#here. one line story by an ai. `The sun set on the horizon as the lone traveler continued on their journey. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dragonseattofu · 3 years

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School Days (TWEWY Fanfiction)

Summary

As the gang prepares for the annual school cultural festival, Shiki's not hiding in Eri's shadow anymore, and other people are starting to take notice. At the same time, Neku learns that the line between more than friends yet less than lovers is starting to blur.

Notes:

So to try and somewhat contribute to the very smol neshiki twewy fandom, I wrote this self-indulgent piece. It might come off as OOC, but at the end of the day I hope it’s enjoyable to at least one person out there (even if that’s just me). Dedicated to @altorav and @trashcan-of-a, in their efforts to show the world how wholesome neshiki is, you’ve inspired me. I hope you like it! (Plus we needed some fluff post episode 3 angst).

Preview:

It was that time of year again, the annual school cultural festival. A time of ostentatious costumes, overly enthusiastic maid/butler cafe hosts/hostesses, and even more unnecessary social interactions that Neku would rather just avoid school all together.

What a drag, the teen thought as he drowned out his classmate’s debate on what theme they should do.

Looking at the window from his seat, Neku was grateful he listened to his mother this morning and grabbed an umbrella. The cumulus clouds hung low, their edges tinged grey.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. Make sure to sign up for your roles before the end of the day!”

Pulled out of his reverie by chairs scratching against the worn linoleum and erupting chatter, Neku stood up from his seat and walked over to the bespeckled girl two rows down.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” The petite girl asked before he even got out his greeting.

He picked at one of his spiked out strands of hair, “is it that obvious? Festivals are such a bore.”

“They are not! And this year we have Beat and Eri to celebrate it with. Even Rhyme’s coming! It’s going to be fun!” She was really enthusiastic about this, and not the false happiness she tried to pull during their time in the Reaper’s Game, but genuine excitement. He couldn’t help but mirror her smile.

“Yeah well, what are we even doing?” He turned his attention to the board and shuttered.

“Seriously? A play … Cinderella? Cliche much? Yep, this is going to be torture.”

“Oh come on, it’s not going to be that bad! Eri and I are going to be in charge of costumes, you could help us—“

“Hey Sakuraba!” Yuji shouted from the front of the classroom, “thanks for signing up for props and set, man! We’ll have a meeting after classes in the auditorium at 3!”

Neku looked at the class president as if he had sprouted reaper wings, “what the?”

“You signed up for set-up?” Shiki asked him, getting up with her books and supplies all gathered neatly in her bag.

“Hell no, who signed me up?”

“I did.” A streak of pink wandered over to the pair. Before the young boy could protest the predicament she put him in, the girl placed her arm around Shiki’s shoulders protectively.

“I found some of your sketches in Shiki’s notebook and I figured you’d be really good at making the sets. Plus, this way you can walk Shiki home after school when it gets late. Kill two birds with one stone, right? Eri ended her explanation with a wink, much to Neku’s chagrin.

Just as quickly as Eri appeared, in a blink she was gone, yelling over her shoulder, “see you later guys! Shiki, let’s get started on the costume designs after school today!”

“Come back here Pinkie!” The boy hissed at her retreating shadow.

Shiki laughed at their antics. She grasped Neku’s fist he was shaking at her best friend gently and smiled at him before repeating, “hey, it’ll be fun, okay?”

A slight pause and resigned sigh were her only responses.

“This never reaches my mother’s ears. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He threatens, knowing full well that Shiki and his mother had each other's numbers saved as favorites.

~~~~~

Reluctantly, Neku made his way to the auditorium after school. To his surprise, he learned that the play was going to be a parody of sorts, a “Cinderella in Shibuya” story. The sets would be modeled after iconic spots in their neighborhood, one of which would be inspired by CAT’s mural in Udagawa! Even though Neku was still sulking in his seat for having to stay after school, he didn’t hate the concept.

“So gang, we’ll need a couple of supplies to start with constructing the sets and painting them.” Yuji started speaking as he walked up the steps leading to the stage.

“Takeda-sensei mentioned that we have some spray paints left over that we could use to save on budget.” Taking a seat at the edge of the stage, the class president looked into the crowd of faces and asked, “Has anyone used spray paints before?”

The answer was quite clear from the deafening silence. Neku could just sit quietly in his seat, admire the ugly clock above the stage, ticking away at the wasted minutes he could be spending with his friends if he wasn’t stuck here…

Or he could take a page out of Mr. H’s book and expand his world. Push his horizons out as far as they'll go. If Shiki was trying to overcome her insecurities and expand her world beyond Eri’s, then maybe he should too. Plus, he could use the practice.

“... I have,” Neku hesitantly muttered, not used to voluntarily bringing attention to himself. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer as all the eyes in the auditorium turned to him.

Yuji’s surprised expression was replaced with a huge grin, “Sweet man, thanks for volunteering! You good with the Udagawa set? It’s the only one that would look wild spray painted.”

Like he needed to ask, “yeah.”

“Cool!” Yuji said, “now let’s move on to the Hachiko set. Anyone good with sculpting?”

The remainder of the meeting was spent dividing up the work. They’d start assembling the sets tomorrow, and painting would start in a couple of weeks depending on how long it took to build everything. Satisfied that he could finally go home and relax, Neku sauntered out of the auditorium, flipping open his phone to see if he had any messages. None from Shiki, huh, I wonder if she went home already?

He didn’t get a chance to dwell on why he thought of Shiki just now because he spotted the girl in question sitting outside under one of the awnings at the main entrance.

“What are you still doing here?” Neku asked, slowly approaching the brunette. Shiki turned to the sound of her name, recognition dawning in her eyes and she waved at him.

“Eri forgot she had a doctor’s appointment today, so she had to leave right after classes. I had to stay late with Mina and Ai for the costume supply list, and I wasn’t sure if you had left already.” Shiki looked up at the sky, watching the rain fall around the bench she was sitting on. “I’m waiting for the storm to let up before heading home.”

He had to stop himself from admiring her, she looked stunning surrounded by the falling rain, the setting sun reflecting off of the droplets that shimmered like jewels falling from the sky around her.

“You forgot your umbrella didn’t you?” He asked, seeing her flinch at the accusation confirmed his suspicions. With a sheepish smile, she nodded.

Neku pulled out the folded umbrella from his knapsack and opened it up, leaving room on his left. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” she replied, getting up to join her companion as the sounds of two pairs of footsteps splashing in a nearby puddle reverberated off the school buildings.

After a couple of blocks of comfortable silence, Shiki asked, “So how did your meeting go?”

He adjusted the umbrella before muttering, “Boring.”

“Oh.” Shiki wasn’t entirely surprised. The festival seemed like more of a nuisance to him.

“... The play’s going to be a parody in Shibuya?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it interesting? Eri and I decided to do a fusion of victorian punk for the costumes!” Neku could practically see the stars shining in her eyes, “fairytale gold with midnight navy, flowing dresses with chains and netting! It’s going to look awesome —“

So enthusiastic about the creations in her mind, Shiki didn’t see that she stepped into the bicycle lane beside her, with a cyclist approaching at an alarming speed. Neku tossed the umbrella from his left hand to his right and grabbed Shiki’s shoulder from behind, pulling her into his chest in one swift motion. Not a second later did the wind pick up next to the two teens, the bicyclist flipping the middle finger as he passed them.

“Watch where you’re going!” Neku shouted.

“You watch it kid!”

As his senses started the return to normal from the brush of danger, Neku asked Shiki if she was alright. He didn’t move away from her, only bringing the umbrella over to shield the rain that started to drip on his hand holding her shoulder. The rhythmic pattering of droplets hitting the umbrella slowed her heartbeat enough to reply.

“Yeah, a little shaken though. Thanks for the save,” Shiki said, their eyes meeting. The proximity of their faces caused their already flushed cheeks to redden a deeper hue, both quickly turning away in embarrassment. Shiki reluctantly removed her hands from his chest, and with a little hesitation, Neku released his hold on her.

Confined to the edges of his seemingly small umbrella, Neku cleared his throat and offered the girl his arm, “I-I think you should hold on to me, you know, in case I need to save you again.”

This time she pouted, “I saved you a couple of times too, you know,” Shiki commented, her nose held high defiantly. Without hesitation, she accepted the arm that extended out to her, cheeks dusted pink from frustration because he was teasing her, and that she was holding onto the person she may or may not have feelings for. With their arms now linked, the two continued their walk home as the rain started to get heavier.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be sure to thank Piggy when I see him next time.”

“Ugh, gosh Neku, Mr. Mew is a cat!” She pulled the black stuffed animal out of her bag and shoved him in the boy’s face for good measure.

“Hey there Piggy, thanks for saving me back in the UG. Think you can save me from your master’s death glare?” Neku chuckled while guiding Shiki across the street. She was getting more annoyed with him by the second, but he couldn’t help himself. As they waited for the crossing signal to change, Neku took the time to admire the way she crinkles her nose when she’s arguing with him, and how she tightens her grip on his arm when they can proceed across the street. He’s staring too long at her, he realizes and he blushes because may or may not have feelings for her.

They were dancing around where they stood with each other for months now. Definitely more than friends, but a little less than lovers. Neku couldn’t deny that if he ever would be with someone, it would be Shiki, but they were both still learning how to be themselves. That was more important than being branded as something they weren’t yet ready for just to satisfy other people. Shiki was important to Neku, and vice versa because they were partners, and if anything was going to happen beyond that, would just happen on its own. Right now, Neku enjoyed having Shiki this close to him, talking about what the next couple of weeks would be like as they walked home together, and that was good enough for him.

~~~~~

A couple of days had passed since the shared umbrella incident, and yet again, Neku found himself staying after school, moving one of the newly constructed sets into the west wing of the auditorium. It wouldn’t be long before he could take the massive blank mural outside and start spray painting the design he had been ruminating on. With the last of the sets neatly tucked away, Neku silently nodded at Yuji to signal his leave, before picking up his things and heading out. The fluorescent “20:35” shined on his phone as he tapped it to life, lighting up the shadowed hallway as he walked further into the school.

Neku heard her voice on his way to the classroom. He knew she was probably still working, oftentimes the last person in her group to leave, but what surprised him was the presence of another, more masculine voice in response to her quiry.

“Most people don’t know about that collection, it sold out within a couple of hours after release.”

“Wow, did you manage to get anything? Oh, lift your neck a little higher.”

“Sure thing.” There was a pause and Neku took the opportunity to peer into the classroom through the silt in the door. He could see Shiki standing on a stool, intently working on the collar of their classmate’s costume. The voice belonged to Hiroshi Minaru. He was casted as the prince in their festival play, and it looked like most of his costume was complete, sans a couple details Neku knew Shiki would never overlook. She was so deep in thought that her face was barely inches from the boy’s neck. “It was a bloodbath at 5 in the morning, but I grabbed the limited edition mint polo before this other dude and I thought I was going to die!”

Neku heard Shiki giggle, and he subconsciously clenched his fists. He felt like he shouldn’t be there, eavesdropping on her. With another guy… She’s clearly still busy, and it’s not like they had planned to leave together. He debated whether he should just go, make up an excuse as to why he didn’t wait. He felt uncomfortable, and he didn’t know why.

“All done! How does it feel, too constricting?”

“No, It’s perfect Misaki-chan, you’re so amazing with a needle and thread! You really have a talent for sewing.”

“Thanks,” she said bashfully, “now, give me a good turn!”

The boy took a step back and spun around, his cape flowing around him, “how do I look?” He put his hand to his chin, and smirked at her with a lifted brow.

“Like a dashing prince charming.” Shiki replied with a friendly smile, the ones Neku had seen time and time again.

“I’m really glad we got to work together like this for the festival, it’s nice to talk to someone about fashion with an eye for clothes making.”

“Yeah, me too. Most of the time it’s just Eri and I…” Shiki looked down, steadying herself to step down from the stool. Hiroshi offered her a hand, which she gladly took.

“M-Maybe ... sometime I could show you some photos of my Mus Rattus collection?” Hiroshi said, looking up at her from below, their faces mere centimeters away.

The pair made eye contact and the next thing Neku knew, he saw her pitch forward.

“Misaki-chan!” “Shiki!”

Thankfully, she landed on her feet, still holding Hiroshi’s hand. Both heads turned to the door that was forcibly ripped open, leaving the orange haired teen standing alone, concern written on his face.

“Shiki, are you okay?” Neku asked, walking toward the pair. He saw her slide her hand out of Hiroshi’s as she redirected her attention to him.

“Yeah, a little shaken but I’m alright.” She turned to Hiroshi, “Thanks for catching my fall Hiroshi-kun.”

“No problem Misaki-chan. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she beamed at Neku, “while you’re here, what do you think?” She asked, gesturing toward Hiroshi, to which their classmate posed with a smile.

After a second or two, “I think I see a button loose.”

“WHAT, where?!” She scurried to Hiroshi, who stiffened at the sudden scrutiny.

“...made you look…”

“Neku, jeez!” Shiki puffed her cheeks. He just smiled as she attacked him with a series of punches to the arm.

Clearing his throat, Hiroshi excused himself. It was quite late already, and he felt like he was intruding on what seemed to be a private moment.

“See you later, Misaki-chan, Sakuraba-kun.”

A comfortable silence soon fell upon them. Shiki moved to gather her belongings, tidying up her projects neatly to be continued tomorrow.

“Let’s go?” She asked, holding her bag behind her back.

