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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

Julie x Luke Fic

ok i did it

i finished the song inspired fic (my first attempt at writing Juke lols) (also my longest fic posted to date?? over 2k?? what)

find it here on my AO3, otherwise under the read more cut below :)

let me know what you think!

————

i’ll go wherever you will go

JULIE

Saturday morning found Julie wide awake tossing and turning at 7:30am. Which was odd to say the least, as Julie definitely enjoyed a good lie in just as much as the next person.

She tried to go back to sleep, snuggling in deeper under her covers, tucking her hands under her cheek, and even switching positions a few times.

But still nothing.

Finally giving up on sleep by 7:50am, Julie jumped out of bed, planning to head straight to the studio. Her mind had switched on the moment she first opened her eyes, whirling with lyrics and melodies for a new potential anthem.

So she slipped on her large bear claw slippers, and padded her way through the still quiet house, gently opening and shutting the front door behind her.

She slowly walked down the path to the studio, fully aware that the boys would not be back from whatever it is teenage ghosts who don’t sleep do all night.

Julie pushed passed the doors of her mom’s studio, leaving them ajar, hoping to let in the cool morning breeze. She headed straight for the couch, where lay Luke’s (and now hers as well, she supposed) songbook.

She plopped down, enjoying the worn out feel of the leather and the softened cushions, dragging the book over & onto her lap. Flipping it open, she rifled through the pages, humming quietly under her breath, looking at all of the recent songs she & Luke had written together. It was routine for her to do a little recap of their joint material before she reached the empty pages, where she would start on something new.

She was just about to flip past their latest work, paper crinkling under her fingers, when something fell out from between the pages, fluttering to the ground. She looked down, brows pulling together, to find a folded piece of paper on the floor next to her cladded feet.

Curious, and fully aware that she had only just held this notebook in her hands yesterday, Julie leaned forward over her knees and picked up the scrap of paper, and unfolded it.

It was in covered Luke’s familiar scratchy handwriting, covered in words and notes and melodies, just like the rest of their shared songbook (albeit looking slightly more organised). Scratching at her scalp in confusion, Julie brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear as she brings the wrinkled paper closer for her to read.

But just before she does, she allows herself to breathe in deeply, eyes closing as the scent that is purely Luke invades her senses, enveloping her in a kind of warmth that vaguely reminds her of happy summers past.

She only gives herself a few seconds of self-indulgence, before she pulls the paper away from her face, sitting up a little straighter. Opening her eyes, she focuses on the words in front of her, scanning through the first few lines.

A gasp breaks through the silence in the studio as Julie starts to process the meaning behind the song.

She was reading a love song.

Her brain takes a second to comprehend, and another to fully process and kick in.

A love song written by Luke. And there was a very big chance that it was written with her in mind.

Love songs weren’t entirely a new territory for them - they had experimented with a few ever since they performed Stand Tall. But this one was a fully fleshed out song, with an underlying tone that was so heartbreaking, Julie could already feel her heart squeezing tight in her chest as tears start to push past her eyelids and down her cheeks.

So lately, been wondering,

Who will be there to take my place,

When I’m gone, you’ll need love,

To light the shadows on your face

A sob clawed its way out, breathing ragged as Julie clutched tighter at the piece of paper in her hand, her eyes squeezing shut. He must have written this when they thought they were going to move on.

She presses her free hand, now shaking, against her mouth, failing to stop the new stream of oncoming sobs from breaking out.

Even now, with the boys being physically present in her life, uncertainty still reared it’s ugly head. She would be bobbing her head along to music, working on her algebra homework, or lying in bed scrolling through Instagram, and it would hit. She’d suddenly be very aware of the fear of losing her new found family, of losing him, unsuspectingly crawling its way back up from where it was buried deep down, engulfing her in a haze that wouldn’t let up.

Trying to bring herself back to the present, Julie shakes her head, eyes opening back up. She tries to refocus on the words in front of her, even as her vision continued to blur.

If I could, then I would

I’ll go wherever you will go

Way up high, or down low,

I’ll go wherever you will go

And maybe, I’ll find out

The way to make it back someday

To watch you, to guide you,

Through the darkest of your days

I hope there’s someone out there

Who could bring me back to you

If I could turn back time,

I’ll go whenever you will go

If i could make you mine

i’ll go wherever you will go

“Jules?”

She was so taken by the words on the paper, so absorbed in the world the words were creating, that she hadn’t noticed Luke appearing into the studio.

Startled, she lifts her head, hair shifting and falling back over her shoulders as her eyes meet his.

LUKE

Luke had spent his night just as he always did: Roaming around the streets of Hollywood, constantly checking out new bands, new music - desperately trying to keep up with the music scene that constantly seemed to be changing.

Him and the boys had made a pact that they would always take advantage of their time back on Earth, whether spending it with loved ones (Alex tried to sneak off and see Willie whenever it was possible; Reggie liked to stick around the Molina house, following Ray and Carlos around), or spending it enriching their already deep knowledge of music.

And although he genuinely enjoyed spending his nights exploring the music scene with his boys, Luke always found himself itching to head back to their studio. Itching to head back to Julie. Some could call it pathetic (Alex), but he was over caring.

After having thought that he had somehow lost her, being forced to cross over or join some megalomaniac’s house band forever, he was through trying to act coy. He was head over heels in love with Julie Molina, and that was that.

Which meant that as soon as he deemed it late enough to head back, he left the boys on their way to meet Willie at some singer’s pool, and poofed back home (home. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?).

He was expecting the Molinas to still be asleep, hoping he’d be able to get a few hours’ worth of songwriting in before he’d be joined by a sleepy Julie.

What he hadn’t expect was to find a hunched over Julie, sat on their couch looking small as her eyes shone with freshly shed tears.

Luke quickly crossed the space between them, nearly jumping over the coffee table in his rush to get to her. He fell onto the couch next to her, reaching out to grab her hand in his. As was his routine whenever he’d held her hand, his thumb started to lightly trace over her knuckles, trying to soothe her the only way he knew best: by touch.

“Jules? Julie, what’s wrong? What happened?” He searched her face, futilely trying to make sense of the red rimmed eyes and the tear streaked cheeks. He was so preoccupied by the fresh batch that had started to spill over that he hadn’t noticed the cause: the now crumpled piece of paper wrapped up in Julie’s trembling fist.

But Julie would only shake her head at him, staring back with wide and glistening eyes.

