaned thinking about the girl. “Angel, we care about you and tease me all you want, there’s something about her that Ren and I just don’t like.” You removed the cover of the tray and begin to pick at the food in front of you. “Well, you’re right about one thing.” You ate a spoonful of the meal in front of you. “You and Kylo speaking about me is still good enough to make me happy that you two are speaking instead of at each others neck.” Y/N sighed leaning back in her seat. “Just imagine we can have so much fun on missions now and we could have dinner!” You jumped at the thought.

“Dinner?” Lucky smirked. “You, Kylo, Ava and me?” Your lips fell into a frown at the mention of the name. “Ava...doesn’t,” You failed at finding a good excuse. “Angel, whatever happened to you guys in the past it’s been years! You both have matured, so why can’t you move past it!” Lucky threw his arms up. “We are both in happy relationships and getting along with Ren, so.” You just sat there watching your hands in your lap. “I’m not mad Angel,” You felt the hard gloves brush against your scalp. “I just want the same effort for Ava.” After Lucky left, you sent Kylo a message regarding dinner plans for a double date. You set your datapad down and thought for a moment. This would be the first couple that you would be able to compare your relationship too. Ava and Lucky had had much more experiences than you and Kylo, so maybe it would be good for you to see that. It also worried you that someone other than the people you trusted was about to find about your relationship. A chime alert you of a new message from Kylo and somehow it had a warm feeling spread within your chest: Do you think we are ready? It could be interpreted anyway, but you saw it as nervousness and unsure which is how you felt now. Yes. Was all you wrote as you went; sighing you couldn’t be happier that everything was coming together.

Ava was no longer Lucky’s plaything and it was much easier since Angel had been preoccupied with something or someone else. There were rumors surrounding you and Kylo, especially since his face reveal. But everyone thought so highly of you and they knew you would never submit to him after everything that happened. This was the reason, that made you and Hux want to keep the relationship a secret. Also, Hux never thought it would last as long as it did and neither did Lucky. But you proved them wrong and now a double date was well on its way. Anxiety riddled your body leading up to the double date. You became hyper-aware of your surroundings and all the little whispers that echoed in the hallways. And Kylo noticed. “You look beautiful.” Kylo appeared behind you in the mirror. You fixed the greatcoat on your shoulders. “It’s just one of my uniforms.” You tsked. Kylo walked closer kissing your hairline as he held you in his arms. “You're always beautiful.” He fluffed the (y/h/c) curls that frame your face. “Why are you so nervous?” He played with the strand right in front of your ear. “It’s silly I know, but this, us, it means a lot and she will be the first person to see it and I-I just don’t want her to say anything, I sound stupid.” You placed your forehead on his chest. His laughter resonated through your body. “Then make her sign an agreement.” You looked up at him and smiled at his joke. “Well, that is my job.” “Exactly,” He pressed a wet kiss to your cheek.

They were late, and not just a few minutes late, almost an hour late! You and Kylo sat there in an awkward silence trying to find things to preoccupy yourselves with. The couple stumbled in, Lucky in a basic all black regulated off-duty attire and Ava in a low-cut burgundy dress. Their smiles and sheen of sweat didn’t go unnoticed as Y/N stared with her mouth slightly agape and Kylo with his classic scowl. Kylo waved at the waiter to start bringing the courses. You cursed yourself for suggesting dinner, you thought about how horrible yours and Kylo’s went and so far this just proved that dinner dates weren’t for you. No one would dare question Kylo Ren and Ava just seemed to talk the whole time. It wasn’t until between dinner and dessert when Kylo surprised by asking in his careless fashion: “How’d you two meet?” But Kylo genuinely wanted to know because Ava didn’t even come close to you and she was quite annoying.