He nodded as she walked out of the classroom, shutting the light, and closing the door behind them.

~~~~~

The evening air whistled in his ear, a chill nipping at his nose. The weather was getting colder, the days shorter, and staying in school longer for the festival meant commuting home when the sun was either gone or disappearing beyond the horizon. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck in a feeble attempt to fight the shivers moving up his spine. He looked at Shiki to see how she was fairing.

He saw that her cheeks were pink, from the cold or something else he didn’t know. He moved to look at her eyes, surprised when his eyes locked onto hers. Shortly after both teens looked away in different directions, a little more flushed than before.

“So Hiroshi-kun’s costume is coming together really well. The gold accents Eri wanted really worked out better than I imagined,” Shiki said.

“That’s because you brought it to life.”

Shiki looked at him with wide eyes. Neku’s always been blunt to a “T,” never sugarcoating his thoughts regardless if they were well-received or not. When he says things like this, Shiki can’t help but feel elated. He believed in her and her abilities, it was just a simple truth.

“Thanks Neku.”

She heard a muffled mhmm from his scarf.

A couple steps later, “... what were you and Hiroshi talking about?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Hiroshi-kun is really into Mus Rattus’ recent fall collection. Some of the pieces had some pretty neat fabrics and we started talking about textiles and fashion. I didn’t know there would be someone else that liked fashion as much as Eri and I.”

Neku grunted a reply. Realizing that he was a few steps ahead of her, Shiki quickened her pace to match his.

“Is something … bothering you?” Shiki questioned the boy, subconsciously giving him the doe-eyed look he found both irritating and endearing.

Neku felt agitated; more so frustrated because he didn’t exactly know why he was agitated. Flashbacks from that rainy day came to mind, Shiki holding onto his arm under a shared umbrella, walking home side by side, more closely than before. The memories made him feel warm and excited. Then he remembered the princely-dressed Hiroshi holding Shiki’s hand as if she was his princess he had come to rescue, and he grunted in displeasure. He came to a stop, trying to sort out his emotions. It showed on his face enough for Shiki to raise an eyebrow in concern.

“Let me in,” Shiki said quietly, “trust me?” She placed a hand on his arm delicately.

It’s not that he didn’t trust her, it was more like he didn’t trust what would come out of his mouth coherently. He looked at her hands, and with great care, took her hands into his own, slightly larger ones.

“I … ugh … want to … hold your hands.” Neku mummered, so low and into his scarf she barely caught it. But after a couple of months of getting to know her partner, she knew how to really listen when he verbally or wordlessly communicated something.

Not exactly sure where this was coming from, Shiki just replied with the first thing that came to mind, “I want to hold your hands too,” she said with a soft smile.

That was a good sign, right? Neku was nervous, but an excited kind of nervous. They were going into a very delicate topic, one that they had been carefully tiptoeing around since they came back to the RG. He didn’t know if he was ready to take the next steps, but now’s a better time than never he reasoned. He slowly realized that he didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Can we talk about…this, us?” He said, looking down at their joined hands, giving hers a light squeeze.

A pregnant pause ascended, and Neku didn’t realize he was holding this breath before he heard her speak.

“Well, I like hanging out with you, being with just you.” She closed her eyes in thought, “and I like when you walk me home.” She gestured to their hands, “this is nice too, I would like to do this more often.”

Shiki opened one eye to gauge her companion’s reaction and took a leap of faith, “I guess I’ve kind of had feelings for you for a while now, since the first time you saw me in the RG, the real me. I was super embarrassed when you told me that I was prettier than Eri. I thought you were just trying to cheer me up so that Beat and Rhyme wouldn't worry, but then I remembered that you don’t say needless things, that you really believed it, so I started to believe it too.”

Looking him straight in the eyes, Shiki continued, “I like the way you make me feel, like I’m a better person than I think I am, and I want to be the person that you see in me…”

He still hadn’t uttered a word, slowly processing what he was hoping wasn’t a dream. His silence continued and Shiki was beginning to lose her nerve, “and you should say something now because this is super embarrassing with you just looking at me like that!” Gosh, she wanted to pry her hands away so she can bury her face in them!

So the feeling was mutual all along, Neku thought, and he couldn’t stop the goofiest smile that emerged on his face.

“Well … you were my entry fee,” he replied, trying to look everywhere but her. Neku had told Shiki and the gang about his three week experience immediately after they returned to the RG. He was so apologetic for dragging her back into the game again that he didn’t see her embarrassment about what being his entry fee really meant. If he didn’t want to dwell on it, neither would she. However his comment had greater weight now, and she blushed knowing what he was implying, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

“Geez, I just gave you a whole monologue! I want something more than that. Say it!”

“Alright, alright, geez stalker don’t get your undies in a bunch,” he chuckled, and with a little bit more confidence said, “Shiki, I like you too.”

It felt like a veil had lifted, like the metaphoric waltz they were dancing finally concluded and they just stood there, hand in hand. Neku swore he heard music in his ears, the Shibuya’s metropolitan sounds harmonizing with Shiki’s melody into a rhapsody only he could hear. One day he would tell her about it, her song that was playing in his mind when she told him that she liked him. But for today he would just burn her smile into his memory, the smile she had when he told her that he liked her.

Neku didn’t know what the near future would hold, neither of them doing well under the pressure of their friends that had been right about them this whole time, but he wanted to do this right, and take it slow. For now, all he just wanted was to be with her, and hold her hand a little longer.

“Let’s take the long way home, through the park?” Neku suggested, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Y-yeah.” She stuttered as he boldly gave them a chaste kiss.

So into their own world, hands laced together, setting a different course home, did the young couple not realize the chuckle in the wind at the bet he just won on who would confess first.

#neshiki #TWEWY #the world ends with you #the world ends with you animation #neku sakuraba #shiki misaki #twewy #twewyani #twewy anime #twewy fanfiction #the world ends with you fanfiction #mypost #my post #myfanfic #my fanfiction

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oceansmelodysblog · 3 years

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Until my last breath

A botw Zelink reversed roles AU story

Chapter One - part One

[Notes at the end of the chapter]

As always, Link wakes up with the first rays of the sun, when the night still hangs mighty over the sky. When he jumped out of his bed in his sapphire blue night suit, he looked out of the wide-open window and searched for the sun. The white light broke a line at the end of the horizon and let the peak of the mountains look dangerous and scary. As Link walks to the closet and pulls out his black tunic and his Hylian trousers, the first servant knocks at the door and pleads for entrance.

“You may come inside.” Without showing any emotions, the servant called Celessia, brought him his morning hot tea made of the mighty thistle. It increases his willpower and lets him train harder and better every morning. “Please leave it on the table mistress Celessia.”

“Yes, your royal highness.” She says in a soft voice and leaves the room quietly.

Satisfied, Link nips at the soothing warmth of the tea and plans what training session he will have to train today.

He marched along the training ground and chose a suitable target, pulled his bow from his shoulder, leaned an arrow against the string and pulled the string with his thumb. The huge ring on his thumb, bearing the royal crest, protected his thumb from flesh wounds, inflicted by the string and too long training. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the point to which he wanted to shoot.

Then, he let go of the string. The arrow whizzed through the air and struck the black centre with full force.

Still, he wasn't satisfied, it didn't challenge him much, didn't give him a thrill to shoot after a target when he wasn't under stress.

Link trained non-stop, relentless, and driven by his delusion to outdo his brothers in the Heir to the Throne selection. He jumped over obstacles and shot from the air at several targets at once but failed to land and crashed to the ground.

He refused to give up and stood back on his feet with a shaking body. He took a deep breath to concentrate, but pain from his ribs stabbed through his whole body. His breath shook with pain and he sweated nervously. 'Focus, Link!' he slapped himself inwardly and started his iron-hard parkour again.

After the hard work out, he looked for the healer down the market. He walked past hard-working people from the kitchen and was greeted warmly. He smiled back each time but had to control himself to grimace so as not to show the pain. He always admired the drive of the people who worked in Hyrule Castle and tried to be friendly to them, even when his father tried to tell him otherwise.

‘A king must always maintain his dignity and never regard anyone as his equal,' his father's words rang in his head. Link, however, disagreed.

He continued to walk the corridors and observed the goings-on, picking up conversations here and there. One of them had been able to catch a special fish yesterday, and another told of a wrestling match in which he earned three times more than in the castle. Link always found the conversations interesting because he could learn a lot from the lives of others, and it didn't make him look like a spoilt prince locked up in the huge castle.

When he finally found the exit to the marketplace, he sighed with relief. The sun had been in the sky for some time by now, dipping the lively square in a golden, welcoming light. Men and women shouted and chanted from their stalls to attract more buyers, but Link also saw castle-affiliated servants, presumably running errands for the kitchen and the royal family.

Link, glad to be reasonably undetected, continued his search for the healer. But he was no longer at his stall, as usual. He therefore asked a passer-by who was nearby if she knew where the healer was.

"Yes, the old man has retired and is training a new disciple, he is in an old hut at the end of the road, around the corner to the left."

"Have thanks, honoured lady. Have a good day." Link politely said goodbye and hurried to the healer, because he didn't know how long he could stand the pain on his ribs.

As he reached the end of the street, he noticed how quieter it was and how shabby the houses here looked. He knew he would take another look on the surroundings to speak with his youngest brother, on how to improve this area when he had more time, but now he limped straight to the open door of the hut, expecting to find the healer, or his student, but instead he found a young woman with golden long hair.

The sun shone only minimally through the dirty windows, but the few rays made her hair look like liquid gold. The girl was squatting on the floor under the table filled with all sorts of herbs and substances, making notes in a small book as she looked back and forth between her book and the herbs.

Link leaned against the wooden door frame with his arms folded, analysing her from head to toe. Her back was turned to him; from the looks of it, she hadn't noticed him yet. Link cleared his throat, startling the young woman, and banged her head against the edge of the table. She held her head with her face contorted in pain and turned to him curiously.

"I am sorry I didn't want to scare you-" His eyes widened and his mouth was wide open as he looked into her pretty face. Neither could get out of their stare until Link cleared his throat to avoid being rude. "I'm looking for the healer, or at least his apprentice. I-"

"You have chest pains, am I right?" she interrupted him.

For a moment he stared at her, perplexed, and immediately understood. "So, you are the healer's pupil. I see. Say, would you look at my ribs, the pain takes my breath away."

"Very well, please sit on the table."

Link did as he was told and sat on the table while the young woman laid herbs and bandages ready beside him. Curious, he watched her work.

"If you will allow me, I would prefer to remove your tunic".

"It would be a great help if you could do that for me." He whispered through his pain. Sweating through his sorrow.

She looked at him with her big green eyes and smiled shyly. Quietly and carefully, she pulled up his top and got him to release his pain-free side first, then helped him out of his injured half. Gentle, soft fingertips tentatively touched his skin. He wasn't sure why his body was paying so much attention, though, because she wasn't the first woman to touch him, after all.

"What is your name, healer?" he asked, giving her a sly smile.

"My name is Zelda, my lord. Or should I say Your Royal Highness, rather?" she said, curtsying playfully. Through her lashes, she looked up at him and smiled.

Link was surprised once more at her astuteness. He smirked. "You recognised it from my ring." It was more a statement than a question, yet she nodded.

"Outside of the royal family and the archer battalion, few are permitted to wear a ring on their thumb. And only the Royal Family is permitted to wear this ring with the sacred Triforce Seal of the Deities. Judging by your sea-blue irises, you must be Prince Link, as your brothers often have ice-blue or green ones."

Link wondered why he had never met such a gifted woman, even though he knew every face in and around Hyrule Castle. While he pondered this, she crushed plants in a wooden mortar and spread the paste on the bandages.

Zelda secretly kept looking at Link's immaculately shaped face, but quickly lowered her gaze when their eyes met.

"These herbs will soften the lesions on your ribs and the bandages will support your muscles. Please be more careful with your body next time. When the body and mind are not in harmony, such injuries occur."

Link nodded and then felt the cooling paste on his body and how she carefully, with skilful hands, tied the bandage around his broad chest. He relaxed; exhaled in relief.

"I thank you for your help. But I am surprised that I have never met such a beautiful and skilled woman as you are. Is this your first time in the marketplace?"

"No, your royal highness. I have been here for some time and enjoyed training as a healer. You just hadn't noticed me until now."

"What a blind idiot I've been." Meaningfully, he stared into her green eyes. He knew women were at his feet when he looked at them like that.

"No you're not, your royal highness. Our paths just haven't crossed yet."

"Then I would like our paths to cross more often, from now on. What would you think of getting a better education at the castle? I'd get you all the books and materials you'd need and you'd be given the title of Royal Healer."

Zelda frowned imperceptibly, generous offers usually had a catch with them; even more so when it came from a prince.

"Forgive my rudeness, but I must decline your offer. I am still not a trained master healer and I have yet to pay off my debt to the master, so I will stay here where I belong. You should now return to your palace and rest your bruises."

Zelda turned her back on him and returned her attention to her notes.

"Do you not charge a fee for treatment?" he asked, as if left out in the cold. While he knew that not everything worked his way, it felt like a punch in the gut with her.

"No, because I have to write everything down and if the Master reads that a prince has been here, he'll grumble at me for not taking all your rupees." Zelda half turned to Link and squinted over at him while the corners of her mouth twitched trying not to laugh at her master.

"Then accept this as an anonymous donation" Link reached into his leather pouch on his belt and detached it. Setting the entire pouch down on the treatment table, he picked up his tunic and left the hut before Zelda could refuse his generous donation.

Link stopped shortly and heard from a distance how Zelda snapped for air sharply and then began to cheer. He couldn't help but smiling broadly across his face. Proudly, he walked back to the marketplace.

In the open square, the wind blew icy cold over his naked and bandaged upper body. As if he were stepping out of a hammam into the open air, the icy cold awakened his senses. He was aware of how much rupees he had left behind and hoped that the oddball old man would relieve her of her debt. But knowing him, it was not the case.

As he mulled over a solution to help Zelda to move on, he smiled half-heartedly at the passer-by who greeted him with his title. He was too busy trying to find a solution.

Soon the winter solstice would fall in the kingdom, it would get freezing cold in the run-down hut and he wanted them to be warm.

Zelda counted the rupees the prince had left again, just to make sure she could trust her mind. Six thousand five hundred and sixty-four rupees she counted in total. It was enough to research more medicines, buy new instruments and they could still find a better, but more importantly warmer, place to stay that had a bit more space to accommodate more patients. "Almighty Goddess Hylia, I thank you for sending me this generous prince," she whispered.

"Did I just hear generous prince?"

Shocked, Zelda turned abruptly to stare at her diminutive master. She had to quickly weigh how much to reveal without Link losing face. It was too unlikely that a person of the royal family would show up.

"A man came on behalf of the royal court and delivered this purse full of rupees to me. The man did not want to reveal who the anonymous donor was at first, but I managed to find out that it was one of the princes. The servant added the message that it was time to fund Doctor Borville's talent and left without another word. That is all I know, sir."

Zelda held her breath, so tense was she. Under no circumstances could she reveal to the old man that the Prince had been here, as he would force her to ingratiate herself to the Prince to exploit him for his greedy purposes.

The old man scratched his pointed beard thoughtfully, took his chair and sat on it.

"Finally, it is about time that my knowledge is appreciated. I'm just wondering which of the princes it was. Ragnar and Link always come here when they've messed up in their training and are too proud to go to the royal healer because their father would get wind of it. It must be one of them…hmm… I wonder which one…"

Dr Borville lit the tobacco in his pipe with relish and leaned back in his chair. Zelda forced herself to smile because of the lie about his skills. She knew that her abilities had surpassed her master's and every day she felt it more and more; as if she was standing still without being able to grow. But then she smirked at the thought of Link secretly trying to escape his father's eyes.

"But don't you dare using the money to pay your debts. I'll publicly denounce you as a thief if you do," he warned her.

Zelda clawed her nails into the edge of the table she was holding onto and sighed inwardly. Of course, she wouldn’t dare to, but the old man hated young people and women and she was both, so she was incessantly subjected to his harassment.