Luke shifted, twisting his body to fully face her, extending his free hand towards her face to gently cup her cheek. The need to touch was just as much for her as it was for him. If he had a beating heart, it would be trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He needed something to ground him, to calm him down so he can focus, and nothing did that better than the girl sitting in front of him.

“Do you- do you want to talk about it?” He tried to regulate his voice, making it softer, tilting his head slightly to get closer to her eye level. He’d let her decide if she wanted to talk. He knew from personal experience what it felt like to want to let the tears and emotions pour out, without feeling the need to speak them out loud.

And yet - the lack of reaction on her part was worrying him. She still wouldn’t say a word, not even another shake or nod of the head - just staring at him with a mix of grief and wonder shining from her eyes. He didn’t know what to do with that.

But just as he was about to slide back a little, give her some space, he saw her lift her free hand, fingers curled tight into a fist, holding it up in front of him.

He looked at her questioningly for a second, before the hand that was still resting on her cheek moved to brush at her closed fist. At the contact, her fingers seemed to relax, easing the pressure on her knuckles. She slowly unraveled what was in her hand, dropping it in the palm of his.

As soon as he saw the crumpled piece of paper he understood.

She had found it.

His song. To her.

His farewell song.

He‘d completely forgotten he had hastily slipped it back into his songbook yesterday after their session.

He had planned on leaving the song in her dream box, where she was to find it after they had crossed over - a little piece of him, of his heart, of his soul, left behind for her to hold whenever needed.

But then they had stayed. And hugged. And laughed and hugged some more. And he figured she didn’t need to know about the sad love song he had written her.

So he had snuck back into her room late last night while she was asleep, and quickly grabbed it, shoving it into his songbook, with plans to properly dispose of it at a later time.

Too late for that now.

“Jules - I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to find this.” He scratched the back of his neck, song still in hand, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. He let out a long breath, trying to find the right words to explain to her.

“I wanted to leave you something that would always remind you of me - something personal, that no one’s seen or heard before. Just a little keepsake that you could go back to and read whenever you needed it.” His hand dropped into his lap with a soft thud, sound muted by the deafening quiet of the studio.

He chanced a look at her face, to find her still staring at him. Fortunately (he hoped), he could see the tears had stopped.

“I didn’t want to leave, knowing things might have been left unsaid. I figured I wouldn’t be as lucky next time round.” He tried for a weak laugh, but knew it wasn’t going to work. So he tried again.

“It uh- it was in your dream box. I know you said not to go near it, but I swear I just dropped the song in there and closed it. I didn’t snoop. Scout’s honour.” He did a little salute, two fingers held up, despite the fact that they both knew he was never a boy scout. He even tried a little shy smile, hoping she’d react to something. Anything.

And yet, still nothing.

Did she hate it? Did she think he was overstepping her boundaries? Did the song make her uncomfortable? He was starting to panic, even as he still felt her warm hand resting in his.

He let out a deep breath and tried again.

“I’m sorry, Julie, please, just talk to me. Let me know if I made you uncomfortable in any way, I-I-I’ll stop. We can burn the piece of paper and just forget this ever happened just please- say something.” He was pleading her, eyes solely focused on hers as he tried to gauge any type of reaction from her.

“You think I’m crying because it made me uncomfortable?” Her voice was so low, he nearly missed it.

He was not expecting her to start with that. But unexpected reactions were better than nothing.

“I- I don’t know Julie. You’ve been quiet from the moment I poofed in here. I don’t know what to think. But I’m so-“

“Please. Please Luke, stop apologising.” She shook her head, voice hoarse. Her lips twitched at the edges, the first signs of movement on her face since he approached her.

“This song- I-“ She swallowed, trying to dislodge the emotions wedged in her throat. Her eyes flickered from his lap, to the song and back up to his.

“Luke this- this is the most beautiful song you’ve ever written. I haven’t even looked at the music accompanying it and it’s already my favourite piece of music ever.”

Her voice hitched, as she tried to control her feelings. She cleared her throat, continuing.

“I cried because the emotions, the feelings that have been building up for a while now, all came crashing down on me at once. The fact that I really was this close to losing you guys,” she lifted her hand and touched his jaw, letting her fingers trail his cheek. “To losing you.”

Luke lifted his hand, covering hers.

“I’ll always be by your side Julie. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure of it. You know that.” His lips quirked into a half smile, recalling the words he had uttered the night they thought was their last.

“Could you- Could you play this for me?”

That surprised him. He wasn’t expecting her to want to revisit the song for a while. He lifted his brows as he tried to read her clear brown eyes.

“You sure you want to hear it now? We have all the time in the world. We could leave it for another day?“

She shook her head, the first real smile that morning, finding its way on her lips.

“No, I’m sure. I want to hear you sing it while I- while I can hold you close.”

His non-beating heart stuttered at her words, even as he tried to (unsuccessfully) keep the joyfully surprised expression from showing too much on his face.

“Alright.”

He got up quickly to grab his guitar and then immediately headed back to sit down next to his brown eyed wicked beauty.

Hm, that title had potential.

No Luke, focus.

He started tuning his six-string as Julie settled herself more comfortably against his side on the sofa. Her arm snaked its way around his back as she squeezed herself closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, trying to savour this feeling, this moment, committing it to memory, before he opened them back up and prepared himself to start playing the song he never thought he’d get the chance to perform.

So lately, been wondering,

Who will be there to take my place,

When I’m gone, you’ll need love,

To light the shadows on your face

He could already feel the tears soaking their way through his shirt sleeves, as Julie’s hand clenched, her arm tightening her hold onto him. He fought through the need to comfort her, willing himself to finish playing her his song. He was baring his soul to her; the least he could do was do it right.

I know now, just quite how

My life and love might still go on

In your heart, in your mind

I’ll stay with you for all of time

He was nearing the end of the song, strumming through the last verse before he reached the altered chorus, bringing his emotions to an all time high. He sneaked a quick peak at Julie, her eyes closed as the tears continued to spill.

If I could turn back time,

I’ll go wherever you will go

If I could make you mine,

I’ll go wherever you will go

And with the last strum of his guitar, the final note softly fading into the quiet of the studio, Luke shifted for the first time since he started playing her the song. He gently moved the guitar from his lap, placing it against the side of the sofa. Turning back around, he then fully enveloped the other half of his soul in his arm, bringing her even closer to her rightful place in his heart.