Ava turned to smile at Lucky. “Well, I’ve known her for quite some time; it was in the medbay, of course, and-” “And he and another trooper were trying to patch up each other's wounds and Luck was doing a great job.” She interrupted him. “I like a man that knows how to use his hands.” A blush quickly rose in Lucky’s face as he tried to ignore your disturbed expression. Ava placed her hand on his thigh and smiled back at you. “What about you two?” Kylo’s eyes widened as his mind went blank. What story could be told that didn’t make the two seem like a deranged pair? “We met in the hallway.” Your voice pulled Kylo out of his thoughts. Kylo nodded looking down at you. “And we went back and forth a lot until” You shrugged giving Kylo a soft smile. Kylo watched the gleam in your eye sparkle as he felt the warmth of your hand wrapped around his. “I think everyone meets Angel in the hallway.” Lucky laughed. Kylo squinted at the man who had stolen this intimate moment. “That wasn’t funny Lucky.” You scolded him. “Angel,” He looked at you. “It was very frightening!” You told him. “W-What happened?” Kylo asked.

“Do you want to tell?” The friends laughed in unison. “No Angel, you do it.” Lucky cooed. “Zeros and Lucky were showing us new recruits around Starkiller, literally the first and last time I was on it. It was in one of the sectors that held the main water valves and of course, the pipe broke and it exploded. The water burst into the hallway and rushed in so quick, sweeping some people under and I went back to save some and he was one.” You humbly ended, but Lucky wasn’t having it. “No, Angel is a fucking fish. She was a captain of her swim team. She kept going back in to save us one by one. I was the last because my armor got stuck and I was sure I was about to die. I was positive I was dead when she came to get me she looked like an ethereal being, she wore that light gray academy uniform and her hair started to curl and the overhead light just crowned her head. She was the reason I was ready to go to the light!” Lucky joked. “And then I passed out because you’re fat.” You giggled and Lucky rolled his blue eyes. Ava sat with a twisted face and crossed arms avoiding the conversation. Kylo felt a pain in his chest knowing that you could’ve died because of him. It was due to one of his tantrums that had caused that valve to break. But the feeling weighed heavier than he would’ve thought of. His brown eyes looked at your smiling face. But you knew him better than anyone.

“This was fun, but I think it’s time for us to go.” You smiled, interlocking your fingers with his. “You know, the higher you are the earlier you rise.” You sent Ava a devilish smile before leaving with Kylo and your great coat blowing in the wind. You entered the elevator and a dark chuckle left Kylo as his long arm wrapped around your waist pulling you closer. “What?” You leaned your head on his chest. “Nothing.” He said bringing his other arm to hold you close to him. “Seems like something.” Your fingers crawled up his massive chest as you looked up at him through your lashes. Craning his neck, his lips met yours, sucking on your bottom lip before going in for another kiss. You pulled him closer to you enjoying the subtle taste of wine on his tongue as they danced their way with one another. The two of you didn’t even care about the surveillance in the elevator. When the doors opened Kylo held your hand as he walked you towards your quarters. He looked you deep in the eye as he brushed a curl behind your ear. “Goodnight,” He whispered before heading for his quarters. Kylo entered with a sigh before there was a knock on the door. Opening it, you appeared with that wild look in your eye that he loved so much. Without hesitation, you jumped wrapping your legs around him. Your lips latched onto his as his strong arms held you tightly. Kylo stumbled back hitting the back of his knees and landing on the couch. “Y/N,” His low rich voice sent shivers up your spine. A smile was pressed against his lips before pressing a gentle kiss to his pink lips. Nothing was said but he could feel your heart just swelling at how he made you feel. A low groan slipped pass his full lips causing Kylo to pull you into a deeper kiss.

“Commander!” There was a knock on the door that caused them to pause. Y/N looked down with pleading eyes as Kylo’s were locked on the door. Another knock rang out and Kylo gently moved her aside to stand. “Can’t you just ignore it?” Your lips fell into a pout. He cradled your face in the palm of his hand. “I’ll be back Nyneve.” You looked down to hide your blushing expression as he used the nickname he had picked up on one of your missions. Nyneve was an alluring immortal being that had been worshipped by the people of the planet Avalon, she held power and saved many like no man before or after. You weren’t used to the name seeing someone like you shouldn’t be compared to someone with such a high-caliber. “You will be.” He squished your cheeks making you smile. “Now wait for me on the bed.” You shook your head and made your way to his large bed. He watched your figure disappear into the next room before he left.