She had to do something to be able to live independently of her father one day. A life of freedom, far away from the place where she had only bad memories. But as it goes as it is, she wondered if she was ever able to accomplish that since the old geezer barely paid her full salary.

To take her mind off things and distract her teacher, she posed curiously. "Doctor, would you kindly tell me more about the princes?"

"You silly brat, don't even know anything about the ruling family. These children these days, never learn. Anyway, let me explain to you who the royal family is:

Starting with King Selim. He is titled The Mighty and The Merciless because he mercilessly defends the sacred places of the goddesses. The present borders of Hyrule are entirely due to his iron hand. In the past, there were often wars over those sacred sites, over the Temple of Time and the Forgotten Temple. However, King Selim never gave up and risked everything to protect those places. Unfortunately, he is also merciless within his family, as he expected the same strength from his sons. That is why his sons come to me very often, as everyone in the royal house is under the king's watch. Everything is reported to the king and even injuries that the boys inflict on themselves during hard training can lead to the father's disfavour. You must know, none of them have the same mother and are therefore exposed to constant competition. To avoid brothers of the same blood killing each other to get on the throne, King Selim enforced the law that as soon as a queen gave birth to an heir to the throne, she would be sent to a province with her son. The young prince would then undergo an extensive and rigorous education until the age of 16, so that he would henceforth be allowed to live in the royal court. However, who was allowed to be crowned king was up to the king alone. In the past, the remaining brothers were executed to prevent them from plotting against the new king, which also explains why the boys have no uncles and only aunts. Selim may be a cruel man, but the loss of his brothers also demanded a lot of him, so he decided to change the old law by sending the remaining brothers back to their mothers. Princes also have the choice of establishing themselves in other fields, such as the armed forces.

If we look at the first-born Prince Ecberht; The ambitious and eccentric Ecberht, sees his brothers only as competitors for the royal throne and often gives them a hard time. However, at his young age of 20, he has a strange power to draw attention to himself and also enjoys making big speeches to fire up the crowd. He spends most of his time handling diplomatic affairs in other kingdoms and playfully twists people around his finger. You can recognise him by his different coloured eyes; one green and one blue. He has darker hair than his brothers because his mother, Queen Seaxbourgh has very dark hair and green eyes. Like all princes, he had to be taught martial arts and is consequently very muscular. He has no siblings, as he was the very first child.

Prince Link, the son of the second queen, Queen Aslaug, is a highly talented archer, horse warrior and wields any sword weapon as if it were part of himself. And yet he is only 19 years old and already surpasses any sword master."

Zelda tried not to let on how the name caught her attention, so she turned her face away and turned her attention to the herbs. Dr Borville paused briefly in his narrative to clutch at his painfully cramped back. Meanwhile, she looked for a plant that increased concentration and one that relieved pain. She boiled both with hot water and handed the tea with the pain relief to her master. The doctor's little errand boy returned with a bag of herbs and Zelda motioned for him to sit on her lap and listen in.

"Well, now that we are complete, I can continue the tale... where was I?" asked the senile man.

"At Prince Link's."

"Oh yes exactly! Prince Link, as I said, is not only gifted in the martial arts, but also excels in all the sciences. Some rumour says he is the King's absolute favourite, having inherited his father's acumen and ruthlessness. However, he is not my favourite, as he has a too soft heart, having inherited his mother's sense of justice and mercy. These people only bring trouble and endanger the rules of the monarchy, as was seen years later."

" What happened years later?" asked the little boy, on Zelda's lap, named Nebb. He was just six years young and yet he had to work so hard to help his family.

"Don't be so impatient, you brat!" the doctor grumbled.

Nebb winced imperceptibly, but Zelda didn't miss it and hugged him closer. He looked up at her and thanked her with a smile.

"The problem was that King Selim was so fascinated with her that years later, he bent the rules and fathered a second child with her. Princess Lagertha. She must have reached the age of 12 by now. You can see how dangerous the very existence of such people is for the dynasty's continued operations," he grumbled.

Zelda sighed inwardly. 'Surely this grumpy old man is afraid of everything that is foreign to him,' she thought.

"Anyway, what about the other princes?" she asked instead of speaking her thoughts aloud.

"All right, then. Let us now come to Prince Ragnar. He is the son of the third queen, Bonduca, a queen who was also an army commander and a warrior in body and soul. Ragnar therefore takes after her; a giant, broad-shouldered and a strategic genius. You can see his lust for battle in his eyes. He is generally recognised by his provocative smirk on his face. You can recognise him by his ice-blue eyes and white-blond hair, which he has braided into a complicated knot combined with an undercut. However, he is also a womaniser and no one knows how many bastard sons he has fathered. He may be a battle-strategic genius on the battlefield, but to rule a kingdom he is far too cunning.

Then there is Prince James, the youngest brother. Three years younger than Prince Ecberht. He is the son of the third queen, Queen Elizabeth. Average height, athletic and possesses an immense repertoire of knowledge. Although he has copper hair, a stubbly beard and green eyes, like his mother, he is very calm in contrast to his striking appearance. He is only interested in the relics of the ancient peoples who once developed these titans, shrines and towers. All humbug, in my opinion. At least he has a knack for architecture, infrastructure and finance. He could handle numbers and formulas like no one else in the kingdom and is often consulted by the Sheikah. In my opinion, he should take more interest in it, but nobody asks me. Old people have nothing more to say. What are these relics for? It's not for nothing that they were never used, as no one seems to have needed them! Pah!"

But as the old doctor was getting more into his aggression, a young man in his mid-twenties suddenly came rushing in. Zelda, in a panic, hid the little Nebb behind her and stood in front of the sack of Rupees so as not to create any problems.

"Hand over the rupees the prince left you and no one will get hurt!"

"There was no prince here! Now get out of here before I ram my cane so far up your ass that you can nibble on it with your teeth," said the grim old man, waving his walking stick on his chair.

Zelda, meanwhile, secretly tucked the pouch into her sleeve. "Please don't hurt us, we will give you what we have, but a prince was not here. And we have only the bare necessities."

"I don't believe a word you say! I saw one of the princes come out of this street!" he shouted, waving his short sword around.

"Get out of here, you good-for-nothing dumbass!" the doctor shouted.

Zelda slowly walked to the herb cupboard where her savings were and gave it to the burglar.

"As I said it's not much, but it's all we have. A prince wasn't here either, because as you know they would never set foot in a dump. They are too fine for themselves." She watched expectantly as the man assessed the information and hoped he could not see through it. The man lowered his knife and counted the rupees in the container as she slowly turned to Nebb and gestured with her eyes for him to give her one of the stinking elixirs. Like a ghost, the little boy moved around the room and stealthily handed a bottle to Zelda's hand behind her back. Determined, she held the bottle in her hand and prayed to Hylia to have the courage to do right.

The young man eyed her suspiciously and took out all the money and put it in his belt pouch.

Tensely, Zelda watched what was happening and clutched the bottle like a sprout of hope.

The old man looked at the young man grimly. Zelda inwardly admonished him for saying something rash. This was a dangerous situation in which they would either have to get away with minimal loss or pay with their lives.

Every word and every move would therefore be weighed in the balance.

But suddenly he put away his short sword.

"This time I believe you. But I will watch you. If I see anything conspicuous, I will kill you all and take your money that you are hiding from me."

He left the hut and ran away.

A moment later, all three breathed a sigh of relief. Nebb ran into Zelda's open arms and hugged her tightly. Zelda had gone down on her knees and was relieved that little innocent Nebb did not have to experience any horror.

"We should send the money back to the prince, it's too dangerous to keep it here,” she said to break the tension.

"Absolutely not! We'd be bankrupt without the money and it will starve us for the winter! I'd rather die a quick death than starve to death in freezing cold!" although the old geezer was being stubborn again, Zelda had to agree with him. It was risky, but it was better than starving. She looked at Nebb and immediately regretted her words.

‘His family would starve too,’ she thought gloomily. She kissed his forehead and let him go.

There was another way. And Link was the solution.

"Master, please excuse me for today, I have to go and look after my father," she lied.

"Yes, yes. But in the morning you're going to stand here with full attention again and work the hell out of you."

She nodded and took Nebb's tiny hand. She put the elixir back and walked towards the Royal Castle with the boy by the hand.

Link looked out his window and saw all the lanterns flooding the marketplace with light, music reaching his ears and drawing him magically. The winter solstice had arrived once again, which could only explain one thing about the commotion: The Festival of Lights was being celebrated. For as long as Link could remember, he loved this festival, as it was the best way to mingle with all the peoples of Hyrule and to escape, at least for one evening, from the hard training of princes.

He wondered what he should wear, whether he should stay undercover or reveal himself. He sighed, realising that every single person knew his face anyway. So he decided to put on his white shirt, but the fabric on his arms and chest made them tense, he was gaining muscle from the harder training and excessive food intake. He cursed softly to himself and buttoned the buttons along his muscular torso with difficulty. He pulled on the sapphire blue Prince's tunic, accentuated by golden ornaments at the hem and sleeves. He then pulled on the black and brown leather chest protector with the royal family crest and tied his leather bracers to his forearms. When he was finished with his dark Hylian trousers and leather boots, he tied on his leather belt, which had the seal of the Triforce stamped on it. Link finally threw his cloak around his shoulders and fastened his sword to his belt and strutted out of the palace towards the marketplace with his shoulders erect.

"Oh, beloved big brother Link! Wait for me, I'm coming with you!" a melodic voice shouted behind him as he already caught the dusty smell of earth mixed with wood and snow of the marketplace. Clacking heels ran towards him; he knew the footsteps all too well. He turned and as he spread his arms wide, a petite person jumped into his arms. Link gently set her on her feet and looked at his younger sister. She had her dark blonde long hair braided all the way through and decorated with flowers, and had had a lovely dress in muted colours tailored for the occasion. She looked like a flower child, blessed by the goddess Hylia herself.

"Lagertha my dear little sister. It is good to see you well again. You look wonderful and adorable in your outfit." She smiled sheepishly as Link held out his arm to her and escorted her to the fairground.

"Big brother Link, do you know where our brothers Ragnar, James and Ecberht are? I haven't seen them in a long time, since I was sent to boarding school for girls. You have always been the only one to send me letters and gifts." Although it distressed her, Lagertha had learned not to let anyone know outwardly, but her brother Link, was the only person she could be who she was with.

"Our brothers have never been good with words, especially when it comes to their feelings. Please, bear with them, they still love you with all their hearts and would have any bastard executed on the spot if they so much as touched a hair on your head."

He always knew how she felt and was grateful and relieved that he could understand her without saying much.

"Thank you very much, dear brother. But let us rather celebrate the winter solstice and think of happier things. I'm sure our brothers will be there too." She trilled happily and grinned broadly at him.

He looked down at her and laughed heartily at the underlying irony in her voice. Yes, there was some truth to it, for Ragnar, James and Ecberht were indeed never far away when there was something to celebrate.

Soon the two siblings had reached the marketplace and were watching the colourful swirl of lights, dances and different clans. Happy laughter accompanied the sound of the Goron clan's taiko drums, the Rito's accordion and sweet singing, the Sheikah's shakuhachi flute and the Gerudo's oriental-sounding instruments. Various smells from the stalls rose to their noses and stimulated their curiosity and appetite. Although it was freezing cold, this place seemed like a warming oasis and warmed the hearts of the people. Sporadically, Hylian knights danced with women from different clans, twirling them as their clothes were stirred up by the gyrations.

Link looked at his little sister, who was beaming with joy. At moments like these, he wished his sister could enjoy a simple life, away from the castle.

But then the booming sound of trumpets interrupted him and everything went quiet. The guards had just announced the arrival of the royal family.

All eyes were now on them.

Link felt a strong hand on his left shoulder and looked up.

End of part one

Notes: based on the Zelink reversed roles AU Art of @/TheNebulace on Twitter I had the inspiration to write this multiple chapter Story of Zelda being a healer and Link being a Heir to the Throne.

Many characters name's are based on real npc from botw or are legendary/historically personalities.

Selim:historical chronicles says he was a ruthless and mighty emperor of the ottoman empire who protected the sacred religious grounds until his last breath. Lived in the 15th century

Ragnar: legendary Viking king and (is here) based on his Viking Series character

Lagertha: legendary queen, wife of Ragnar and warrior (here based on the Viking Series character with no relationship to her half brother Ragnar)

Queen Bonduca: [aka Boudicca] historically British Queen and Commander of a Legion 61 AC (here the mother of Ragnar)

Queen Seaxbourgh: historical mother of the historical Ecberht

Ecberht: King of the Wessex in 8th century, fought against the invasion of the Vikings, also here based in the Viking Series character

Queen Elizabeth: historically daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Tudor-Family. Lived in the 16th century.

James: historical successor of Queen Elizabeth Tudor, has here red hair to honour the red haired Queen Elizabeth Tudor

Nebb & Celessia: NPC from Botw

Part two:

https://freshbreezesworld.tumblr.com/post/639445306711375872/until-my-last-breath

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lightsonparkave · 4 years

Photo

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LIGHTS ON PARK AVE! WE’RE OFFICIALLY A ONE-YEAR-OLD BABY (our birthday was on the 22nd). Join the celebrations by submitting a work! There’s one week left until Round 12 closes on August 31, and you have 80 prompts to choose from. There are no minimum work requirements or limit to how many works you can submit.

Not sure you can finish your work in time? Little messages are great presents too. What has the past year of Lights on Park Ave been like for you? Do you have a favorite prompt or round? A favorite LoPA work? Want to make a rec list of your favorites or wax poetic and show some love for a specific work and/or creator? Go for it. Let the Steve/Tony community know! The LoPA askbox is open or if you want to make your own Tumblr post or tweet, you can mention @lightsonparkave or tag #lightsonparkave. Whatever method you choose, I’ll make sure to share your message/post on here and Twitter.

Or maybe you’re not up to making anything this time. In that case, let’s take a walk down memory lane. Here are all 46 Lights on Park Ave works for previous rounds.

ART

3490 & 616

A comparison between 616 Civil War and universe 3490 where the war was averted by the marriage of Steve Rogers and Natasha Stark - @jarvisuanddumetoo

ANY UNIVERSE

A framed portrait of a smiling Tony, drawn and signed by Steve - @hundredthousands

Steve steals his husband’s helmet and gives his king a springtime crown - @starksnack

Tin soldier Steve and ballerina Tony dancing - @jarvisuanddumetoo

BATTLEWORLD

Steve watching Tony flying in on the battlefield - @thingexplainer

MCU

Old Steve holding flowers and seeing a blue butterfly after Tony’s death - @hundredthousands

So much of life feels like drowning... but when I’m with you my troubles recede like waves on the shore - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Stranger Things AU where Steve is the one who was experimented on in a lab and doesn’t understand pop culture and Tony is the guy with no powers who is still doing his best to fight these weird new aliens - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Steve and a dandelion that represents him weathering all his hardships over the years - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Tony on fire and Steve’s reaction - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Steve crying while holding Tony’s helmet after Tony’s funeral - @noririna

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re a hero. - @starksnack

ULTIMATES

Steve and Tony leaving marks on each other’s bodies that are only visible in the dark - @sirsapling Ults Steve and Tony are tragically bound to one another. They can always feel the trace of each others hands, it leaves an invisible mark they will cary with them till there is nothing left. Only a ghost of something lost in the chaos of the past.

FIC

1872

Say My Name - @citsiurtlanu Steve reminds Tony that there's more to him than the war his weapons were used in.

616

Snow Day - @captainneverever The Avengers think that Steve and Tony got engaged at the annual holiday party. It’s news to Steve and Tony.

Kiss me rough before you go - erde Tony is dying. His life is slipping away and Steve wants to be better than this, but he can't quite manage the feat. Tony's war has made a bitter man out of him, a lesser man.

Boys, boys, boys - Missy_dee811 (@viudanegraaa) (AU) Steve keeps putting off his oil change. Finally deciding to see the mechanic in town.

Without the rusty music of my machine - Missy_dee811 (@viudanegraaa) Tony was lying on the hood of his car. He had taken off his leather jacket, gently folded it in half, and draped it across the windshield so he could rest his arms on the supple leather.

Muddy Waters - RossKL (@but-damn-is-he-lovable) (also on Tumblr) Tony bleeds. It's not real.

ANY

(A Dream is) A Wish Your Heart Makes - @helovedyou Cool evenings together and laughing free and all the nice things Tony never thought he’d get

Afternoon Off - Neverever (@captainneverever) Freedom is just another word for getting with your boyfriend on the downlow during a mission.

BULLET POINTS