FIN

#juke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #julie molina #jukebox #julie x luke #jatp fics #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics

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rae-writes · 4 years

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You and me, Me and you

Kite x reader

warnings : mentions of nsfw, mentions of death, slight angst

word count : 2.k

Authors note : I have a problem with commas, despite being a straight A student in my English classes, I still forget where I should and should not put a comma so please don’t mind if they’re in the wrong spot.

You met Kite when you were quite young. You were thrown out on the streets at an early age and had just been caught stealing. They would’ve beaten you if Kite hadn’t saved you, swooping down from the rooftops and distracting them.

“GO!” the boy in blue yelled. He looked a few years older with long, snowy white hair that went down to his waist and a cap that helped cover his eyes. That’s all you saw about him though, as you quickly turned and followed his order. The mysterious boy followed, eventually passing you as you both ran from the townsfolk.

You stopped a ways away, breathing heavily. “T-Thank you. My name is Y/n.”

The boy glanced down, seeming hesitant to tell you who he was. After a bit of catching your breaths, however, he spoke up, “Kite. My name is Kite.” He continued to observe you before giving you an offer, “Would you...like to come stay with me? You don’t seem very good at being able to live on the streets.”

Your eyes sparkled, “Really? You’d let me? I was thrown out not too long ago...so I don’t know much.”

Kite nodded, motioning for you to follow him. You walked for a while before coming up to an opening. Upon entering, you noticed it was a sewer, which didn’t seem to be that bad. After a few more turns, you came to a dead end where two or three animals were laying around a small spot on the floor with some dirty blankets piled up.

A grin broke out onto your face, “This is so cool!” In return, Kite himself gave you a small smile.

“This is where I stay and now that you’ll be staying too, no one can know about this place alright? From now on it’s just you and me.”

You looked up at your savior and smiled a big, bright smile, “Me and you!”

----

After a few years of living together, someone was waiting for you and Kite when you got back from getting food that day. The man introduced himself as Ging Freecss, a pro hunter. Kite had started pestering the man to teach him to be one, and after a while you did too. Ging eventually agreed, although you weren’t his “Official” students or anything. Soon, it was time for you to take the hunter exam.

“I’m so nervous, Kite!”

Said boy rolled his eyes at you, “It’ll be fine Y/n. We were trained by one of the best hunters in the world. We got this.” Kite stopped walking when he noticed you weren’t following, stepping back to stand next to you again.

“I know, it’s just...what if you pass and I don’t? I don’t...I don’t wanna be left behind.” Your voice wavered as you looked down to hide the tears that were forming. “I feel like I just found you and I don’t wanna lose you.”

A hand came down on your shoulder, “You won’t lose me.” Before you knew it you were pulled into a warm, brief hug. Looking up, you saw Kite give you a confident smile, “It’s you and me, remember?”

You nodded, smiling back at your best friend, “Me and you.”

----

You both, not surprisingly, passed the exam with flying colors. You were very excited to relax and celebrate a little, but your mentor had different ideas. Your and Kite’s next “official” hunter task was to find Ging. He gave the two of you his hunter’s license and set off to go “hide”.

“Find one of the world’s best hunters? Is he insane?!” You were, to put it simply, not happy. You and Kite had just passed the hunter exam, which took a month or two, and now you were being forced to play hide and seek? Seriously?

“We’ll find him, Y/n.” Kite was rummaging through your guys’ stuff, getting ready for the hard journey ahead of you.

“We will? In case you haven’t realized, he’s literally-”

“One of the best hunters in the world. Yes, I know. Which is exactly why we’re gonna find him.” He stood, walking over to grab your hand, “You and me.”

You sighed, but smiled nonetheless, “Me and you.”

----

After a few months of hard work and sleepless nights, you and Kite had located Ging. The trip wasn’t in vain as you’d thought it’d be, as you had met a lot of friends along the way. There wasn’t anything you really needed to do after hunting down your former mentor, so the two of you finally had time to relax and celebrate how far you’d gotten.

“Well Kite, you were right. We did it.” You were impressed with yourself, even more so with Kite. You never thought as a kid this is where you’d be, but you weren’t complaining.

“Y/n.”

You blinked, looking over at Kite in confusion at his sudden serious tone. “Kite?”

He stood to his full height, walking over to you and holding his hand out. As soon as you grabbed it, Kite pulled you in close, to the point where you could feel his breath fanning on your face. “Y/n...I never thought I’d have someone to care about until you came along. These past years have been amazing to say the least so...I uh...would you be my girlfriend?”

You stared at him in shock, noting his pink tinted cheeks and downcast eyes. He was just about to pull away from you when you grabbed the sides of his face, “Kite…” His eyes shot up to yours and you smiled, tearing up slightly. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Kite’s eyes widened, before he brought you into a kiss. It was kinda messy and definitely inexperienced, but you loved it. This is what you’ve wanted for years, although much to your dismay, he pulled away and leaned in to rest his forehead on yours.

“You and me.” He nuzzled your noses together, going in to brush his lips against yours.

You brought him in for another kiss, “Me and you.”

----

The night Kite made love to you was beautiful. The area was surrounded by trees with a crystal clear pond in the middle, sparkling due to the starry sky. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Carding your hands through his long hair, you smiled, “I’ve never wanted anything more than this.” The pure love that shone through the smile Kite gave you was heart melting. He gently pushed you backwards, laying you down on the soft forest floor.

Kite leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, looking in your eyes with an abundance of emotion. His touch was soft, gentle as the two of you undressed each other in the light of the moon. It gave the impression that Kite was glowing, his beautiful white hair and pale skin sparkling in an ethereal way.

“You and me.” Kite’s gaze was intense, something you wanted to get closer to and shy away from at the same time. The way he was making sure you really wanted this almost brought tears to your eyes.

You’ve never loved anyone more than you loved the man on top of you. “Me and you.”

----

You and Kite had really always been together, you couldn’t even remember the days before you met him anymore. So while this didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that knew the two of you, it still made you shocked and overjoyed.

“Y/n,”

You’re heart rate accelerated at nearly an alarming speed.

“We have been together for as long as I can remember and it’s always been the two of us. Maybe that’s why this won’t mean anything to a lot of people but it means something to me. So would you, Y/n L/n,” Kite looked up from his position on the ground, pulling out a glittering silver band, “Marry me?”