He stomped down the hallways frowning after the ridiculous meeting. A banging caused him to snap out of his thoughts. He looked around the hallway to see no one but still heard the banging. He walked up to the panel and inspected it. Using the force he removed the panel revealing none other than Serena. Before he could ignite fear throughout her body, she moved forward clinging herself to him. Kylo took a step back as her grip tightened. She peered up at him with a stream of tears falling from her large Persian orange eyes. “Your eyes?” Kylo remembered them being green and right after he questioned her, they shifted to obsidian black. She unlatched herself from him and quickly ran to her quarters. Kylo stood there contemplating if he should just let her be, but for some reason, he decided to follow her. It wasn’t long before he was hot on her trail on the back of her heel as he cornered her in a sequestered hallway. He stalked closer to see green eyes but one a few shades darker than the other. He watched her quiver before him as mixed emotions consumed her. “Was it the-” “Troopers.” Her fragile voice spoke with his. He sighed as he recalled the countless taunting he had to deal with as Matt. “I’ll take care of it.” He sighed not knowing why he had the urge to help the annoying technician. Before he could leave she laid a small hand on his arm. “Thank you.” He was transfixed on her eyes that were now a fluorescent blue. It reminded him of something from his past, he flinched and removed himself from her and made his ways back to his quarters. He couldn’t shake the sight of her glowing blue eyes that brought up haunting memories and the kiss that should’ve never happened. Serena filled his mind, he forgot that you were waiting for him, sleeping peacefully in one of his black long sleeve shirts. He quickly removed his attire and made his way to you, careful not to disturb. He looked around him in this cold room, your warm beautiful figure beside him, his powers, his title and yet when Serena looked at him with those eyes he felt like B- “Kylo?” You muttered in your sleep turning to rest your head on his chest. He tensed as your fingers grazed his bare chest. He had to remember, he was Kylo Ren and he would not succumb to weakness.

P.S.: I know it seems like I’m just throwing in a random character, but in the long run it will make sense. I promise. Hit me up with comments, concerns, jokes, reminding me that Kylo Ren passed out when he got a blowjob, anything. I miss talking to you guys. I JUST WANT TO STATE: Right now, from this point on, no matter what happens in the sequel trilogy, this series will end the way I want it to end. Events that I want to happen. People I choose to die. So if it is somewhat similar to the movie: I did it first. AND SUPER THANKFUL FOR ALL THE SNA FANS THOSE FROM THE BEGINNING AND THOSE TUNING IN NOW!!! I just want to say thank you for everything <3 (if anyone is still here)

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self-shipyard · 3 years

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"I Will (Pt. 3): The Arrival" - A Self-Ship Wedding Fic

SYNOPSIS: The third part of a four-part fic in which everyone gathers in the chapel and prepares for the big moment.

Word Count: 1813

CW: Pre-Wedding Fluff, Mild In-Character Swearing, Anxiety

Tag List: : @guthound, @danieladimitrescu, @puppyships, @ava-ships, @awesomedanganronpaconfessions, @sinners-call-me-baby, @reigenhusband, @that-autistic-team-skull-grunt, @noellojello, @somethingscarlet13, @spookymasonjar, @vanityloves, @valor-selfships

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

The little church rested against the grassy Tuscania countryside. It was a rustic little building, made of old bricks and holding a wooden crucifix over the roof. Its staircase had a white satin stair runner over top and the sides were adorned with wildflowers and lit candles, despite the sun being high in the blue sky. There was even an arch of greenery which framed the church’s big wooden door.

It set the theme for a beautiful August wedding.

Lumaca could just barely see it from the car window and through her veil. The sight of it made her heart race. She might’ve even fainted, had not a hand reached over to touch her shoulder and to bring her back down.

Her eyes darted from the window to Sorbet.

“Are you okay?” Sorbet asked.

“Yeah, are you?” Gelato piped up from his place next to Sorbet, his hand reaching around to pat her lap. “You’re looking a little pale. Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Lumaca softly replied. “It’s just my nerves...”

“Hey,” Formaggio said from the passenger’s seat. “If it makes you feel any better, just thought I’d let you know that I attended a bee wedding about a week ago.”

“Oh, is that so?” Gelato responded for her.