Those We Were (For A While) - sadisticsparkle The blueprints hadn’t prepared Tony for the light bouncing off the battered metal, for the empty stare of its empty eye sockets or the dim circle in the middle of the chest. He traced its lines with his gaze, remembering every day he had spent hunched over the schematics picking its inner workings and every night he had spent sprawled under its pilot letting him take Tony apart.

MCU

border state - @areiton (also on Tumblr) They exist in the in between.

star crossed - @areiton (also on Tumblr) "The gods made the stars,” you whisper, a lifetime ago, a heartbeat ago, now, “and they were so bright, so beautiful and strong, that they ripped them in two. And half of ‘em fell to earth, and woke from the dust and walked as men.”

this is how - @areiton (also on Tumblr) This is how the world ends: Gaps in the code.

kiss me hard before you go - duckmoles & starxreactor (AU) “I love you, you know that?” Tony says just after popping another grape into Steve’s mouth. He watches as Steve’s jaw works, chewing and then swallowing. Steve smiles up at Tony with a bright, toothy grin. “I love you, too.” “I’m going to miss you,” Tony continues. “I’m going to call you everyday, okay? And—and, during the holidays I’ll show up at your house and we can—we can—sit together on the balcony, and—” The last day of summer, and it's time to hold on to what you might lose.

No Winter Lasts Forever - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) Steve stopped, white breath clouding the air around him, to look at the little shoots of green and purple peeking out from the scant layer of snow left on the ground.

snippet of a post-apocalyptic A/B/O AU WIP - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) Steve’s fingers traced the bite, a half-moon of red marks, from in front of the largest mirror he’d ever seen.

the first blush of morning - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) (AU) The sun rises on the Atlantic ocean and Steve isn't alone - or is he?

Santa Paws - @heartsandmuses [I]f there were two things the public couldn’t get enough of, it was cute puppies and shirtless Captain America — and Tony, ever the philanthropist, decided to give the people exactly what they wanted, right on Christmas morning.

Philautia - @helovedyou Tony dies and Steve keeps on living. Well. He doesn’t die. Living might be a bit of a generous term

To the Victor - @helovedyou There are rainbows flying and people hugging and others ranting and raving, spittle flying, he thinks this. We have won this, this tiny victory.

Snippet of a WIP set post-IW - @ishipallthings The numbers keep climbing, for hours, in the aftermath.

Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil - jellybeanforest (@jellybeanforest-a-go-go) (also a Cap-IM Bingo 2020 round 1 fic) Tony hadn’t been a cruel man, but he had been a practical one. Or: In his twilight years, concerned about how his slow-aging possibly-immortal husband will adjust to his death, Tony builds an AI version of himself that he updates nightly, intending for it to keep Steve company after he’s gone. When the inevitable comes to pass, Steve doesn’t know what to make of the AI or whether its presence lessens his grief or makes it significantly worse. He’s leaning towards the latter.

Five Bells - @lazywriter7 (also on Tumblr) After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

if we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious - @littlemissstark forgiveness. The salty air was intense enough to wake Steve up completely, snapping any left over drowsiness away. He was alert despite the sky still being a shade of navy that tapered into a purple at the sea’s horizon. The world was still dormant, but Steve couldn’t stay asleep – not when he woke to coldness on the right side of the bed and empty arms.

In My Hands and Gone Again - @nostalgicatsea (also on Tumblr) Memories were like fish, Tony had explained, or the tease of one. A flash of silver, and his hands would plunge down. Sometimes he would catch one; other times, it would dart out of reach. He wouldn’t be sure whether it had been real or just a trick of the light, after.

Leaving You Forward - @nostalgicatsea (AU) It would be easy, staying here like this with Tony. But Steve knew he couldn't—because he had never taken the easy way out and because he loved Tony.

i choose: me, you, us - @onlymorelove (also a Cap-IM Remix Madness 2020 fic) “We, uh. We’ve been together five years, and you’ve never— I’ve never let you see it. I told you I’d let you see it on our wedding night.” In which Tony and Steve marry, but Tony hasn't let Steve see the arc reactor—and the scars around it. Yet.

best of summers gone - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Tony's favorite month has always been August.

when we all fall asleep - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Tony wakes up and questions why Steve loves him. It's a surprisingly complex question for such a simple answer.

you anchor me (back down) - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Steve still loves Tony, no matter what mask he’s wearing. He’ll never tell Tony that, though. He’s read enough books and watched enough movies to know that it only ends well when it’s just a story. Or, everyone needs an anchor sometimes, and Steve and Tony just happen to be each others’.

take me to the feeling - smalltonystark (@theotherwasdeath) Steve looks gorgeous in the lights. He always looks stunning, but here, late at night, in the faint glow from the streetlamps underneath them and underneath the stars, he looks magnificent.

POETRY

A Toast to Cold, Hard Facts - @onlymorelove (also on Tumblr) The world is brutal and coarse, but...

Love was fading stars - @onlymorelove (also on AO3) Blackout poetry based on “Failing and Flying” by Jack Gilbert on top of an original print.

not married - @onlymorelove (also on Tumblr) Grief works in mysterious ways.

#lightsonparkave #announcement #stevetony #stony #superhusbands #if anything looks wonky or is missing Tumblr has been acting up #every time I fix something it erases something else #so please know that I didn't intentionally leave you off if your work is missing or miscategorize you #if your universe disappears! :(

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supersoldier-of-asgard · 6 years

Text

Nodus Tollens (8/10)

•The realisation that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore•

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x HYDRA!Reader (gender-neutral) + Avengers

Summary : you’ve been practically raised by HYDRA and The Wintersoldier has been your idol, someone you looked up to. What happens when you’re send to kill him and get captured by the avengers? SLOWBURN

Warnings whole fic : language, detailed discription of fighting and blood, a whole load of torture, trauma and a lot of angst ( if you want me to add something then please message me!)

Warning chapter : angst and slight fluff? (It’s a warning bc it’s unusual lmao)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Masterlist

Dusk and dawn claimed in turn their place in the sky behind the thick velvet walls of your cell. The sun and moon danced and painted the horizon as they pleased, while you sat with your back against the only thing that separated you from freedom.

It had been days, you were sure. You couldn’t know, the last plate of food they left you collecting dust at your feet as you strained your ears to hear the familiar breathing behind you.

But it never came. The first day after your last shower, he would stand outside your door for minutes, just breathing and waiting before a sigh drummed your ears and the pattern of his steps faded away.

You could recognize it through a stampede, the featherlight taps of his feet in stark contrast to his towering figure casting shadows in the dimly lit cell hall. He moved with a graceful quietness, years of trained silence and stealth plucking his toes off the ground with a certain smoothness.

His left foot subconsciously pressed a little harder on the concrete, his stance leaning slightly to the left as all these years failed to make him accustomed to the added weight of his prosthetic. He has a recognizable sway of his hips, the milliseconds of time difference between his steps countable by you whenever he was in your line of hearing.

But it never came. You waited and waited for him to swing the door open, to hurriedly walk to your cell and yank you up to make you talk, but it never came again. You wondered if he became that good that you just couldn’t hear it, but you knew— perhaps hoped—deep down that he felt the need to let you know he acknowledged you. Acknowledged the fact you were behind the metal door, but didn’t want to or wasn’t allowed to creak it open.

Time was to you just the switch from moon to sun. It didn’t effect your life, as you would do anything and everything at any time of day, but right now time was the most crucial thing in your life.

Time gave you room to think—overthink. Time gave you the taste of love and abandonment, before snatching it away and leaving you counting.

For what?

Bucky threw himself on his bed, not caring if his dirt and blood covered clothes stained his sheets. The team had come back from a two day mission and sun had set when they finally landed at the compound. It had been three days since he last smelled the faint mold on the walls of the hallway underground, and he sighed in exasperation as he thought about the day he got caught standing stupidly infront of your door.

Natasha had had a tray of food in her hands as she had slowed down to a stop at the sight of him. He had thrown his head back in embarrassment and cleared his throat before walking past her and away. She had followed him shortly after and forced him to turn around, a deep frown and a scowl forming her usually neutral face as she had harshly whispered.

“What the hell were you doing? You know you’re not allowed to talk with h-“

“I know, I know..” he had interrupted, running a hand through his disheveled hair,” you made that pretty clear last time.”

“I wish I did. You’re playing a dangerous game here, Barnes. Offering your own shower and leaving your room open for stealing was stupid enough, and now you stand outside the door like a fool? Get yourself together.”

So that’s what he did. Or what he tried to do. He was surprised they didn’t try interrogating you again now that they had the tools—or tool if specific. I guess it all took a toll on everyone after what happened last time.

A knock sounded on his door and he turned his head to find a smiling Steve, head peaking out of a disheveled and sweaty suit. “It’s Saturday night, Buck, you comming?”

Saturday nights were movie nights with Steve and Sam, and it was one of the only nights he allowed himself to loosen up. Sam would show them the most popular and iconic movies and shows, trying to catch Steve and him up to the 21st century.

He lifted his head only to bounce it down again, looking at the ceiling in thought. “... I think I’ll pass tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.. you two go ahead. You can tell me all about it some other time,” he smiled slyly, trying to convince his old friend.

Steve didn’t pressure it any further, nodding and retreating back to his room to change out of his suit.

After he was sure that all the other Avengers were comfortably in their rooms, triple checking on a certain widow, he slipped out of his suit and into a hoodie and sweatpants. He tiptoed to the elevators and hesitated to speak to the AI.

“Ground floor, Mr. Barnes?” Jarvis’ knowing voice resonated, causing a faint blush to powder his cheeks.

He cleared his throat,” y-yeah.. yeah.”

Damn you and your smart technology, Stark.

The elevator moved, a shiver shooting up his spine in anticipation.

“For What it’s worth, I won’t tell a thing to Mr. Stark, sir.”

He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at the roof of the elevator as if the voice hid behind the walls. “Thanks Jarvis, I owe you one.”

“Just be cautious, not everyone takes the chance at redemption.” It seemed like he knew what was going on inside his head, and it made it all stranger than his life already was. How a robot could be so sympathetic and wise was beyond him, but he did have to catch up on a few decades.

The lights of the hallway had flickered on one by one when he took the first step out of the elevator, revealing unused and dusted doors of the seemingly neverending path.

He put his hands in the long frontpocket of his hoodie, touching the crumbled ball nervously while walking with hesitating strides to the seventeenth door of the hallway. They had put you further away in case the government found out they held you captive without telling them, and planned to take you away. Maybe they’d give up after the first sixteen doors...

Your whole body came alive at the sound of the familiar rhythm echoing through the empty floor. You lifted your back from the door, instead crawling to the left corner of your cell and pulled your knees to your chest.

The lock turned slowly, almost carefully, trying not to make an inevitable sound. The creaking of the door seemed louder than usual and made Bucky cringe, stopping it enough so he could wedge himself through the crack.

He left a slim slit open so he wouldn’t be locked in, light dusting through and illuminating the right corner with a soft yellow glow.

Bucky stood rigid as he squinted to catch your figure, eyes landing on your curled up body instantly. He contemplated sitting next to you, but decided against it and strutted his way to the light-lit corner.

You watched his movements out of the corner of your eyes, his comfortable attire and empty hands causing confusion to swipe across your face. When he sat down, you lifted your chin from your knees and studied his body language.

He seemed... nervous, yet calm as he rested his head on the wall. You watched as his pupils constrict, the grey blue of his eyes welcoming the dim yellow light. They flickered over to you, but you didn’t look away or show any emotion as the corner of his lips lifted up.

The streak of light bounced off his metal plates and dimly shone on your legs. You stared at it dazedly, as it had been days since you last saw light.

Silence filled the quiet air, breaths mixing together and stretching out to touch what they couldn’t physically. Both waited for the other to make a move, confessions lingering on Bucky’s tongue like a dry diving board.

Why was pushing people off a staircase way less difficult than pushing words off your tongue?

The last day he had seen you, he was pulled away before he could reach the shower. Natasha had handed him a single piece of paper, a strange yet familiar name lining the top row.

Realisation had dawned on him like a wave, each time he managed to get the tip of his nose above water, memories pulled at him like tentacles. He didn’t know how to handle what he had discovered, shaking from head to toe and plucking at his metal plates in stress.

Natasha had offered to take you back to your cell, but Bucky was in too much of a shock to process her words so he only shook his head. Hour after hour, day after day he thought about how to drop the information on you, and it had all been a waste as right now his mind was completely blank.

“They would never let me out of the tube for longer than three days,” he breathed, his voice comming out hoarse as he tried his best to formulate words,” they were scared I’d start remembering.”

You rested your head on the wall next to you, not daring to look his way again, but listening intently at his story. Your soul was beaming with curiosity, wanting to know more about how his life had been with HYDRA. How much of what you heard was fiction? How much was real?

“Rightfully,” he chuckled dryly,” but they still took the risk and sent me to another mission after two days out..

“It was a last minute discovery, and they thought ‘hey while he’s out, he can just do it! It’ll be faster and more precise!’ “ he mimiced, taking a deep breath as all the puzzle pieces layed themselves out in front of him.

Bucky could still remember his face, the exact attire he was wearing and the way his voice quivered as he pleaded for mercy. Back then, it hadn’t mattered to Bucky, and after wiping his memory completely he never thought about it again.

“I stood on the rooftop of the building next door, exactly aligned with his bedroom window. I waited hours for him to arrive, but he never came,” he gulped, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back.” So, they ordered for me to go inside, kill him and any witness and leave as fast as possible without suspicion. I only had my sniper and knife with me at that time, so I left the gun on the rooftop and walked to his apartment with only my knife in my pocket.”

You didn’t see the relevance of this story, but you didn’t dare interrupt him. One life was small in comparison to what you had inflicted, but this particular story must hold some value to him.

When Bucky had went inside without suspicion, he was met with empty rooms. The man had to be inside, but as Bucky slowly opened the door to another room, it hadn’t mattered.

“He had a wife. She was pregnant.. heavily pregnant. I could hear the rapid thumping of both their heartbeats from the other side of the room..”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you finally looked at him from across the room. He wasn’t looking at you, mind some place else as he continued talking.

“I froze.. I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered shakily,” I just started regaining a sense of self, and I just... couldn’t.”

Your eyes flickered to the ground as you tried uncovering the story before it ended, but there was no way you could guess.

“He came home, saw that I had a knife to her throat and begged me to take him and let them go,”he chuckled dryly,” so that’s what I did.”

Bucky had sliced the man’s neck in a quick motion, standing with his back to her as the woman cried for her husband. He had no idea what to do, but he had to protect them. He had walked towards her shaking body and crouched down, watching painfully as the woman let out sobs and hid her face from the killer. The killer who she was sure would kill her now too.

Bucky had lifted her chin so she would somewhat look at him, to see the softness and sincerity that he had tried to push through his mindcontrol. It had seemed to ease her, as she had slowly tried regaining her breath with her hands on her large belly.

Bucky had looked down at it and then back up as if asking for permission. She had not answered, but her eyes softened too as Bucky placed his flesh hand on her bump. A rare smile had tugged at his lips as he felt the heartbeat of the baby, and it somehow washed a sigh of relief over the woman.

“What’s the name,” he had whispered, keeping his palm as still as possible as something moved underneath.

“Y/N,” she had whispered back, glancing at the blood seeping from the body of her lover. Bucky turned her head away and looked deep in her eyes.

“I’m going to protect you and Y/N,” he had stated.

“But I didn’t keep my promise... because you’re here,” Bucky finished, slowly looking at you to see your reaction. He took the crumbled piece of paper out of his pocket and slowly tossed it to you, your hesitating and trembling fingers trying to read it in the lack of light from the hallway.

Your face contorted into realisation as the face of the photo stared back at you, sadness followed and then... blankness as your eyes flitted to the bold letters of what is supposed to be your real name. Bucky didn’t know what to make of it, but decided to keep quiet and wait for what you had to say.

“...why are you telling me this?,” you inquired in a whisper. Although your face was not showing any emotion, your voice shook and trembled to speak.

“Because I want you to realise you had a family.. a family HYDRA destroyed.”

You let out a disbelieving chuckle.” You’re lying. You’re only saying this to reel me to your side..”

Bucky shook his head, knowing this was going to happen. He slowly stood up, walking over to the other corner where you sat and placed himself exactly like he had with your mother. He slowly reached out and took your hand, but you snatched it away before he could properly hold it.

“don’t fucking touch me,” you grumbled, memories and nightmares weaving together in your brain as you tried to process.” It’s not gonna work.”