You couldn’t fight the smile that overtook your face, immediately dropping down to be eye level with your Fiance. “Yes!” You weren’t able to say anything else as Kite basically launched himself into your embrace, the two of you falling to the ground while laughing happily.

Kite pulled himself off of you, “I know it’s not much but…” he flashed the inside of the ring to you. Engraved on the side was ‘You and me, Me and you.’

Tears sprang, and you choked out a laugh. “Kite, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you laughed, whether in disbelief that you had gotten so lucky or in pure joy you couldn’t decide.

He pulled back, grabbing your left hand and sliding the ring on. “I was gonna wear mine but I figured you would want to put it on me.” Kite pulled out an exact copy of yours, engraving and all, just a little bigger. “You and me.”

Your face was starting to hurt from all the smiling you were doing as you gently took his ring and put it on his left hand. “Me and you.”

----

Tragedies are a given in life, you just weren’t expecting one to happen so soon. The Chimera Ant came out of nowhere, Kite taking the blow as he tried to protect the three of you. Your entire world had stopped and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

The single, torn off arm laying on the grass would haunt you for the rest of your life. Time slowed as you looked back to Kite and the thing standing next to him. Anger and blood lust engulfed you, both your and Gon’s nen spiking in rage.

Killua knocked Gon clean out, which made you falter in your movements.

“A wise decision Killua,”

your eyes snapped to Kite,

“Now take Gon and get outta here!”

Killua turned and ran but you stayed rooted to the floor as Kite summoned crazy slots. You couldn’t leave Kite, you wouldn’t. However when his gaze locked onto yours, you swear you heard him say something.

“You and me.”

You choked on the air you were breathing as tears started running down your face, shaking your head violently. Number 2 was picked and his scythe materialized. His eyes told what more he couldn’t say and you felt your heart shatter.

“Me and you.” You turned and ran, sobbing as you quickly caught up with Killua and grabbed both him and Gon. You didn’t let go of the boys or stop running until you reached the checkpoint entry of the NGL.

After a few hunters arrived, you set off without a word, going back to the spot you had regrettably left Kite. When you arrived, nothing was there. Not even his arm. That gave you a shred of hope but the dread in your stomach wouldn’t disappear, even as you screamed out in pure despair, “KITE!”

----

You, Gon, and Killua were taken to the place they were holding Kite. Shoot and Knuckle had found him a couple days ago, however, the three of you had to wait and were watched to determine if you could handle seeing him. Shoot released Kite from his nen cage and Gon was the first one to walk forward, getting slapped around by what looked like Kite but you knew it really wasn’t.

Gon had left the room, his promise of fixing the man in front of you lingering in the air. It felt like you were paralyzed, stuck having to watch the man you loved stumble around like a puppet.

“Y/n...”

“Leave.”

“But-”

“I said LEAVE!”

Everyone filed out of the room at your request and as soon as the door shut, you broke down into sobs. What did they do to your love? You glanced up at Kite, pondering how you could get close to him without making him attack you.

“Kite…” you forced your nen to grab a hold of him and walked forward. “Kite.”

He started thrashing, growling at you but unable to move as your nen kept him in place. With the way he was now, you were at eye level as you reached your arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Miraculously, he stopped trying to attack as you nuzzled your cheek against his.

“I swear, I will help Gon fix you. We still haven’t gotten married, you know. You’re...you’re still too young to go, we have our whole lives ahead of us.” You pulled away, grabbing his face, “We will fix you. I will fix you.” Leaning up, you kissed his forehead and backed away.

Kite started thrashing around once more as you headed toward the door.

“You and me, Me and you.” you released your nen and shut the door, hearing Kite trying to knock it down. You would fix him. Even if it killed you.

----

It felt like years, but really it had only been around 30 minutes. You and Gon were running towards the place Kite was being held, with Pitou running in between. Again, it felt like years before you reached the large building and made your way down to Kite. What happened next made you wish you never came at all.

“This man...This man is dead. He died in our fight.”

There was a sharp ringing sound in your ears, and your throat closed up on its own. You watched as Kite swayed from side to side before falling to the ground face first. You heard a scream and perhaps it was yours but you paid no mind as everything started to blur. Not long after, Gon dropped to the floor.

“Kite is...dead?”

You nearly dropped as well, stumbling towards your lover and pulling him in your arms. There were no sounds as you sat with Kite draping over your lap, his head resting on your chest. Your body could not even produce the means to sob and cry out, everything was just numb. You didn’t notice when Gon and Pitou left, you stayed rooted to your spot on the floor while subconsciously rocking Kite back and forth with your body.

“Kite...it was supposed to be Me and you, remember?”

----

When Morel busted through your hospital room, saying that Kite was alive you thought you’d finally gone crazy. After his explanation though, you realized that you hadn’t lost Kite after all, even if he was in a girl’s body now. So after Gon recovered, you followed along with him to where Kite was staying.

Gon motioned for you to go visit Kite first, so you let Spinner lead you to the room where he was in.

“Kite? Someone’s here to see you.”

“Send them in.” His voice was higher than it had been, but still kept the rich sounding tone.

You quietly walked in, noting his back was turned toward you. He stood, maybe too soon for your liking, and turned.

Kite now had pinkish red hair, with purple eyes and freckles. He was also...shorter? Your lips curled up, a small laugh coming from you.

“What’s so funny, Y/n?”

You faltered at the mention of your name, finally looking into Kite’s eyes. “I’m taller now.”

That made his lips curl up as well, “That’s what you’re worried about?” The laugh that followed was eerily familiar.

You couldn’t stop the tears that started streaming down your face. Kite was actually here. Alive and in front of you. So why couldn’t you move?

“I know it’s weird. I look different and well...I am in a girl’s body now. But I...I hope that doesn’t make you run away from me.”

You glared, although your heart wasn’t really into it. “Seriously? We’ve been through everything together and you think I’m gonna run away just because your shape is different?” Your body moved on it’s own, wrapping your arms around Kite’s waist and lifting him up. “Idiot.”

His laugh this time made your heart melt as you gently set him back down. The hand that caressed your features were so familiar yet so different at the same time. “You and me.”

You smiled, fishing out Kite’s silver band from your pocket and presenting it to him, jokingly dropping down on one knee. “Me and you.”