“Yup!” he continued. “It was nice to know that he found his honey.”

Formaggio and Gelato both laughed at the corny joke and Lumaca simply smiled, taking joy from their laughter. However, Prosciutto, who had been driving for the past fifteen minutes with a bouquet of white roses in his lap, couldn’t do likewise.

“Come on,” he muttered. “That was bad.”

“Hey now,” Formaggio defended himself. “Those two are digging it. Besides, when you got charms like mine, you don’t have to be that good with the words. It’s all about how you deliver it, you know?”

“Hey, look!” Gelato suddenly piped up with his finger pointed towards the window. “There’s Pesci. How long has the boy been waiting out there for?”

“I hope not for long,” Lumaca commented, a pang of guilt in her voice.

“Ah don’t worry about him, my dear.” Gelato patted her lap. “He’s always been so patient.”

After parking the car near the side of the chapel, where other vehicles sat in the afternoon sun, Prosciutto took hold of the bouquet and went to help Lumaca out of the car. Everyone else was quick to follow the pair, with Sorbet and Gelato close behind and Formaggio at the end of the little procession.

Pesci looked up from his seat on the stairs and his eyes lit up the minute he saw them approaching him. He jumped up and rushed to meet them, leaving his basket on the step. Lumaca would’ve met him halfway, if not for the fact that her arm was linked to Prosciutto’s. So instead, she reached her free hand out to grab hold of his.

“Lumaca!” he beamed, holding her hand in both of his. “I knew you’d be here on time! I was starting to get a little worried.”

“Pesci, you mammone,” Prosciutto grunted before Lumaca could say anything. “You shouldn’t have been worried. I wouldn’t have let her miss her own wedding day, would I?”

“Ah.” Pesci looked down. “Sorry, aniki.”

Lumaca watched as Pesci’s nerves dimmed his excitement. Feeling sorry for him, she shook his hands to grab his attention.

“It’s okay, Pesci!” she assured him. “I appreciate how much you care.”

He gave her a soft smile as some of the light returned to his face.

“Thank you Lumaca... You look really beautiful, by the way. You’re going to make everyone’s jaw drop.”

“You think so?” she blushed.

“I know so!” His grip on her hand went a little tighter. “Especially Ghiaccio’s jaw. Oh, he’s going to be so happy to see you!”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t mind seeing a couple extra pretty faces come down the aisle first,” Formaggio piped up with a grin, already walking ahead of the group to the chapel doors. “At any rate, we better go take our places, right Gelato?”

“Right behind you,” Gelato replied, practically skipping along behind him.

…

The chapel was as small on the inside as it was on the outside. It was lit by the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows, giving everything a gentle glow to it. Much like the staircase, the sides of the mahogany pews that faced the altar had also been decorated with wildflowers.

Attendees sitting in the pews consisted of a small crowd of people, including other members of their team and some friends of the bride. All of their voices resonated throughout the room, mingling softly with conversations from amongst themselves and even from the groomsmen.

The groom, however, was silent.

Ghiaccio had taken to thinking of Lumaca as a way to keep himself distracted from the nerves that drenched his forehead in sweat.

Memories flooded his head, giving his chest a warm, tingling feeling. He remembered everything, from the day they met and their first mission to their first date and their first kiss. The day they decided to move in together and those happy little moments between then and the evening he proposed.

That look in her eyes as she agreed to give him her hand in marriage… So sweet…

Thump!

Ghiaccio was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the wooden doors opening. His head jolted up and his eyes went wide behind his glasses. The room fell silent and everyone turned their heads to look at the big wooden doors.

The bridesmen walked in.

Formaggio strolled down between the pews, a serious look clouding his eyes as he focused on the task at hand. Gelato followed behind, regarding everyone he passed with the same curiosity of a cat. They quietly took their places at the bride’s side of the altar, approximately in the same sort of placement the groomsmen had taken.

Ghiaccio’s hand went up to feel his heart rate. It went down, but not by much.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself whilst pushing his glasses closer to his face

“Ghiaccio,” a voice whispered behind him.

He turned around to see Melone, who had just reached out with his free hand to give him a pat on the back. His other hand held a small pillow, upon which rested a small, silver ring with a sapphire embedded into it.