“I just want you to see the truth. To see what’s right in front of you. Even if you believe you don’t deserve love.. you have to realise that it was snatched away from you before you even had a choice,” he spoke softly, this time managing to place his metal palm in yours,” they took away my life, but they never gave yours.”

Your breathing heavied as you let his words sink in, his cold metal soothing your throbbing head. You had always thought about the way you became one of them, and the idea of them taking you away was high enough, but now that you knew the full story—or some part of it at least, it hit harder than a bullet to the chest.

You let him soothe you as you sat crosslegged infront of eachother, thumb tracing your fingertips as you tried to place it all together in your head.

You were doubting everything, and you hated the fact that there was so little time to heal if there was a chance to heal at all. What were you destined to do? Kill for HYDRA an bring the world peace? Was it worth it? You gave them your life, your body, your mind, and all they did was take you for granted.

“What day is it?”, you whispered through the dark, slowing down Bucky’s actions as it took him by surprise.

“..saturday,” he whispered back, eyes searching for yours,” why?”

You didn’t answer, silence blowing at the tension in the air as he waited for you to speak. You stared at the sheet for a while longer before crumbling it again and sticking it back in the front pocket of his hoodie. Bucky sighed but gave you an understanding smile, his blues shining with sympathy and understanding.

As millions of thoughts ran through your mind, you finally found the answer in the light blue illuminating the dark room and shining right through you. For years you had secretly doubted everything you did. You never had the courage to speak up about your thoughts and the end of the road seemed just a blur to you.

All your life you knew that it was gonna end with you sacrificing yourself for HYDRA. That was your destiny since you were born, and you thought that would be your end. You always believed you were just a pawn in the bigger game, and you were, but more insignificant than you realised. Why would you give your life for something small, never tasting the sweet sensation of love or home, always afraid of what comes next?

As you shifted closer to the comforting shoulder of Bucky, you seemed to question everything about your identity. What is the plot of your life? What makes me you you? You didn’t know and you were afraid you’d never find out.

“Can I ask you a question?”, Bucky softly spoke through the quiet air, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he traced your palm through the darkness.

You barely nodded, paying half attention as you tried to sketch the life you would have wanted.

“.. why do you have that musicplayer?”

You didn’t flinch, he noticed, and after a couple beats you finally took in a breath to speak.” Music calms me down.”

“Does it?”

You sighed, closing your eyes as the sensations of that day squirmed through you.” They used to. I snuck it around without them knowing, only three songs in it, but I couldn’t add more in fear of them finding out..”

Bucky slowly tilted his head so it softly touched yours, his cheek resting on your crown as he rose up and down with every breath you took. It was comfortable, even if the topics weren’t.

“They did, and used it against me. I always fought best with my songs, so they let me have it.... but they added more.” you closed your eyes, only slight contrast between the darkness of the room and the darkness behind your eyelids.” And those connect to bad memories, things I always thought would make me stronger, but deep down always wanted to forget.

“I knew it was a risk to take it here, but I had to listen to my song... I couldn’t do without it. I thought they wouldn’t be able to figure it out,” you chuckled, opening your eyes to be met with the soft fabric of Bucky’s hoodie,” I underestimated Stark.”

“We all do,” Bucky laughed.

It was silent after that, Bucky’s mind finally calming down after the raging storm of the story he couldn’t keep, your mind in contrast boiling like water on a stove as anxiety flashed through you in fear of what comes at sunrise.

The already late night blurred to a lazy morning, the inevitable sunday dusk glowing red like a warning sign as everybody but you greated it with a warm welcome. You waited and waited for the sound to burst through and interrupt this moment of peacefulness, dread lacing your heart as it drummed in your ears.

Bucky had allowed himself to close his eyes, but didn’t dare sleep. He listened to your steady and controlled breathing as his heart skipped with content of finally breaking through to you. He had finally someone who truly understood him, knew what he felt and thought. A person he helped while he himself felt helpless, another person free of the dirty hands of HYDRA.

A feeling that was wrongfully right in different ways.

Then, as fumbling and commotion broke through the many layered floors, you lifted you head. Bucky startled up, pushing the door open of the cell to find a bright red light flashing in his face.

He looked back at you with wide eyes as a voice entered through the intercoms, cracked and rushed and not audible enough to understand another word but HYDRA. You stood up, finally stretching your legs from sitting for hours, and walked slowly to him with a guilty smile.

And as realisation dawned on him once more, he didn’t have enough time to react as you spoke the one word that shut his beautiful mind closed. The word they told you to use to escape, two syllables that fogged his brain but didn’t control it like his triggerwords did. The single breath it took as his once comforting blue eyes would roll to the back of his head and his cozy attire would hit the ground next to your feet.

Not dangerous or permenant like his triggerwords, you told yourself as you closed the cell door, stepping out into the red-lit hall with his body over your shoulder, Only to give you enough time to make your escape with the one person they send you to kill.

‘‘Sputnik.’‘

- Part 9

A/N : woah we’re almost done... any idea what’s gonna happen?

also, I might make a irondad fic after this with a reader ofcourse. Thoughts and ideas?

tags

@unicornsxfandoms @mariana-cb @marydragneell

#Bucky #Bucky Barnes #Barnes #wintersoldier #the wintersoldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #marvel #marvel fic #bucky au #x villain #x villain!reader #x HYDRA!reader #Nodus Tollens

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schoentraumer · 5 years

Text

A Rush

The worst part of being unincorporated into the greater commonwealth is that the protections that the commonwealth offers. I frowned thoughtfully down at the...well, I suppose bandits makes the most sense to describe them. Unwashed, clearly destitute, carrying all manner of strange instrument gathered from prior raids. They numbered about nine, possibly ten if the pair of boots around the rock were attached to someone.

A snort and a kick confirmed the boots were in fact attached to someone, so, 10. I frowned thoughtfully, glancing around at them, then up at the sky. Darkness would come, and when it did, so would I. I pulled back and then rolled over, slipping my hat down to cover my face, folding my hands over my stomach and napping. It wasn’t as though these fella’s were going to have a flyer stashed around here, not with how they had cobbled together their camp. Still, I glanced up from under the brim of my hat towards the higher reaches where transport would come from.

Still, nothing on the horizon.

I listened as they descended into drunken revelry, the sun baking the leather trench coat I was currently surrounded in. The jacket would not perhaps have been considered fashionable in the commonwealth, but finding myself in the unincorporated I felt to blend in one has to abandon the mores one knows.

It wasn’t like I could really be considered a member of the commonwealth anymore in any case. I had given up that part of my life when I’d run out on my obligations and I wasn’t likely to be welcomed back with open arms now, even as the prized omega of a good house. The scandal. The shame. What would the neighbors say?

Probably only what they’d heard my family say.

Dusk and then darkness, the rowdy sounds of merriments and horseplay. I lifted my hat as they began to settle down. Too drunk to really do much other than rehash some truly awful stories than were altogether unlikely to have happened in the way that they describe, though the appeal is strong.

Pulling out my stunner, I rolled onto my front and looked down at the group. Slumped together in one corner were six of them, the story sharers. Across the fire from them were three sleepers, and the last one was tending the fire with a glassy look in his eye. I nodded, rose into a crouch, and then jumped.

Sticking the landing, I got off 10 charges in 30 seconds, fast enough that they didn’t even have time to yell. I stayed completely still for another 30 seconds, waiting for the statistically unlikely stunner rage, and then rose from my crouch and holstered my weapon. I slowly crept towards the story tellers and checked them, pulling out my small attache of zip ties. There are more fancy restraints, some of which I’d eyed in catalogues, but for non augmented bandits like these I couldn’t justify the expense.

I checked each of them for vitals, but all were breathing. “Jedadiah, please come to me.” I requested, my hud activating with a multicolored line.

“Aye Captain. Estimated three minutes till arrival.” My ship confirmed. I set about finishing with the last few of them before dragging the deadweights into a line. I then scanned each face, confirming their identities as the ‘Mudd Cup Gang’. Of thirteen known associates, these were the last ten, the other three captured ‘Dead or Alive’ by another bounty hunter earlier that day. The scans then were important, giving me ownership of the capture even if the other hunter showed up before I dropped my quarry off with the County sheriff for processing.

Still, seeing the long series of added profits to my ‘pending’ account was a welcome sight. I wasn’t long in the ‘bounty hunter’ business, and had only really turned to it because the options for unbonded Omega’s for money weren’t super great, especially in an unincorporated area.

The soft hum of my ship was a welcome distraction, “Touching down, Captain.” Jedadiah’s melodic voice informed me, and I stood, hand up to block the soft breeze the engines generated.

“Set systems to auto-defense, alert for signatures within .5 miles.” I requested.

I then gritted my teeth and loaded the ten unhelpful bodies into the back of my ship, straining under their heavy weight. I didn’t even have the muscles of a beta, but I wasn’t about to give up. I was going to get a cart, I decided. A hover cart. Then I’d just have to roll them onto it and then into the holding cell.

I grunted when the last was in the cell, sweating and abandoning the oversized trench. I swiped a wrist against my forehead, mopping sweat away with my shirt. I checked each stunned body for weapons or personal effects, making a small pile, before looping their arms with a chain and bolting them against the back wall, slumped together like sleeping babes. Taking their weapons and personal effects I dumped them in a box to be sorted through later.

Descending the ship, I began to make my way towards the piles of ‘loot’, when Jedadiah blipped, “Presence detected Captain.” Jedadiah stated, and I heard the soft whir of the weapons activating.

I pulled out my stunner, finger on the trigger, “How far out?”

There was a blip from one of the piles, possibly one of their own detectors. “Unknown. Possible jammer use.”

I swore, backing back up into the ship. Jammers were expensive, I should know, I had a top of the line one, and very few people had the resources and need of one. Usually not for people on the up and up.

The door began to close when I smelt someone new, and I gritted my teeth, ducking and rolling, stunner up and focused on a shadow. A ripple that moved from the shadow, hands lifting. The armor slowly shifted from camouflage mode to regular mode and the man, the Alpha, settled his hands in the classic surrender pose. “Clever, how’d you know where I was going to be?”

I glared at him hard, “I was off the ship less than a minute, there’s only a few places in this ship that someone can get to in that time, and only one place that an Alpha, even in camouflage, could hide.” I said. I gestured at him with my stunner, establishing power. “Lift your visor, identify yourself.”

He used his right hand and lifted the visor, revealing pale blue eyes and a strong but distinguished nose. “Lieutenant Jim Park, Briar County Sheriff’s department.” I raised a brow at that.

“Jedadiah, please confirm the Lieutenants identity if you will.” I asked, stunner still on the man. There was a pause while Jed checked against the secure identification network.

“Confirmed. Good evening Lieutenant, you were unexpected.” Jed rebuked lightly.

Sassy is a good look on an AI.

I slowly lowered my weapon, holstering the stunner. “Can’t say we are happy to have you either.” I rebuked a little more harshly. I said. I, like most Omegas, are incredibly weary of being in the presence of an Alpha that isn’t family or mate. “Please open the door Jedadiah.” As the door opened I stepped back from it and nodded towards the door, “If you would be so kind, Lieutenant. I don’t like strangers on my ship that aren’t in handcuffs.”

He raised an eyebrow at that and I realized that that was a little kinkier than I had intended. Blushing a little but glaring at him, “You know what I mean. I am a registered bounty hunter, and I caught these doofuses fair and square.” I defended.

Lieutenant Park nodded, indicating that he was making for the door and I followed him out, Jed keeping a me updated on the scanners in the corner of my HUD.

“You’re the new one, right? The Sheriff said that there was a townie registered and picking up small fries.” The lieutenant said, feet in the dirt and reaching up to remove his full helmet.

I shrugged, “Probably. I got the impression that there aren’t that many people who are raring to go as a bounty hunter and quite a few derps who are skating by under the radar by being lower profile than the big catches.” I nodded towards the various piles of obviously stolen goods, some in crates and some just strewn about.

He nods but eyes me, “Seems like dangerous work.” He hedged and I glared at him.

“Life is dangerous - this is just being proactive about which danger I am the company too.” I say, annoyed, watching his nose flare a little. Alpha noses are more sensitive than a beta, but my nose is keener than his by far. He probably knew what I am, but I straddled the line between feminine beta and masculine omega, so he probably wasn’t sure.

He shrugged, looking around as well. “Most of this won’t be salvageable, not after being exposed like this. I assume that you have the inventory list of reward if found items?” He asked.

I nodded, side eyeing him, “I’m new, Lieutenant, not infantile. I am aware of the nuances of the rewards system.”

He raised his hands, “Alright, alright. If you’d like I can drop a beacon and have a recycler come out and pick up what you don’t take.”

I folded my arms, getting the feeling that he was offering to help me more than he would anyone else. “That would be lovely, Lieutenant. If there is nothing else, I will bid you goodnight. I will wrap up here and be off to central booking in maybe an hour or so. I assume your ship is around here somewhere?”

His face pinched a little, “Er, yeah. A few ridges back, outside of normal scanner range.”

I nodded, “Smart.” I watched while he didn’t call his ship. “Well, thank you for offering to drop a beacon.” And then walking away. I pulled up the inventory, looking for the few items that either the insurance or private owners wanted back and assessing anything else that was of value that I could salvage.

After a few minutes the sound of the Lieutenants ship, a sleek Caster style vessel, arrived. “Well, goodnight.” He called out. I nodded, not looking at him but raising a hand to wave.

That was how I met Jim Park. The weirdest Alpha I ever knew.

#alpha/beta/omega #omega #alpha #fiction

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gurl2irl-blog · 6 years

Text

ELAINE’S WORLD by Aevery Huens

For my final creative assignment in Sci-Fi Feminism, I decided to transpose a longtime comic idea of mine into a short story combining fairy tale tropes, dust bowl aesthetics, and an exploration of humanized ai. Inspired by Andrew Wyeth's painting "Christina's World," this following work of fiction was important in marrying my love for visual story telling with an effort to improve my ability to write cohesive yet engaging themes that draw the reader into a story. Finally, I wanted to create a piece of work that focused on a mother daughter relationship and internalized conflict rather than external.

When she woke, she felt that her face was against the rough hardwood floor. The next thing she noticed was a faint whining tone in the back of her head, as though her ears had just stopped ringing. It took her another moment to realize she was lying down, and after blinking a couple of times in her daze, she carefully propped herself up.

Looking around, she could see she was at home. A short hallway was behind her, and large windows cast a grid pattern onto the foyer floor. She could see dust in the shafts of light, and with a frown mentally chastised herself for letting it get so dirty. Remembering she was on the ground again, she dusted herself off. I must have fell, or maybe fainted. Aside from the ringing, her head didn’t hurt, but she decided to run her hands through her hair to check for a bruise anyway. Her hair and scalp felt dry, but otherwise she seemed fine.

“Hello?” She called out to the house, her voice was horse and metallic. Her head was still a little scattered, so it took her a moment to think of who she was calling to.

“Will?” There was no response, her voice reverberated against the old wood surfaces. He wasn’t home, but she couldn’t think yet of where he would be.

She finished pushing herself off the ground and gave her long skirt a final pat. She began to think of excuses for where Will might be. Maybe he had gone with a friend. Or maybe he was still at school. But she couldn’t think of any recent events to prove her ideas, and furrowed her brow in concern. If I can’t remember anything, I might have a concussion. She decided she’d better search around and find her phone, she would need to go to the hospital if she was having this much trouble-

A tugging at her leg interrupted her thoughts. A brown retriever was hanging on to her dress by the mouth, and it let go when she gave it her attention. It panted up at her expectantly.

“Sasha,” she said more to herself than the dog. She remembered that! Sasha was her dog, she wasn’t home completely alone! Bending down to pet her, Sasha’s gold dog tag on a black collar confirmed it.

“Did I fall, Sasha?” She panted again in response. Having a sudden partner for rhetorical questions put her more at ease.

She cautiously made her way from the foyer into the kitchen. The counters were bare and tidy, and none of William’s toys blocked the hallway today. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she had tripped over one, but the house was clutter free. Even the chairs of the table were all pushed in, a small chore she thought she’d need to perform herself for the rest of her life. Like any other mess, a phone was nowhere in sight.

Still, she took a moment to lean against the wall, feeling the old texture of the wallpaper. The room seemed familiar yet entirely new, as though something she’d experienced vicariously through photographs. But she wasn’t at a complete loss. She remembered the kitchen dining set was a hand me down from her grandmother. She remembered William’s 5th birthday a few years ago, serving him a cake at that table. He’d been old enough to know better, but still called the color yellow “sunshine” to her simultaneous endearment and dismay. So the lit candles had been “sunshine” to him. Staring towards the table, she realized after a moment that it wasn’t complete. A chair was missing across from her, hidden by the orderliness of the other three.