#kite x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter imagines #hxh #hunter x hunter

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tiesandtea · 3 years

Text

Suede @ the El Rey Theater, Los Angeles, USA, May 21-22, 1997

A brilliant fan review by Terry Jordan (x)

They say crime doesn't pay, and we all assume it to be true. But tell that to the 800 or so fans who caught Suede the evenings of May 21 and 22 in Los Angeles for two terrific, sold-out performances that, oddly enough, owe a certain debt to a crime.

A few nights before, the group's equipment was stolen between shows in Boston. This resulted in Suede quickly putting together an acoustic set for the second night there - which, from various accounts, went over great. Arriving in Los Angeles with the acoustic set fresh on their minds, they also had a pretty good idea that most of us in L.A. would be attending both shows. "We've always liked L.A., and we wanted to give you all a treat," drummer Simon Gilbert said as he signed autographs in the back of the hall May 22. The result: a "regular" electric set the first night and an incredible acoustic set the second night. How fortunate we all were!

Those of us Suede fans who follow the trade papers and the Web sites were probably not surprised by much that happened the first night. After all, by the time the tour arrived in L.A., the boys had been on the road - playing generally the same set - for more than six months. We figured they would open with "She" (which they did), close with "Beautiful Ones" (ditto), and inbetween perform most of "Coming Up" and a few songs from each of the first two albums (yes again). Still, to those of us seeing the band live for the first time, there were two particularly striking features:

*The contrast between the exuberance of Brett and Richard on the right side of the stage and the posed, icy demeanor of Neil on the left side is amazing - something you can't take your eyes off all night. Brett looks remarkably like a young Bryan Ferry, and his stage movements on this tour (twirling the mike cord, jumping up and down), recall Mick Jagger in the mid-1960s. Richard is similarly enthusiastic on stage, reminding us of Bernard on the 1993 tour. What, then, are we to make of Neil, who spends most of his time looking bored, impassive, or even angry? On songs that he didn't play on originally (i.e., "The Wild Ones"), he folds his arms and stares out into space, looking annoyed that the band is performing them, or he smokes a cigarette. On "New Generation," he turned around on his organ bench and, with his back to the audience, rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. It's obvious that he knows he's being watched, and he poses for us. Is he really upset that the band is performing pre-"Coming Up" material, or is this just an act? Who knows? Regardless, it's intriguing to watch.

*Also providing an alluring contrast is the set list. A wild "Animal Nitrate" is followed by a soft "By the Sea." A gentle "Saturday Night" precedes a powerful "New Generation." An achingly beautiful "Picnic by the Motorway" is followed by a buoyant "Beautiful Ones." Suede brings you up, then lets you down gently. Then brings you up again. For me, one of the real highlights of this night was hearing live renditions of songs that didn't move me the first time around, but these bolder versions make you look at things in a different light. "Picnic by the Motorway" is a good example. It's easy to listen to "Coming Up" and be bowled over by "Trash," "Lazy" and "Beautiful Ones," while overlooking "Picnic." But in L.A., Neil's keyboard was wandering all over the place and Richard was working magic on his guitar. The result was mesmerizing. I thought, "Gee, that's 'Picnic'? Wow!"

The only down side to the concert concerned some technical problems that bothered Brett and ultimately proved distracting to the audience. Time after time, Brett yanked out his in-ear monitor and thew it to the ground, only to pick it up again on the next song for another try -- which inevitably failed as well. A couple of times he stalked off stage. It was annoying to see him so annoyed. After awhile, you just wanted him to leave it alone and sing. Did Elvis need an earpiece in 1956? Did Jagger wear one in 1969? How about Bowie on his "Heroes" tour? So why does Brett need one now? Ah, modern technology . . .

Fortunately, modern technology took a back seat to pure, raw talent the next night. The boys came out for the May 22 show carrying stools and acoustic guitars (well, Richard and Neil did - Mat was still electric). They strummed into "Europe Is Our Playground" - yes, without keyboards; yes, with Neil on guitar. Such a different version, but such a nice one. "Trash" was like a sing-along around a campfire, and so was "Lazy." Gee, can you really play these songs this way and make them sound good? Suede did.

The real key this night was the song selection. It was almost like a fan club gig, featuring several B-sides. Brett received huge ovations when he announced "My Dark Star" and "Sound of the Streets" (hey, these are real fans here!) and the ringing guitars and haunting vocals took your breath away. Other songs that most fans along the "Coming Up" tour didn't hear, but that we fortunate ones were privvy to: "My Insatiable One," "Another No-One," "This Time" and "The Power." Neil took to the electric piano (not the synthesizer, mind you) for "By the Sea" and "Picnic by the Motorway," turning gentle songs even gentler.

But oh, dad, this band really drove us mad on the encore. Brett came back out and asked for requests, and as a result they played (get this) "Metal Mickey." Unplugged! Neil turned sideways on his stool - he didn't play on this one - and buried his face in his hands, laughing. The rest of us marveled. We knew the band was really letting down their guard to play THIS song in THIS manner, and I, for one, felt flattered that they would unmask themselves in this way. None of us wanted this intimate night to end. But we knew it had to.

So here I am, in my 40s, an old drummer from garage bands in the 1960s, flying from St. Louis to Los Angeles to see these guys, hanging out with fans young enough to be my children. Was it worth it? Before I left the Midwest, I thought, 'Well, if the concerts are duds I still have the palm trees to admire and the ocean to walk along." But I needn't have worried. Even if Suede had come out that second night and played their first night's set again, note for note, it would have been worth it. As it was, I and 800 others were treated to two tremendous concerts, as different as night and day, that we won't forget for a long time.

Suede. The best band in the world? I dare you to name a better one.