Lumaca’s ring.

“Remember, we’re here to make sure everything’s alright,” he continued. “Try to relax, okay?”

Ghiaccio gave a quiet hum in response before turning back to resume his thoughts. Only, he found it was getting harder to concentrate, as the thought of her walking in and down the aisle towards him clouded his mind.

That thought made him gently whimper to himself.

…

“You have what I need?” Sorbet asked, his eyes focusing on Pesci and his hands carefully adjusting Lumaca’s veil.

“Oh, of course! Hang on a second,” Pesci assured as he made his way back to the chapel’s staircase.

He took hold of his basket and gently fished his hands through the rose petals. As soon as he felt the two items that Sorbet needed graze his fingertips, his face lit up. Carefully, he pulled out a small pillow and an even smaller sack from the pile of petals.

“You didn’t have anything else to carry those things in?” Prosciutto inquired as he made adjustments to the bride’s bouquet in his hands.

Pesci met his furrowed look with a sheepish grin.

He stood straight up and walked back to the three remaining members of the bride team, bringing the pillow and the sack with him.

“Not really, no,” he gulped. “I uhm… Had to make do with what I had.”

Sorbet held out his hand and Pesci placed the pillow overtop before prying open the sack with his fingers. Within a few seconds, he had a silver ring with a small ruby embedded into it placed on top of the pillow.

Ghiaccio’s ring.

“Hmm,” Prosciutto sighed. “I suppose you didn’t have much of a choice then. I’m proud of you for making do with that you had… All I ask is that you be careful of the petals next time. We don’t need them to be crushed.”

“Okay, aniki; I’ll remember that!” Pesci smiled, too polite to tell him that Melone had already said something similar.

“Thank you so much, Pesci,” Lumaca muttered happily, the sight of the piece of silver and the thought of it on her husband-to-be’s left hand making her giddy. “In fact, thank you guys for your help.”

“We appreciate the thought,” Sorbet told her. “But don’t thank us just yet. Save it for the reception.”

Just then, the pastor poked his head out from between the doors and called for Sorbet to come inside. After giving him a nod and watching him slip back inside, he strutted towards the big wooden doors with the pillow balanced in his palm. He glanced towards Lumaca and gave her a nod that she gladly returned. With that, he pushed the doors open with his free hand and made his way inside.

As soon as the doors closed with a low thump!, Pesci looked towards Prosciutto.

“Aniki,” he asked. “Am I supposed to follow behind him with the flower petals right now?”

“Give him a couple of minutes first,” Prosciutto instructed him. “You’re going to be ahead of us by about a minute so you can scatter the petals around, then you’ll take your place on the groom’s side of the altar.”

“Okay, I can do that…” Pesci hummed as a thought crossed his mind. “You sure do know a lot about being a flower boy, huh?”

“I had to be one for our mother’s wedding,” Prosciutto admitted. “This was before you were born, of course, but I remember it well.”

“It must’ve been lovely,” Lumaca smiled warmly.

Prosciutto smiled back at her.

“It was,” he started to reminisce. “It had been the happiest I had seen her in a long time. A type of joy I can see all around you, in fact.”

She blushed quietly.

“Ah, it’s… It’s that noticeable?”

“It is.” Prosciutto agreed. “And it’s a good sign. It means that this is the start of a long, happy marriage.”

She bit her lip, trying her best not to start sobbing right then and there.

“Thank you…”

The brothers wrapped their arms around her in a group hug. She immediately had her arms around them as well.

“You two will go far,” Prosciutto whispered. “I know you will.”

After spending a long, quiet moment in the embrace, the trio pulled themselves away from each other and Pesci made his way towards the chapel stairs.

He took hold of the handle of his basket.

“I’ll see you both soon!” Pesci beamed at the pair before disappearing behind the doors.

(to be continued at 2:00 PM EST)

#❄soft snow (lumaghia)❄#❄soft snow wedding❄#self ship #self shipping #self shipping content #self shipping community #self ship wedding #⛵sal's writing #sorlaca (friend tag)#lumapros (familial tag)#formaca (friend tag)#pesluma (friend tag)

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