“Where’d it go, Sasha?” But she was instead sniffing underneath the cabinets, assumedly searching for crumbs.

It didn’t make sense, but she was looking for her phone, not her chair. So she moved back down the hall.

Something in the corner of her eye stopped her. A mirror in the hall showed her own reflection, her eyes were dark and sleepless, and her cheekbones stuck out against her long face. I look so tired . Her blonde hair was fading greyish, hardly sunshine anymore. “I look like shit, Sasha.” Speaking so frank felt funny to her. Sasha wagged her tail in agreement.

She continued back into the foyer, wondering if she should check for it upstairs. They are made of the same old wood as the floors, and she knows she’s had plenty of heart attacks watching Will almost stumble down them. It’s that thought that makes her hesitate, resting on the handrail. I better not climb stairs when I just fell, I look so frail. Besides, she decided, her phone may still be down here, maybe in the living room or out back in the mudroom.

Sasha stops her thinking again with scratches at the door. “Down, don’t do that,” she says, her voice stern. The dog stops, but whines back at her, jittery on the doormat. She must need to go. With a sigh, she move towards her. The door was left unlocked, and she frowns. Minding her own balance, she pulls it open.

Before her isn’t a rural street with other homes, but a wide expanse of a field. The sight stuns her in the door frame. Tall, yellowed grass surrounds her, creating golden waves in the breeze. Sasha bolted across the porch and into the grass, creating a line through the field like a snake as she ran. Where am I?

She watched Sasha a minute more, processing. Even more so than Will’s absence, she had no excuse to explain the field before her. Tentative still, she stepped out from the porch and down into the grass. It was at least up to her thighs, and she was thankful for her old long skirt. A brown smudge on the yellow sea, Sasha was barely visible a few yards away.

“Come here!” she called out, but Sasha only raised her head pointedly at her. Instead, she made her way to Sasha. The sky was heavily overcast, with dark grey clouds moving slowly in the wind. Only the mistly brightness of the clouds on the horizon betrayed that the sun was shining beyond them. The ringing in her head was still there, and was just barely present over the rustle of the dying grassy ocean around her.

“Where are we, girl?” Looking back at her home, it somehow seemed in place with the surroundings. It was an old farmhouse with a small porch and grey wooden siding. It almost blended into the darkened sky, save for the porch and roof. Will’s upstairs window was in a large singular gable centered on the house.

Where am I? She wondered some more, to no avail.

Over her shoulder, in the opposite direction, she could make out the only other anomaly on the horizon. A mass of dark, low trees were off at least a mile in that direction. Unlike her kitchen, they felt familiar in a discomforting way. That doesn’t make sense, this doesn't make sense. She chastized no one in particular. Suddenly, with an aggressive rustle and trail behind her, Sasha bounded towards the trees.

“Sasha!” She called, but like last time, Sasha went a distance, stopped, then looked directly back. Clearly, Sasha was beckoning her to follow. This hardly seemed like the best idea

Yet she found herself walking towards the trees with her. I know she’d come back, but I better not lose her too. Perhaps Sasha knew where to take her, or where Will was. The idea was ridiculous to her, but it was enough to make her walk.

When she reached Sasha, she kept going towards the distant trees, and Sasha trailed along happily besides her. She settled into a pattern, and while the daze and ringing persisted, she didn’t worry she would fall. The flat field was persistent, a yellow sea wide and constant. The trees seemed closer as she walked, her house more distant with a crushed longer trail behind her, but she was unsure. Even the rustling became a droning noise, and she tried to think of Will to occupy herself along the way. She could imagine his joy and her own panic if he’d ever been able to play in a field like this. He had no sense of hesitation to him, even more so than childishness could explain. She remembered his fifth birthday again, his eyes alight at the five candles around the simple cake. “Sunshine!” Then, of course, he had reached for one. “No, Will!” But she wasn’t fast enough, and he had immediately recoiled and cried at the burn.

Her footsteps slowed. What had happened after that? She remembered rushing towards him, looking down, but not what she had done to sooth his finger. They had continued to have cake afterwards, there had been guests after all. But she didn’t remember comforting him. The gap was small but troubling.

She hadn’t noticed, but the winds had picked up during the walk, and they whipped at her back, pushing her harder towards the forest. The ringing tone seemed to increase in volume along with the wind and the grass, only adding to her mental frustration. I should head back and call and ambulance. But she kept walking alongside Sasha.

I should look for Will, she decided instead.

It took at least half an hour for her to reach the trees outright. Finally, she could see them clearly, dark green leaves stark against both the grass and the sky. They were full grown, but low and wilted, twisting similarly to the waves of the field in the wind. The grass was lower here, stunted by the shade provided. Though hardly rolling, there were small hills in the land into the groove. Her trepidation returned.

“What did you want, Sasha?” The quietness of her call against the wind was alarming, and her worry grew. As she stopped, Sasha trotted directly ahead. Not far from the field at all, she searched for where she was headed: a mound between two trees. It took her a moment more to fully see it.

Nestled in the dirt’s face was a door. Double doors, actually. They were dark and low, and rounded at the top. They were set into the ground, and seemed like a portal from a fairy tail. Or, perhaps, more like a witch's cabin. Sasha was pawing at them like before, but this time she didn’t scold her. The doors were foreboding, familiar. I can’t have been here before.

The trees started to groan, and shook in the violent wind. Leaves tore around her from the ground and the branches, and she stumbled to the doors. Someone must live here, I can’t make it back to the house in this weather. She was practically shoved into the door, and began to knock as loudly as her frail arm allowed.

“Please, open up!”

There was a flash of light, casting a stark shadow of her frame against the wood. Then a few moments later, a low rumble followed, reverberating through her. The whirring tone in her head seemed to spike for a moment, and she sunk to the ground against the door. Sasha pressed against her. Where am I? Where is Will? Of course she’d be worried for him, she prayed he wasn’t anywhere in the field. The winds were so strong now that she covered her heards with her arms.

“Oh, move! Aren’t ya comin’ in? Can’t ya see there’s a storm?”

The voice was barking and gravely. She looked up to an old woman, back bent over, clutching a bag to her side. The witch of the cabin , She thought briefly. Scrambling to her feet, her skirt billowed around her. She must have looked ridiculous.

“Is this your house?” It was the first thing she could think to ask.

“Of course it is!” the old woman yelled back, and pushed past her to the door. She followed the crone closely inside, letting Sasha slip in behind her.

The cramped inside of the den were even stranger than the front doors. For every item of clutter missing from her own home, it had found its way to here. Antique looking cabinets and tables were piled with chotskies, papers, books, and dishes. The room was dark and musty, even after the old woman flicked a switch to light several old lamps. Even more confusing and out of place was the occasional piece of machinery that sat on the floor or a miraculously free surface. Plastic and metal arms jut geometrically around the room, juxtaposing the earthy walls and decor. She had no idea what any of it did.

“I’m shocked ya wandered all the way out here. Did Sasha lead you?” The old woman talked over her back as she set her bag and it’s contents down. More mechanical parts were added onto a pile.

“She did,” she hesitated before replying. She was still as the old woman moved about the room, afraid she herself would fall over something unseen on the floor. The old woman bent down further to scratch Sasha’s head. I thought she hated Sasha . She didn’t know where this idea comes from.

“I didn’t expect ya’d be ready to go till tomorrow. But after all, what do I know? Ha!” The old woman had a casual abrasiveness to her words. She’d never let you get a word in , the assessment ran through her head. “It’s a good thing ya beat the storm, you’da taken a beatin’ for sure. Well, sit down, we’ll get started since you’re here!” The old woman pulled out a creaky chair from a dining table in the center of the room. She realized: That’s my missing kitchen chair! It was exactly the same, and no too chairs around that table matched either. The discovery puts her oddly at ease. Of course, to put it kindly, her mother had always been eccentric.

“Mama, how long have you been living here?” she plainly asked her.

The old woman froze with her mouth open, clearly about to make a comment. Instead, her mother made an expression that she’s never seen before. She had horrified her. Stunned her. Had she said something wrong, she was usually so tactful. Furthermore, since when had she looked so old? Her wrinkles were deep, sliding down her face, and the fat that remained on her body hung down from her hunched frame. Her brow furrowed.

“Was that such a strange question, I’m the one who’s surprised.” Her mother still stared back at her. The silence was so unlike her, and she was unsettled again. The ringing was louder than the sounds of the storm on the den.

Instead of replying, her mother quickly got up, grabbed something from the top of a pile, and sat back down. In front of her she sat a small black box. A red light came on. A camera.

“Now, what do you remember sweetie?” Her mother’s voice was different, less harsh, quieted. No longer distracted about the room, she was leaning forward with sudden interest in her. Her back cracked lightly with the motion. Was it maternal? It was seemingly caring.

“I don’t know, I think I fell while at home, but I don’t know how... or why we’re out here.” Her mother’s expression soured for a moment, and she caught it immediately. “Don’t make this about how I shouldn’t be living in that home alone,” she snapped, “I must have just tripped.”

When her mother didn’t reply, she continued. “I’m worried I hit my head too hard, but I couldn’t find a phone...”

She looked around the cabin again, this accumulation of mess must have taken years. Her mother’s entire life was seemingly shoved into this room. Her next questions were careful, both for her mother’s sake and her own.

“Why are we here? ...Why are you recording this?”

The old woman looked to her left, then back again. “Just focus on rememberin’ things.” She hesitated. “I wanna make sure ya don’t have a concussion.”

She’s lying. She’s observing.

“Just tell me what you remember.”

She stares back at her mother, wanting to point out her observations, but instead mulling over her question. Of course she remembered things, she remembers her, her son, her home. Not specifics, perhaps, but enough to know that something was wrong. She remembered what was important. The ringing, the whirring, it got louder as she thought. It kept returning to the same questions. There was a long silence before she spoke again.

“You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question, but a confirmation. Her mother was quiet, but nodded.

“Where is Will?”

The old woman hesitated again.She wasn’t thinking on her toes, firing quip after quip like she normally should be. Then, she was so, so quiet. It only made the whirring seem louder.

“Now, don’t do anythin’, just listen’ to what I’m sayin’.

There was a moment of hurt in her face, she saw it. She saw it but couldn’t yet explain it, it took her full attention to follow her words.

“I made a big change in the logic tree. Now this time, I made a big difference ‘tween how ya process outside information and how ya process yourself. So... it may take longer for you to make the connections, or to self assess the video data.” The same hurt passed over her face again. She was talking about her career, about her work. She hated when her mother compared her to her work. “But, I’ll be damned, this is the most like her-like yourself- that you’ve acted yet.

She just blinked back at the old woman. Her breathing began to feel labored. Was she breathing? The daze returned, and the whirring, droning, made it hard to think. She tried to keep her voice level.

“What are you talking about? You’re talking like I’m one of your projects.

Her mother flinched. She was frozen. Again, stunned. The hurt was so plain on her face, so glaring to her. She looked so feeble then. “Oh my lord, you’ve never not known...”

She thinks I’m an android.

The whining was ever louder, and the thought shot her to her feet. “No.” Why would her mother lie to her like this. This was beyond eccentricity, it was cruel. “Don’t tease me, mama, I’m not one of your androids.”

Her mother looked with pity at her now. Her eyes watered. “You are, darlin. I’m the one that made you. I always said If I could do it once, I could do it again.

The room was fuzzy, suffocating, dazed like when she first woke up. She stumbled over nothing, and almost fell over again. Why was her mother lying to her? Why was she lying?

“Oh my god.”

“Sit back down, you need to process this!” The bite was back in her gravelly voice, it sounded so much more real than her own.

She ignored her. “You’re lying, you have to be lying.”

She couldn’t think of why she would tell her this. No excuses came to mind. She started searching, looking the room, frantically hoping to find an explanation in the mess of her mother’s home. That machinery was from the lab . It was the same shapes, the same brand. She’d toured it once with Will and recorded the whole thing. He’d loved it, he loved his grandmother-

“I’m not lyin to ya. Sit down! You’re not completely synthetic or somethin, but you’re-”

“Stop, stop talking!” The whirring felt louder and louder the more her mother spoke. It was a nail against her head, and she raised her arms to block it out. The red light of the camera was still on, and she swore she could see the rate of it flickering. Her mother was still yelling at her, but she didn’t process it. Sasha was barking, adding to the dampened noise. She saw the camera, recording her, recording Will. She remembered his birthday, telling him to smile at the camera. In her memory, he looked instead to her.

She looked at her hands. They were shaking, trembling, something about them was plastic, they seemed miles and miles away from her. The table seemed so long now, her frail, twisted mother at the end of it. The interviews, they were right there, everytime right there, she’d been interviewed exactly thirty five times in this room, she remembered every single one.

“Did you do this for your career?” She suddenly snapped at the old woman, shoving her hands down, yelling to reach her all that distance away. “Are you making some sick psyche study of me? Oh my god, did you-”

“Oh shut up, of course not! They’d never want to back something like this, I left years ago! Ha, perfect! that’s so like her, bringing that into this” Her laugh was bitter, mocking. I am her! She wanted to scream. She had never screamed so loud at her mother before

“Why are you doing me this? Why did you do this? Why-”

“Because you killed yourself, dammit!”

It felt like her head had hit the ground, all gravel, all rough, all hurt. They were both quiet now, through with thinking.

She’s so hurt. She thought, looking at her mother. So hurt, so far away.

That’s how all every test had ended, after all. Her mother asked her that question every time.

“Why did I kill myself?” she answered thirty five times.

Her eyes hurt, they burned, they almost were vibrating. The whining was unbearable, drilling into her. Her mama was now crying in silence. She’s crying because her daughter killed herself.

“Where is Will?”

Her mother only looked back at her, the pain something she realized she knew.

She didn’t ask a second time. Instead, with a jolt, she burst out the cabin. The storm was in full force, beating against her in every direction with punches of wind. Faintly, her mother followed, called after her to wait, called her name. But then she didn’t hear her mother at all, didn’t consider that the storm had swept her away.

The sky was green now, a looming, dark presence over an endless sunshine colored horizon. The grass whipped around her as she ran back to her farmhouse. She seemed to be running over an ocean in a cyclone, the ground rising and falling in violent waves. She could barely hear it over the whirring. Where is Will? Where is Will?

Then, through the dust, she saw her home.

Across the horizon, the top half of it was completely gone. The wood was blackened along the edges. It was though the sky had torn into it. The remnants from a fire from the top down, there had never been any stairs for her to go up. That was once Will's room.

She remembered why she killed herself.

Faintly, then louder, there was barking. Sasha soon was upon her, nipping at her dress and heels as she held her head in her hands. Sasha nearly yanked her over, and the wind caught her as she stumbled. She faced the dog, her hair wild and her eyes wide and scared.

Sasha was a fake. Even her dog was not real. She could see the joints at the sockets of the legs poking against through a fur coated fabric. Its eyes were black and glassy, lifeless, unmoving. It’s mouth was like a taxidermied animals, dry, unnaturally hinged, like a mask. It looked up expectantly at her, and was horrible.

“Do I look like that, Sasha?”

It had been watching her the whole time.

At her feet there was a limb, blown down from the trees and haloed by fallen grass. She grasped at it and swung, over and over and over, feeling each hit in her own limbs. She couldn’t hear her own screaming over the wind and the whirring still. What moves my arms? What makes my voice? She couldn’t bear to think, that question made the ringing sound deadening.

Why would mama do this?

The smaller pieces of the dog were torn and whipped away until a shapeless mass remained, brown patches and artificial limbs. If there was a twister, she was at the center, the eye of the storm. She could feel the rumble of thunder. Everything was so far away, she was the only thing in the field now. The whirring made it impossible to see. Closing her eyes, hoping it was conductive enough, she raised her hand. Then, with the brightest light she had ever seen, brighter than sunshine, the whirring stopped.

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tinymixtapes · 6 years

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Feature: 2017: Favorite 50 Music Releases