#suede #coming up era

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pear-pies · 4 years

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音像世界 [Audiovisual World] - Sept 2006

a very wonky but delightful translation under the cut

Placebo ; We are the 21st century modern rock band Text/Interview with Zhang Weiwei/Xingyue

On the first day of "2006 Beijing Pop Music Festival", "Placebo" Perform on the main stage of the company. "Placebo" is hailed as "the most Record the distinctive British music yin", this is their first time on the Chinese stage. Long talk will undoubtedly be a feast for listening to you. Mission to the last century In 1996, one named Brian Moco )lkO) boy,’ painted Seven eyes Liangying, leaving pitch black Childish behavior: ‘The violent red color I'm learning girls like a demon Sing a song "Nancy Kid" When I vent without hesitation Stupid material life and The emotion brought by the ft world. From the moment on stage, cloth Who is the backlog in my heart Thrown in front of the world, lead Shoulder, reputation, obsession and even People band one by one "placebo" Horribly turned out, "(Radiohead)s" "'Oasis" (Oasis) Three The altar adds a stunning Household Don't one by one Lane was born into a wealthy Bank entrepreneur, mother Christianity. Childhood, Tossed in Scotland, Libby Between Schlossburg. Serious , And moved countless times Dogs have no fixed partners in childhood Jidu is lonely, even learning

The classmates and teachers in the school are also particularly alienated, plus , My parents ignored because of busy banking , The physical and psychological growth of his son, Bryan from 11 I have been learning from the streets, newspapers and magazines since I was Factory women give themselves makeup and always like to surround Women go round and round. When he was 16 years old, his parents gave him a copy Telecaster guitar, very sensitive to music Brian soon bought a real price A real guitar, and I've been obsessed with playing guitar ever since, So that everyone can often see it on stage Brian gently hugged the guitar one by one He plays the role of a mother in his life Important role. But in fact, Bryan’s parents Straightforwardly oppose him to engage in art-father- I want to let Brian inherit his career and become a Bankers one by one Blaine began to use gender boundaries Vaguely neutral dress to resist father and family Against pressure. Until the end, Brian and his father There is no longer any contact or exchange. In 1990, 18-year-old Brian left the family. Came to London alone and entered Gold Smiths Academy of Art and Drama Studies (British The prestigious Royal Academy of Art, "Blur" Former guitarist Graham Coxon Coxon) also graduated from the college J. Cloth at this time Ryan has been able to skillfully play a variety of instruments such as Ji Him, keyboard, bass, drums, saxophone, and even DJing, He also worked as a DJ in several clubs, but he was honest Say that I am not very good at being a DJ0 By chance in 1994, Brian Kensington subway station encountered a later career ride Stefan Olsdal,} Invite him to form a band with himself and join in one, Club performance. Osdo listened to Brian Immediately after the song was attracted, not only that, he , Put his Swedish friend Robert Schutz (Robert Schultzberg) pulls into the music Be a drummer (until 1996). Until later , Bryan also emphasized that Osdo accepted his The moment I invited to the band was my whole life E one of the unforgettable moments. During this period, Bligh En called the band "Ashtray Heart" (Ashtray Heart) Heart)0 After quickly gaining awareness, they The band was renamed "placebo". Soon, Caroline Records has recognized this and A different young band. In 1996, Robert Schutzberger The conflict with Brian increased and left the band, from Therefore, the position of the drummer has always been Steve Huey 特 (Steve Hewitt) instead. In the same year, the band The first album of the same name "Placebo" (Placebo) released Row. Singles "Nancy Kid" and "Young Rage" (Teertage Angst) immediately became a hit single, The stubborn and rebellious children of the entire Yao British Empire Was boosted by this three-person band, "placebo" It seems that they have been able to relieve their psychological barriers A great pill for manic heart. Just as Brian is different from Ordinary costumes-mascara, eyeshadow, full lips, ～ Nail polish, skirts, this series will only show up The characteristics of a woman’s body are now affected by a height,The British man who is less than 1.75 meters boldly and naturally used to dress himself up. The British media took advantage of the trend and gave him the title of "fashionable Bowie". "Media reporters like to make boo heads. Maybe it's because life in the UK has always been so dull and boring. That's why they were surprised when they met me and yelled. I like "Sonic Youth" and "Sonic Youth". "Pixies", I prefer to dress myself up as I want to appear on the stage, in the MV and even in life. I just enjoy such an open-self lifestyle." Brian shrugged and said softly. In a tedious and lengthy interview after a TV show performance, Brian deliberately pointed the guard ｝l to the male reporter’s chest, so that the reporter was tossed by the sly Brian that he had no intention of continuing the interview. Go on, while Hewitt and Stephen are laughing together. After the album of the same name was released, the band easily got the mainstream record company Virgin In November 1998, he quickly recorded and released the second album "No "Without You I'm Nothing". This album has a rare change in the depth of the lyrics and Brian’s vocals compared to the first album. Brian in "Pure Morning" lowered his throat and reluctantly sang "Send charcoal in the snow." "A Friend in Need A Friend Indeed" (A Friend in Need A Friend Indeed). A famous sentence like household. Bryan, dressed in black, jumped out of the building and walked straight down the wall. The MV for this song was also planned by Bryan. A keen listener can find from this Xin album that the alcohol, drugs, and erosive relationships in "Nancy Kid" have changed to the mixed emotions and emotions toward urban men and women in "Every You Every Me".

The rhetoric of the low-level media is more intense. Every large-scale live performance, "placebo" In order to pursue the perfect sound effect comparable to the recording studio, Always bring fixed musicians with them Stage performance, and these fixed musicians also accompanied Placement has gone through a worthy 10 years. Although But on the stage they always hide without light In the dark, but they are the same as the "placebo" three The relationship between the members is like a formal team member. Observant Fans will also find that "Velvet Gold Mine" These regular musicians also participated. And "Ann Placement" "Believe in Me" held in Paris (Soulmates Never Die) large concert now The DVD and MV compilation are everybody’s Placement" a precious treasure that loyal fans must collect, The Paris concert not only included the "placebo" essence Cham’s hot live performance also hides a 30 Minute tour documentary, including how the three escaped Avoid the chase of fans and talk about the fun in the lounge Bryan teaches you how to draw eyeshadow and sightseeing Precious fragments of time crazy Stefan. "Placebo" will play an electrified style The ultimate is the new album released this year Meds; compile the album cover with "Sleep with the Elves"