Do we still move in 2017? In a year when our AI systems were becoming citizens and shut down for inventing new languages, when our social media interactions were weaponized with unprecedented precision by political campaigns, when our very DNA could be encoded with malicious software, what does movement even look like in such an information-rich world? A string of data waiting to be computed? If an average of 68 Facebook “likes” is all it takes to predict skin color with 95% accuracy, then it’s not hard to imagine a future when our movements find their significance not in expressing our desires, but in being algorithmically expressed. But how much data do we create when we cry? What does data look like when we are fake laughing? The musical movements of 2017 offered both a glimpse into our mental health and possible ways to reconcile our technopolitical anxieties with our overbearing, untenable individualism. Our favorites this year didn’t offer solutions to our waking nightmares — why should they? — but they helped remind us that, while life is fragile (Ryuichi Sakamoto) and death is real (Mount Eerie), recovery is still possible (Björk). Amidst our fantasiis (MHYSA), dreams (Twin Peaks), and distorted reflections (Bell Witch), even our electronic music felt like ethereal gestures toward renewal, whether it was through reflexive neo-songs (Klein), a dance in the smoke (Actress), or an effervescent faith (Yves Tumor). And our movements were many. For every articulation of bodily devotion (Perfume Genius), ruthless loyalty (Kendrick Lamar), and tender obsession (Lorde), there was a subversion of spacetime (Toiret Status), revelatory Euclidean algorithms (Konrad Sprenger), and circuitous experimentalism (Playboi Carti). For every instance of emotional nourishment (Charli XCX) and critique of power structures (Richard Dawson), there was a desire to build community “in the face of absolute fragmentation” (Club Chai Vol. 1) and to try “new forms of living in a deteriorating world” (Lawrence English). We left 2016 already bruised and exhausted, and while 2017’s shitshow can’t be completely undone, we are not beyond repair. It’s easy to question our obsession with music, especially when our audio-editing tools find parallels in a gene-editing tool like CRISPR, when the noise of our time could be silenced in a flash by Minecraft scammers, when our hybrid musics coincide with hybrid wars and whatever the fuck these are. But this year’s sounds continued to expose and counter our artifices and mythologies in compelling ways, and we should count ourselves lucky that there was even a semblance of healing in both the ambience and the losses of 2017. Our movements, especially in this small corner of the internet, remain vital — necessary, even. What will our movements look like in 2018? Hopefully something a little better than this. –Mr P --- 50 Perfume Genius No Shape [Matador] [WATCH · READ] In the music video for “Slip Away,” our introduction to the fourth Perfume Genius album, Mike Hadreas ran through a slideshow of soft-focus fantasies, away from a cast of hapless villains and toward an implied happy ending. Like a dream, the detail seemed both blurred and crudely exaggerated; the antagonists’ faces painted in caricature, overcome by Hadreas dashing through the exploding set with his fairytale bride. Most of all, for an artist who dealt nothing but shade on 2014’s comeback “Queen” — all vicious contours and slicked-back hair, lips frozen in a permanent sneer at American heteronormativity — “Slip Away” presented a palette that was warm, dynamic, and deliriously playful. From start to finish, the intersections of love and death that played out across the record (see: auto-erotic asphyxiation tribute “Die 4 You”) never felt cheapened by the gauzy nightdress they came swaddled in, but elevated by its vaudeville sexuality. Even the posthumanist tropes that swirled through the album were rendered with joy; at the death, No Shape swooned at the spirit’s liberation as readily as it lamented the body’s failure. –Matthew Neale --- 49 Sun Araw THE SADDLE OF THE INCREATE [Sun Ark/Drag City] [WATCH · LISTEN · READ] Strike the stage. Think of the desert as a set, an empty set, one in waiting. Potential, not unrest. Perhaps an inclination. Look around, it’s barren and stable, tough to soil. (A grain of sand ain’t nothin’). Here it is: total poiesis (There’s a snake’s scale on that bird’s tail); the verbal rendering of all forms present by no trick greater than insistence (Ain’t that a sight). The presentation of a gift: a hidden giver, a lost recipient (…ain’t nothin’). Nowhere to go, cannot go beyond all that is present unless presented (There is a chute). It’s a classic place, an old joke, plain enough. A cowboy story, “as futuristic as possible.” Dehydration, waiting for a sign. It’s a trip, an experience, a losing time. “IT’S MORNING. HARNESS IN. STRAP UP. RIDE ON OUT BRAVE INTO TODAY.” My tongue is a chair, and I like that. –Ben Levinson --- 48 Tara Jane O’Neil Tara Jane O’Neil [Gnomonsong] [LISTEN] In the summer, the light warms and deepens everything natural. Summer sunlight makes shimmering greens seem deeper until the end of August, but come December, even at high noon, the empty branches look washed out; the air looks washed out. In 11 gentle songs, on a self-titled album, Tara Jane O’Neil tucked that deep, warm summer light into her pocket. In fits and starts on tracks like “Flutter,” “Kelley,” and “Blow,” she raised it slowly over the horizon. “The path forward is well lit,” she sang on “Metta,” and even on the harshest winter days, it is, thanks to her druidic calm. The path unfolds like a clean line traced by the afternoon across a bedroom floor. Follow it to keep inside its warmth. Look up sometimes, but never too directly or for too long without those heavy-duty and professionally inspected eclipse glasses. This album was inviting and elusive. It pulled us in close but never let us forget how fragile our little human retinas are. And then it dipped out of sight. –Taylor Peters --- 47 Nmesh Pharma [Orange Milk] [WATCH · LISTEN · READ] Nmesh’s plunderphonic monolith Pharma was many things: a chemical cocktail for a future nightlife, a hallucinogenic trip through the dark fractures of 2017 and its nostalgic histories, a waking nightmare catalyzed by vaporized pop cultural memories. Pharma went beyond simulation, toward the tangible archaeological rescue of base cultural artifacts, offering a digital rendering of the remnants of human primitivity that felt especially appropriate in this historical moment. The melodic duality of “White Lodge Simulation,” the psychedelic brutality of “Mall Full of Drugs,” and the grotesque fantasy of “Acid Baby” were all the stuff of cosmic horror, but channeled through aggressive grooves and hooks that can only charm and intoxicate. Through Pharma’s many tributaries, Nmesh took on a whole society’s obsession with the artificial and gleefully liberated us. –Colin Fitzgerald --- 46 Colleen A flame my love, a frequency [Thrill Jockey] [LISTEN · READ] The events surrounding the creation of Colleen’s seventh studio album, A flame my love, a frequency, were as heavy as it gets. Colleen’s real name is Cécile Schott, and she is from France. She happened to be in Paris, getting a viola bow repaired the night of the 2015 terrorist attacks. For weeks after, as the songs started coming, the looming specter of death wouldn’t leave her mind. Yet, for how overwhelmed she felt, the album she created was full of light and hope. The viola de gamba that created the backbone of her 2015 comeback album Captain of None was replaced here by a focus on the Critter and Guitari Pocket Piano and Septavox synthesizer, as processed by a Moog delay pedal. The minimal compositions were recorded live, without vocal overdubs, fostering a sense of personal immediacy amid the waves of synthetic sound. A flame my love, a frequency remains an album of essential contrasts. –Alan Ranta --- 45 Bell Witch Mirror Reaper [Profound Lore] [LISTEN · READ] “Mirrors are the doors through which Death comes and goes. Look at yourself in a mirror all your life and you’ll see Death at work like bees in a hive of glass.” Jean Cocteau’s 1950 cinematic adaptation of the Orpheus myth has its hero journey through mirrors to the underworld in a vain attempt to save his beloved Eurydice. Mirror Reaper, Bell Witch’s somnambulant third album, echoed that film’s themes of dreamlike movement, distorted reflections, and an obsession with death. After former drummer Adrian Guerra died during the writing and production of Mirror Reaper, current members Dylan Desmond and Jesse Shreibman created an album that alternated between an elegiac dirge and its angrier mirror image, a mournful march showcasing that death is but an inverted reflection of life. The power of Mirror Reaper lay in its world-building; consisting of a single 83-minute track, the album forced the listener to meet it on its own terms. Through repetition and a loud/quiet dynamic, Bell Witch lulled us into a slumber in which the voices of the dead spoke to us again and then violently shook us awake to remind us of our own fetid mortality. –Jeff Miller --- 44 Toiret Status Nyoi Plunger [Noumenal Loom] [LISTEN · READ] Ingestion and invisibility, undo our reverse cornucopia; plunge and unplug, let loose the profusion. Microscopies swell to burst in bubbleshine, but don’t forget to meet the man, the man himself, who cans all that laughter. We’ve got lyrical machines, all pistons firing and tiring, building all those silly swirls of collapse and sweettoothing their hardware hollow. The arc of the priest’s staff leaves a sparkling trail of emoji — snap, swing, zing, plonk. Things move fast and then they move faster and then they don’t. Thank you, thank you, grazie. The trunk sort of explodes, splitting loose and scattering the grid, leaving queues all out of sort, and cutting the stone with recrudescence. While you can help it, never stop iterating += 1. TFW when the POP ROCKSTM pass the blood-brain barrier I caught the cows tangoing on the roof, clapping and clacking their hooves hailstone-style on the corrugate. A toast to every comet that explodes overhead! Drum rolls please, but we shouldn’t cater to bourgeois enjoyment. Quiet, the show is set to start… Elsa coughs a light cough and foghorns: Dedesnn nn rrrrr, Ii Ee, mpiff tillff toooo, Dedesnn nn rrrrr, Ii Ee, mpiff tillff toooo, tillll Dedesnn nn rrrrr, Ii Ee, mpiff tillff toooo, tillll,Jüü-Kaa?llll,Jüü-Kaa? Roshi, scepter at his side spilling smileys, nods. The crowd detonates. And what would you call that act? –Cynocephalus --- 43 Julie Byrne Not Even Happiness [Ba Da Bing!] [LISTEN] Not Even Happiness is Julie Byrne’s truth, honesty, desire, and memory laid bare. It’s a woman accepting the universe, chaos, and herself through a calm that’s almost hard to take in. It’s airy. It’s layered. It’s self-love in motion. It’s an attempt to discern a place in the cosmos. It’s Grouper out of the mist, Angel Olsen on Xanax. It’s pure consonance. It’s about moments both meaningful and mundane — a cup of coffee in the morning while looking out the window — but they’re actually all important if you care about how you live. My friend who barely talks to me anymore sent me the record in April; I played it on repeat for five hours that day, and I’ve kept listening to it ever since. –Adam Rothbarth --- 42 Pharmakon Contact [Sacred Bones] [LISTEN · READ] I spend more time than I’d like in meetings centered on teaching middle school students empathy. It’s something I care deeply about, but these meetings often make me doubt that adults (especially those in positions of interacting with children) are actually competent models of reaching out and making positive contact. These meetings feel a lot like how most people would describe Pharmakon’s music: chaotic, headache-inducing, dissonant. I don’t think it’s an accident that what “kids these days” are bumping always seems, by adult standards, alienating. “At least it makes them feel something,” right? Truth is, kids are really good at “feeling things”; adults have just had more practice turning feelings into ulcers. Margaret Chardiet hasn’t forgotten how noise can make us feel things. Contact was what empathy (feeling what other people feel) really sounded like: generative, alleviating, and cathartic, qualities that may be better taught through unadulterated sound than through rudimentary recalibration. So next staff meeting, I’m playing “Nakedness of Need,” hoping that it will expand our discussion on how we can build better connections between us. If it doesn’t work right away, at least it will have made us feel, and that’s something. –Jazz Scott --- 41 Amnesia Scanner AS TRUTH (MIXTAPE) [Self-Released] [LISTEN · READ] AS TRUTH (MIXTAPE) was as engrossing as it was adverse. With migrating noise and tones hammered out along pulsing rhythms, the mix was the out-loud dialogue of the desires and fears of machines laid flat. Of IP addresses beating like thumping veins. Of processors moaning and crying toward nothing. It was like the open wounds of aux cords oozing their creamy innards, reliving their nightmares on repeat, doled out into dulled infinity. This year has been tough, but out of strife and constant defeat comes a readmitted commitment to past truths. Processing grief and anguish is necessary for growth. Let’s just hope the machines have a better world in the works than what we have created for ourselves. Amnesia Scanner was here to help the wires deliver sensitive content with distance and grace, along with a mirror to gaze at our own created horror. –Bort [pagebreak] 40 Kara-Lis Coverdale Grafts [Boomkat] [LISTEN · READ] Montreal resident Kara-Lis Coverdale returned in 2017 with her most fascinating and poignant work to date: her first solo vinyl release titled Grafts. Over the course of its 22 minutes of playtime, Coverdale expertly layered various textural and melodic ideas, molding them into a whole that inspired reverence and wonderment in the listener. The piece drew inspiration from contemporary electronic music, seminal minimalist compositions, and church music, as overlapping muted piano flourishes, dense organs, gentle drones, and fluttering synths blossomed into fascinating meditations on texture and melody. As the third — and most peaceful — movement (“Moments In Love”) slowly drifted to its conclusion, there was tangible sacredness in the air. Grafts was spiritual, intimate, contemplative, and completely alive. And in 2017, it was a stark reminder that beauty exists, even amidst the ever-present chaos and confusion. –A B D --- 39 Actress AZD [Ninja Tune] [WATCH · LISTEN · READ] To enter such a realm, of life between being and nonbeing, of sound surging with numinous intensity and laboriously weaving itself into some vague, half-formed nightmare… The horror of reality, the limitations inside of genres like “dance” and “club” and outside: icy white silk of pouring rain and a backdrop of bleak office buildings. A ghost in the making, a figment, a cash register, a pistol, a zombie. People say that I am in a city, but I suspect I am amongst thousands of mountains. Expressive force over representational legibility, with the snowcaps amongst us. Slabs of marble dragged onto raw drips; flings of dust conjuring a far-away vision of the Dragon Gate, and in its fairy tale therein occurs a dance battle, or maybe a rap battle, or actually a 4/4 beat created from synths of yore, heavy with retrofuturism and insinuating something, something deep. So we go out, to the warehouses, to the studios, to the grottos, to the basements, with a question to ask: Do you remember real life? –Hydroyoga --- 38 Upgrayedd Smurphy HYPNOSYS [R-CH-V] [LISTEN] HYPNOSYS’s Giger-inspired cover art depicted Upgrayedd Smurphy morphing into something like an apex predator, xenomorph style. Smurphy’s beats were tighter and more austere on this album, driving the melodies while integrating classic post-punk texture into modern beat work. This approach effectively aligned her music with recent works by Andy Stott and Zomb while still sounding nothing like them. It was music for driving at night through morose, dilapidated cities. Dim-lit neon bulbs flickering out, exits collapsing in the rearview. The malaise of modern living, all connected yet lost (hypnotized, even) in reconciling that this was all actually meaningless. The whole thing felt appropriately bleak, the product of how awful our world has become. If we have to go on, let’s become something else. It’s already happening all around us. Upgrading to extraterrestrial. –Joe Davenport --- 37 Pan Daijing Lack 惊蛰 [PAN] [LISTEN · READ] Pan Daijing herself described Lack 惊蛰 as an “opera,” suggesting listeners were to consume the work as performance rather than music proper. Immediacy and vulnerability, then, were core tenets of the work: Lack 惊蛰 was an intimate process to be witnessed, not only by the listener, but by Daijing herself: “I saw myself being this absurd, mad person ‘acting’ out the sounds.” Taking listeners through various modes of sound affect, Daijing’s arsenal included experiments with verbal intonation/inflection, disquieting moans, aggressive synth loops, and arrhythmic percussion. Still, the album was less about sonic extremes and more an exploration of what noise — and perhaps the avant-garde at large — can achieve by forcing us into spaces that make both listener and performer more visible, allowing us to express and embody sincerity in an era rife with irony, superficiality, and untruths. Fundamentally, Lack 惊蛰 instilled awareness: the simple suggestion that we are here, we are feeling, we are real. In the years to come, art and performance in a similar vein will become paramount in creating spaces where we are free to feel vulnerable and consider our emotions and experiences as they relate to the human condition. –Alex Brown --- 36 Richard Dawson Peasant [Weird World] [WATCH · READ] Peasant detailed the lives of the 6th- and 7th-century peasantry during the violent unification of the Kingdom of Northumbria in present-day Northeastern England. Daunting stuff for the historically disinclined. But as TMT writer Sam Goldner pointed out, this obscure theme counter-intuitively allowed Richard Dawson to address very current, and very pressing, political concerns. By giving voice to otherwise mute historical figures — soldiers, prostitutes, beggars — Dawson implicitly critiqued the power structures that allow these characters’ oppression to persist today. Wary of drawing any explicit connections between his music and recent politics, Dawson nevertheless remarked that “some of the things that are described in the songs are not too different from some of the things that occur today in a supposedly civilized society.” And what is described in the songs was bleak: the world of Peasant was violent, superstitious, corrupt, and all too recognizable. Dawson’s powerful Geordie bark and discordant acoustic guitar brought this world arrestingly to life. The intensive historical research and dissonant experimentalism of Dawson’s earlier albums now seem like necessary steps toward creating Peasant’s sprawling narrative, one of those rare documents that perfectly encapsulates an artist’s approach. In retrospect, it’s obvious Dawson had to make this album, and that he had to make it in 2017. –Matthew Blackwell --- 35 woopheadclrms Meeting Room + Rare Plants [Ukiuki Atamata] [LISTEN · READ] It took a few listens to pinpoint what made woopheadclrms’s Meeting Room + Rare Plants so compelling. Putting aside the overwhelming amount of samples and otherworldly qualities hidden in the pitched-shifted mutant vocals, there was an underlying presence. It was almost like a secret, whispered between the barrage of sound. The smooth transitions between sounds, the gentle jokes, the memes, the chirping of birds, the conversations between friends, the jungle-like atmosphere: it all made for an experience akin to those overly romanticized depictions of death we see on television, where the character’s life flashes before their eyes, millions of moments rushing back toward a light that had shined for decades, maybe even a century, separating the unknown pre-birth world and the halcyon ocean that lay ahead. All the detailed subject matter blurred and the memories seemed randomly chosen, but when pieced together, they formed not a grandiose message, but feelings of warmth, solace, maybe even alleviation. –Sam Tornow --- 34 Giant Claw Soft Channel [Orange Milk] [WATCH · LISTEN · READ] There are few rockist tropes as worn-out as the breakup album. Many of rock & roll’s big names have one among their canonical works (Blood on The Tracks, Here My Dear, Rumours, The Boatman’s Call, Sea Change, Vulnicura, etc.). Is Soft Channel “a breakup album for the internet age”? Cutesy rhetorical clutches aside, the album indeed found Keith Rankin exploring the fragments that circle one’s head in the aftermath of a sentimental crisis, the mix of frustration, disappointment, relief, loneliness, regret, and everything else that threatens to overwhelm you in such episodes. And