It’s exactly the same, it seems to come from the same designer hand. As Brian said, in the past 10 years he’ We work hard to find a position and style that suits us, Looking for an invisible limit. Bryan and Le The team has been trying to get out of this restriction, out of them Have experienced, followed, intoxicated, avoided A sensitive area that has been and moved by. Although cloth Leith now has a child named Cody Zihe ~ a touching wife who maintains a stable relationship with him One by one wife, son, and teammates are all Bligh En is deeply loved one by one, but Brian is uneasy in his blood The molecules make him feel full of emotion and sensitive heart The world has never changed. Now the "placebo" starts Putting aside some long-standing conventions, in the new album Significantly reduced the iconic guitar distortion, the band Focus boldly with a more fashionable electrified style With drugs, alcohol, and love, it’s like a giant record jacket The naked, twisted, and shouting woman, "Ann The placebo" bravely broke free from the past System", more calmly standing in the British rock music front.The growth of the Bone Association Band? I am very happy with the growth of the band. Our growth and success are all through long-term hardship...Shan:1 Linde. It’s been an almost uninterrupted tour for 10 years. This is a relatively old-fashioned way of running Cantonese. "(The tail is also what we like very much. The live performance of the mountain and the constant currency" requires that you can get yourself in it. In the early days of the band’s establishment, we had already decided to deliver the music to our listeners in the most direct way. What do you think of the development of Yaoi’i Gun Music? "Lonz Ferdinand" (1,s,i Pordinand), "Arctic Monkeys" (Arctic Monkeys). "The Kooki"; do you think they really have "material"? Just because they are from the same island does not mean they are anointing Le Buya! What is in common. Of course "Franz Ferdinand" and "Arctic Monkey" must be influenced by the music of IJ Moji {Fei, in my heart! Bu! . He is a very good band in J1IJ4 II. Especially the L tail, "Arctic Monkey r", their "material" lies in the quality of their Shule creations. They are very humorous, full of the strong vitality of the factory, modern city, and very British creative style. What they are telling Very interesting, but also very "human", very A true story is a very realistic expression Present form. I think if the "street boy" (The Streets) is a rock band, they ' It will be the "Arctic Monkey". I personally have always been very happy Happy "Franz Ferdinand", from their first An album begins. They are from Scotland and also It brings another kind of cultural experience. What I want to say is that although there are so many Success bands are all from the UK, but they don’t Not necessarily have something in common, nor is it necessarily It means that rock music in the UK will be more Good or worse. Good is good, bad is good Is bad, there is no need to divide by region Standards. What kind of concept do you hold on creation? We are a rock band, just like I We are a modern rock music team. We enjoy using various tools and equipment The possibility of creating music. Rock music is not only It’s a simple guitar with electronic elements Not only can be used in a certain kind of special music In the category. The key to its function depends on you How to use it and how to integrate it better In your own music category. Was the grunge trend in the U.S. Has any influence on you or a British band? You like Is Grunge Fun? I never really liked it Grunge, I have never heard of "Nirvana" (Nirvana) Music until Kurt Coben (Kurt Cobain) passed away. For me, "nirvana" Too mainstream T0 I am more interested in those very Alternative bands, like "Sonic Youth" (Sonic Youth), or the late 70s, 80s Post-punk band in the early years. What do you think of as a British band American culture? We ourselves think that "placebo" is a European bands. Of course we were founded in London. Half of my blood is Scottish, history of drummer The name "Friend (Steve Hewitt) is of British descent, Stefan Olsdal is a Swedish. We Speaks many languages, Stephen speaks 5 languages, I speak French and English. We grew up in Europe There are K people from the I1 family in Zhou, we see ourselves as Europeans, I don’t think I have any special UK Pity. We can, will historically and geographically The music of the country and the era is biased. Ok Meeting the music and blood should be interpreted, and it is truly I found it at Ill lii.} I don’t care if the music comes from Which country, as long as it can move people. but I I want to say: "I'm very happy that I will be in Europe Life". Countless tours and publicity all over the world make people Enjoy it? I enjoy the tour, but not the publicity. But it is equally important. In the past 10 years, We have been through live performances all over the world Accumulated a group of very loyal and sincere fans. Every year, the number of our fans grows very much View. Although it takes a lot of time to do this, it also gives me We added a lot of fun. You know there are many "placebos" in China Fans? They are very obsessed with "placebo" The violent distortion guitar and your charming voice, even Even when playing the piano is hot, many fans want to know the invitation, What do you think of your fans. Ah, haha, of course I hope so. "I must wait until Ij comes to Beijing in September to learn about Chinese musicWhat a fan is like, I look forward to it very much. It’s not just heterosexual people. Placement", many gays also like you We, what do you think is the reason that makes "Ann Does "Placement" attract different fascinating groups? Great! I think this is great! I think For our honesty in emotions and the truth in life Desire to communicate, um, if our music can move people, it must be physically,There are three aspects, both mentally and emotionally. You are now a father What kind of impact? The kind of perplexed and perverted Dong Is Xijijing completely far away from you? Honestly, no. As for myself Those who are confused and perverse, maybe less A little bit. But now there is another person Let me care, need my protection, so that it will not be this Hurt by a huge bad world. You have always loved to dress up, you still Do you love applying black nail polish to yourself? I have not bought black nail polish for many years Yes, but I still paint eyeliner and eye shadow. I do Did not try to do anything special through these performances Communication, in addition to thinking that people should dress up, Freedom in dress, choice and preference, not affected by Constrained by any established standard. If hard If any message is conveyed, it is freedom. But I do this entirely because I like it, I think I look great like that, like a The mentality of a lady with makeup. How do you think a man should make his evening watch more cultured and tasteful? I think in the 21st century, men should be free, Wear what they like and dress up like they like Huan look. In comparison, women are more They can wear skirts or they can wear Pants, they can make up or not, They can look bright and beautiful, or they can watch Go up and take control. In the 20th century, men’s The choice has become so small. Looking back, Louis France in the fourteenth period, and the restoration period In Great Britain, men used to love makeup that much, Their clothes are so gorgeous and they look so good elegant. So we just trace the roots in history. The media will use it when evaluating "placebo" Keep your eyes on such things as "male and female", "gorgeous", ) If you have to symbolize, how can you give yourself Has it been defined and classified? A modern rock band. A 21 The modern rock band of the century. Let me show you and all Some magazine readers confirmed that "placebo" is not Hermaphrodite, the "placebo" members are all men, Everyone is.