if Rankin’s post-digital approach to plunderphonics, his brutalization of modern pop and appropriation of the remains, suits the anxiety buildup that comes with a breakup, Soft Channel wasn’t just a trip through despair. The later part of the album pushed for a sense of closure, with melodies becoming recognizably tame and R&B vocals acquiring luminescent shapes. Striving for serenity might be naïve, but a measure of peace existed in letting memories and whispers dilute in the past. After all, we will all find a home in there eventually. Even awful exes and sanctified breakup albums. –jrodriguez6 --- 33 Konrad Sprenger Stack Music [PAN] [LISTEN · READ] Stack: With Stack Music, Konrad Sprenger put the authorship of music in flux. The music was authored by a system: user, interface, instrument. The user directed the interface to make choices for patterns of sound. Despite a complete oversaturation of questions regarding artificial intelligence in electronic music, Sprenger’s process stood monolithic in its reversal of “man vs. machine” rhetoric. Here, the system’s authors shared an economy of sound. String: Every sound came directly from a computation of resistance; the string resists its labor. The physicality/artificiality of the string was totally elusive, creating an audible treachery of sound. The string sounded like a train. Stanza: 7:01 / 18:56 / 18:07 / 6:28 Space: The Euclidean algorithm, here applied to rhythm, creates an interplay of space. The computer-author finds space and generates sound to fill it. Sprenger’s longtime influence and New York minimalism counterpart is Ellen Fullman, but where Fullman’s string instrument creates space, Sprenger’s devours it. When there is no space left, Stack Music sounds the most beautiful. Syncopation: “I can make syncopation sound like death.” –John Fahey. –E. Fosl --- 32 Khaki Blazer Didn’t Have to Cut [Hausu Mountain] [LISTEN · READ] Even Khaki Blazer felt it this year. Taking a respite from the whiplash frenzy and wormhole plunderings of his sample-heavy, hyperaccelerated pinball methodology, Pat Modugno launched an uncharacteristically patient, low-key textural investigation on Didn’t Have To Cut. Through lateral pathways into parentheticals and ellipses plunged into the hearts of his samples and discovered something like a universal glitch, stuttering alongside elastic harmonies and oblique slippages, plopped onto the cement like putty and smeared into the shape of a rainbow. Our bodies twitched, our eyes glazed over. Time was a bar of soap. Space was up for debate. “My battery’s almost dead. Do you have a charger?” We looked down, and Khaki Blazer was trapped in the grid, crying. He had flowers in his hand. The flowers were melting. It was a cartoon! –Mr P --- 31 Young Thug Beautiful Thugger Girls [Atlantic] [WATCH · READ] Wending his way gently into the crevices of a rich and sensuous realm of pop, Young Thug used Beautiful Thugger Girls as a faultless freeze frame that captured his increasing rise to stardom and the social misdemeanors that come with it. His observations were as astute and as resounding as ever, rapping about everything from his difficulties at school to family loyalty to individuality. Each cut carved fresh insight into the complicated world of a rising artist as he continued to veer away from the mainstream while flirting unabashedly with it. Although it might not have been as crass as Barter 6 or as uncompromising as JEFFERY, Thug made sure that his summertime mixtape proved to be one of his most captivating releases to date, and for that we were truly grateful. –Birkut [pagebreak] 30 Lawrence English Cruel Optimism [Room40] [LISTEN · READ] You don’t hear the sounds so much as you feel them, like a distant mudslide slowly moving your way, when everything stalls and a moment seems to last forever. Sharing its title with Lauren Berlant’s 2011 monograph, Cruel Optimism addressed the same affect theory concern of an individual’s optimistic attachment in an increasingly compromised society. Across Cruel Optimism, English was able to push his own boundaries, combining freeform ideas with captivating instrumental sequences, conceived, at times, by ”happy accidents.” With repeated listens, Cruel Optimism became unshakable, its scope and imagination conveying a divine, indeterminate place and time. Picking out moments to describe the whole feels Sisyphean, as the whole was simply an intense masterclass in sound sustention. Cruel Optimism embraced Berlant’s theory of “crisis ordinariness,” but sought to experiment, to try new forms of living in a deteriorating world. In doing so, this release saw this extraordinarily talented composer deliver his most beautiful, pathos-laden, and, above all, human masterpiece yet. –David Nadelle --- 29 CupcakKe Queen Elizabitch [Self-Released] [WATCH · READ] By turns lurid and lucid, CupcakKe had the stamina to out-pace, out-rap, and out-fuck just about everyone this past year, and Queen Elizabitch was her glistening testament to the fact. Whether she was raiding your shit (“Quick Thought”), preaching body positivity (“Biggie Smalls”), or fucking in the back of an Uber (“Cumshot”), there was little room for the sacred in her urgency and diligence. Put simply, this was 100% profane to its very core, jettisoning any notion of radio-friendliness or crossover appeal in her perverse outlook; if I could point to any one rhyme as a suitable M.O., this might be it: “Name anything freaky and you know I’m ‘bout the shit / Only time I’m not on the dick is when I’m ‘bout to shit” (“CPR”). And, consistent with her meticulous impulse toward what’s real, Queen Elizabitch was bookended by two of the most thoughtful cuts anybody could muster in 2017, introducing and capping off a tale of personal triumph amidst societal anguish. Long live the Queen — true to her word, the 33rd of the month never came. –Soe Jherwood --- 28 Léo Hoffsaes & Loto Retina Early Contact [PERMALNK] [LISTEN · READ] The nuclear family of Early Contact includes father, mother, son, and soon-to-be second child, who, in this perfect narrative, would be a daughter. The first time we heard the pregnant mother, our narrator, speak, her voice inspired a surge of strings to burst forth from her swelling heart and belly and announced two of the album’s three scores: the mother’s internal monologue, written by Bastien Vairet and performed in the distinctly superficial style of true-blue American artifice; and the orchestral arrangements that soundtrack her thoughts with extreme, almost Disney-like pathos. But a third, subtler score was also present, though in suspension, and sounded its poignant piece through muddy, atmospheric synths and electro-acoustic compositions that seemed to come from far off or, more likely, from deep within. It seeped like a vapor through the album’s amniotic fluid — unformed sometimes, as in in the beginning of “11 am”; and eternal other times, as in “2 pm.” The tension created by the three tracks spoke to the whole absurd theater of this life-in-the-day-of, and even though we were listening to the scripted thoughts of an archetype, I couldn’t help but wonder how our own thoughts do so churn. –Cookcook --- 27 Big Thief Capacity [Saddle Creek] [LISTEN] SNOWFALL, a word like an other, a root transformed by circumstances. Words are containers for wonders, imagined expressions of the world we see. In words like in snows, the world is temporarily transfigured, a familiar thing under bright fabric. Sound and snow transfix; “you won’t recognize your house.” MYTHOLOGICAL, almost, legends of our every days, we walk in the feel of falling skies. The dog pulls, happy haywire in the shifted smells of these streets. In snows like in songs, silhouettes of the world resound from under a momentary veneer, a changed air. Somewhere, tree’s leaves. Somewhere, a dead deer under these new white mounds. “Will you recognize the iris of the body?” Half-familiar home, a streetlight of us stepping, “forgetting the word “dog” and looking at that naked animal and getting much closer to it and how it is different to you.” CAPACITY bridges could-know and have-known, fabrics worlds and traumas in folk and rumbles. Capacity contains all our breaking engagements, all our dog-walk joys, the paths that fade from the steps that can’t be taken back. Worlds break but songs make, myths for forward. “You’re all caught up inside/ But you know the way.” Hearth and hurt, coma and home, Capacity takes and holds, getting us much closer to us than we can without it. –Frank Falisi --- 26 Various Artists Club Chai Vol.1 [Club Chai] [LISTEN · READ] How do you build something communal in the face of absolute fragmentation? Is there a way out of the hell of singular ready-made identities, something that allows one to carry solidarity further than individual interests? Club Chai Vol. 1 sought answers to these questions while bridging the gap between the local and the global to find a common tongue, regardless of the variety of struggle. The comp managed to locate a solidarity that progressed beyond common interests of a single identity group, a solidarity of simply caring for others who are different. Rather than artificially creating common ground by imposing an overarching theme or artistic direction, the record embraced the differences of its co-creators, their varied backgrounds, their unique musical styles. This created a sonic world wherein FOOZOOL’s tense “AZAT Ազատ” felt right at home next to the gently sung “BLACK WAX” by SPELLING. Every contribution to the compilation was irrevocably different, and yet it never felt incoherent or arbitrary. In its disregard of borders, be they political or artistic, Club Chai Vol.1 brought to the fore voices routinely excluded by the West and the faux-liberalism of middle-class uniformity. It succeeded by forging out of them a harmony that felt complete and unafraid, destructive toward the existing rulesets and intent on creating new spaces of possibility. –Acedia --- 25 Slowdive Slowdive [Dead Oceans] [WATCH · READ] The news is grimmer every year. We find ourselves at the crossroads in modern society: party over country, corporations over people, division over unity. We fall neatly into categories and find ourselves embracing or rejecting what is reported about our adopted identities. So, here we are, staring at our shoes, deciding where next to stride. I chose the light, where it seems Slowdive have been hiding for two decades with open arms, hoping society came to them naturally. We didn’t, so they’ve reemerged and are urging us toward the inner peace of doing the right thing. Slowdive has broken my shackles, and I’m no longer tethered to characters typed out on a screen that may or may not speak to my demeanor, message, and identity. I’m transcending it all, leaving the orange psychic shadow behind. We have better things to do with our time and energy, and it begins with a deep dive into the return of Slowdive and our roots of making the change we want. –Jspicer --- 24 Chino Amobi PARADISO [UNO NYC/NON WORLDWIDE] [LISTEN · READ] An understated appeal of the circus or carnival lies in the elevation of “characters” that we otherwise neglect to acknowledge in our daily lives, but whom we know exist in the shadows. PARADISO offered a similar promotion, although in lieu of so-called “freaks” with biological conditions, the musical sideshow centered around a plethora of artists affiliated with Amobi’s NON WORLDWIDE label, which arrived on the scene a few years ago figuratively offering the mic to a variety of underrepresented. Elysia Crampton recited Poe with variations on a couple of tracks, and the title track had a veritable litany of artist features, which began with the defiant and possible mission statement: “I’m not an animal.” Cages were for sure lifted accordingly on an overall musical level, and the whole of the release showcased the chaotic stew that possibly represents our current societal state better than vanilla and holidays sales ever did. Some of us still need a blatant welcome, despite a distant organ. –Mike Reid --- 23 Various Artists Twin Peaks (Music from the Limited Event Series) / Twin Peaks (Limited Even Series Soundtrack) [Rhino] [WATCH · WATCH · WATCH] It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that, for most of us at TMT, the most important event of the year (particular stages in the ongoing degeneration of the globe notwithstanding) was not primarily musical, but televisual. But, of course, in the new Twin Peaks series, as with anything involving David Lynch, the musical side could never have been less than crucial, whether as a conduit of signification and significance, as punctuation, or as a peculiar kind of marginalia to the show. The original series left innumerable traces on the wider world, detectable ever since in television, in film, in our favorite music — in our very perception of things. Even detached from the accompanying pictures and story, the soundtrack has always possessed an almost uniquely powerful ability to evoke a polyvalent kind of nostalgia. Now, disoriented by novelties, the old is given strange new salience and sent down an entirely renewed confusion of interpretative possibilities. Twin Peaks has grown, expanded to fill voids it had left behind, and engendered new ones. In the years since its first incarnation, it found points of entry into our own world; this year, ours found a way into its. Could “Laura Palmer’s Theme” ever mean the same thing again? –Michael J --- 22 Jlin Black Origami [Planet Mu] [WATCH · READ] Watch it fold. A few things, maximized, then steady. Singularity: each sound an organelle, tiniest units of tissue, collectively defining the tissue, gradually forming the organ, one formal unit, one after the other, track by track, slowly shifting. It doubles back, flips the script, keels over. Origami. “The fold serves as an apt metaphor,” says Prathna Lor on Renee Gladman’s “Calamities.” “The fold is at once additive as it is subtractive. Folds, as they increase in number, generate more and more possibilities, and completely reimagine the space within which they are reconfigured. Space is reconfigured, (re)constructed, diminished, and translated along new and different planes.” It sounds good. “[It] feels knotted; like being in a mouth.” It speaks from another, from within another (mouth), it moves the body. “What becomes necessary is not the untangling of its density but the tracing out of its textures, surfaces, and shapes. […] It is therefore not in the name of teleology but of experience that we must seek a phenomenology, an erotics, a contouring of writing.” Working with steel, working the body, working toward elegance. Refining, tempering, deliberate, shifting. –Ben Levinson --- 21 Björk Utopia [One Little Indian] [WATCH · READ] Recovery’s tricky. You know it’s been rough, don’t worry, it’s fine now, etc., but shit can and will dive down again. The cycle repeats, and Utopia was an abstract pop frolic through it. Having endured the breakup that inspired 2015’s Vulnicura, Björk, again partnered with producer Arca, pondered the confounding trials of emotion. Against frustrating soundscapes that allowed industrial thuds and ethereal flutes to coexist, Björk cooed and wailed over the sensory/biological overload of first kisses, brokenness, and the responsibility of guardianship. Mysterious noises scattered, never to be heard again. Flames and birds crackled, and the question of their authenticity added to the experience; we have our fantasies of love and pain, but what is the reality? By the end, having addressed tactile, spiritual, and digital communication, she reached beyond herself, bore the world’s angst, and protected its lantern, even though it has prompted her to shift shapes. Guardedly optimistic, Björk faced an increasingly indifferent world, so maybe her hope will falter, but that was Utopia’s point. It was a gorgeous mess, a contradictory album by/for contradictory minds, and its enigmas will persist. –Snacks Kyburz [pagebreak] 20 M.E.S.H. Hesaitix [PAN] [LISTEN · READ] “How did I become so stupid?,” Hesaitix asked, in sonic pursuit of a grotesque metamodernism. An anagram of “cathexis,” Hesaitix invested profound energy into the imponderable bloom — a bloom declared as “essence” by so many discredited philosophies — but a process rightly ignored by the Machine, just as the imponderable bloom of the grape was ignored by the manufacturers of artificial fruit. M.E.S.H. tensely collected the grapes of wrath on record, pooling expired audio into cisterns filled with birdsong, vision, electricity, and pulsing acid-shade hues of burnt purple-gold. The hybrid result was an organic/plastic sound with half-utility as an armored “club record,” while still half-fantasizing a dilapidated attempt at introverted worldbuilding: “This is my world…but how did it become so stupid?” Over-rendered, fleshy, but recast rigidly into stark obsidian, M.E.S.H. sketched hopeful boundaries for form, as if creating lumpy sculptures out of a constantly melting red clay. There was no real reconstruction happening here, only ephemeral reactions that merely complemented M.E.S.H.’s previously deconstructionist audio agenda. Here, there was only the search and the reveal — a revelation in the sound of void-wind cuffing the plaza. –Nick James Scavo --- 19 Chief Keef Thot Breaker [Glo Gang] [LISTEN · READ] They’ve been asking for the old Sosa since he was 17. But how can you miss the old Chief Keef when he can be the pill that you gotta take, your night shift, your light-year, the sun in your rainy weather, your listener, your boat? Your Number 1 Pop Star, your “LOVE.” He’s changed (“Slow Dance”), and he’s stayed the same (“My Baby”), turning his Gucci/Wayne smear resplendent. Thot Breaker arrived overdue and yesterday, a pop time slide, a HNDRXX from the future, in 2017, after the honestly equal albeit unmastered Two Zero One Seven. Anamoly (Almighty So), phantasmagoria (lil glo). The old Sosa’s ttttturbo made us go “Whoa,” then his voice took us inner, outer, and higher. How far is a light-year? –Pat Beane --- 18 GAS Narkopop [Kompakt] [LISTEN · READ] Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that, even after a 17-year pause between albums, GAS felt, in essence, unchanged. Wolfgang Voigt’s most sublime musical outlet has always felt more like a natural phenomenon than a project, tied not to the passing of trends or eras, but to the epochal aging of the Earth itself. If that sounds grandiose, great — Narkopop was a giant piece of music, tall as sequoia and unapologetically huge in scope. And yet it was Voigt’s personal touch for turning his few ingredients into an entire world that stuck when the record ended — the wisps of fog-synth and floor tom, masterful in their ability to subtly play the human senses. The cap on a now 20-year experiment in opening ambience to its widest point, one hopes this is, for Voigt, just one of many trips back to the forest. –Dylan Pasture --- 17 SZA CTRL [Top Dawg] [WATCH · WATCH] While Taylor stumbles through her deferred quarter-life crisis and Vagabon’s Laetitia Tamko stakes her claim in the socioeconomically monopolized realm of indie rock, Solána Rowe, d/b/a SZA, forged a middle ground between the two artists on CTRL. Her debut long-player after a string of EPs, CTRL channeled Swift’s narcissistic empowerment and tempered it with Tamko’s outspoken insecurity and tacit gender politics. Oscillating between off-the-cuff lyricism and carefully deliberated melodies, SZA located personal trepidation in the album’s stream-of-consciousness musings and discovered affirmation in its mantra-hooks. When she sang “Leave me lonely for prettier women/ You know I need too much attention for shit like that” on the blank-verse confessional “Supermodel,” it was a supplication to be proven wrong. And on the would-be capstone single “Drew Barrymore,” she asked confidently, knowingly, “Am I warm enough for you outside, baby? Is it warm enough for you inside me?” Rowe’s mother graced CTRL’s interstices with soundbites of maternal wisdom and exhortation, the most pertinent of which inaugurated the album: “That is my greatest fear: that if I lost control or did not have control, things would just be… fatal.” –Sean Hannah --- 16 DJ Escrow Universal Soulja Vol. 1 [Self-Released] [ http://j.mp/2Bw9CuU

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