In addition to work, the three of you often Play together? The three of us spend time together Family and love have more time. So when we After we got home, we gave all the time Family material lover, ha ha. Can you chat online? No, it never happened. I know net Some people on the network will call themselves Brian Mok, Husband ,,’’No~1 million That would definitely not be me. If you are online I met someone like that and I visited Brian Mo But my blog or Myspace, I read my Diary, you have to believe that it is definitely a lie. I Will not publish their life information on the Internet, I am a privacy-conscious person. What's the story of the performance in China this time ? What are your expectations for the Chinese record market What? Just like going to Thailand and Korea, through hosting Party’s invitation, we’ll come and we know people We like our music, so we can play for them We are also very happy to play. As for the record market, I Really have no idea. I just look forward to acting I hope to bring an outstanding performance. Please describe you in one word or sentence " 3 people. Just one sentence. Have you seen "Starship Fans Is this TV show "Star Trek"? Oh, your country may not broadcast it. Stephen It's "Mr. Spock" (Mr. Spock) It’s ‘Dr. McCoy’ and I’m "K Captain Kirk" (Captain Kirk)

#gonna post sappy nostalgic stuff for my bday lol #sly brian did what to the journalist...#👀#sleep with the elves.... please tell me thats the official chinese album title!#literally the most expensive thing i bought in china lol #placebo #brian molko #steve hewitt #stefan olsdal

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utopiannamjoon · 5 years

Text

A Knight in leather armor Chapter 6: Burning up

Genre: Angst, fluff, university au, biker au, enemies to lovers sort of thing

Pairing: Jeongguk x reader, Taehyung x reader

Major characters: Jeongguk, Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, OC

Warnings: Depictions of violence, swearing, blood, character injury, mention of child abuse

Words: 4,5k

Synopsis of the serie: You had an uneventful life, you went to uni and wanted to get by with no trouble but that with was thrown out of the window when you run into a biker, literally smashing your face against him at the university. Everything is changed from that point forwards.

Synopsis of this chapter: You and Jeongguk have nothing but time on your hands, you’re unsure and helpless but a simple command takes that even further with a revenge on Pogtan.

A/N: Remember to like, reblog and comment to know if you liked it and want to see more. You shippers are gonna like this one

You leaned your back against the lumpy pillow of the couch twirling the polaroid in your hand that you found in Tae’s room. It was a selfie with you and the boys on the lake you used to hang around but you managed to forgot that photo being taken. All of you looked so happy. You all but Jeongguk grinned from ear to ear, he just smiled, bunny teeth peeking through the corner of his mouth, looking at you under his lashes with a warm expression. Taehyung was so full of life, grin firmly planted on his face and arms wrapped around you while his eyes tightly closed. The dramatic contrast from the Taehyung in the polaroid to the Taehyung laying on his bed was heartbreaking. What was once a shirt now tightened around him but it still didn’t stop the blood trickling out. He was pale and immobile. You spent every second wishing he would get back to what he was.

Every two minutes Jeongguk went in the room to check his pulse and breathing pattern, he couldn’t stop fidgeting around. It wasn’t changing- and honestly you didn’t know which was worse if it was to change in any direction. You hated yourself for not listening closely enough in healthcare and for not choosing to study nursing. And of course it being middle of the night, both of you were exhausted and on your nerves, you were unsure and filled with worry.

”We’re out of food,” Jeongguk sighed, holding the handle to the fridge. ”You wanna go or do I?” He spared a glance at you in between checking the cabinet for any crumbs. ”I’ll go.” You hoisted yourself up and took a final look at the photo before setting it down on the table. ”I’ll grab something to treat Tae as well.” ”Thanks.” He walked up to you and handed you cash from his pocket only for his eyes to fall to the table. His gaze glued on the polaroid and he took a long second. ”Actually... I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He had the picture in his other hand and sighed, deeply. What are the chances that something would happen to you too?

Looking out of the window, into the dark night, with only street lamps lighting the way, even if that, half of them were broken or destroyed, he couldn’t help the empty feeling grow inside his chest. "Dangerous for you to go there and I just... I... it....” ”Are you alright?” You asked when he couldn’t get the sentence out. It wasn’t like him to be like this. Jeongguk is a strong willed man and seeing him like this made you uncertain. ”I’m okay, it’s just... will - will you be fine with him?” ”I’ll take care of Tae, now go.” You ushered him, there was no point to wait around any longer. You were out of materials and one of you had to go, staying in and pondering about it would just waste time you didn’t know if you had. If Jeongguk felt better going out in the dark by himself rather than sending you then it would just be that way, so you watched as he closed the metal gate and disappeared into the darkness. You kneeled in front of Taehyung’s form on his bed, his breathing was shallow and his pulse was fairly regular pressed against your forefinger on his neck. That’s a good sign, right? You stroked his hair behind his ear for it only to flop back on his forehead and eyes. It made sense as to why he would wear the bandana, he looked intimidating when his hair wasn’t in his face, especially when he furrowed his eyebrows. But when his hair would be swinging wildly, he looked cute and approachable, someone who your mom even fell for. Jeongguk had set him to lay on his stomach so that you had access to Taehyung’s cut, and to prevent for the stitches from opening if Taehyung woke up or stirred. You dabbed a cottonball in pure alcohol and lifted up his shirt and opened up the bandages. You had no idea what to do, before all this happened the worst injury you’ve ever seen was when your father cut the tip of his finger off while cooking when you were young. He just put a band-aid on it and ordered pizza instead with few curse words along the way. You swiped the wet cottonball on Taehyung’s cut, to clean it, preventing the likelyhood for an infection... but most importantly, feeling like you were useful. You couldn’t help the thoughts of the worst happening invading your mind. What if Tae didn’t make it? It wouldn’t take much for his system to stop working all together. The only thing going for him was that he is young and healthy, and that the cut didn’t puncture any organs - if it had you and Jeongguk would be completely useless. There was a light knock on the door which made you hum of how polite of Jeongguk was to let you know he was coming in. His politeness turned down when the banging got louder and harder. ”Don’t you have keys?” You scoffed as you went to open the door for him, ”A key would be a good investment - YOONGI!” Yoongi held his side and shuffled past you. He didn’t quite make it to the couch before collapsing, his torso hitting the soft material but his knees hitting the floor. It didn’t take long for you to see the bruises covering his arms and face, just from his clothes it was evident he had a rough night. His left eye was swollen shut and his lip busted open. A dry patch of blood covered his cheek and chin. ”Hey, I’m back! There was a package of those parts Yoongi sent to be painted for the crappy bike, they’re back already, so fast.” Jeongguk came in with a cardboard box in his hands, shopping bag on top, it was too big for him to see you from behind. He set it on the table. ”How’s Tae?” Jeongguk asked and finally got his head lifted to your horrified eyes staring at Yoongi. His eyes changed from the casual look into a worried one, his eyebrows rose and pupils widened. He dropped on his knees next to Yoongi. ”What the fuck happened? What did they do?” His eyes wandered around Yoongi’s tortured body. ”Give... me... water...” You hopped over Jeongguk’s legs and got the first cup you saw while he helped Yoongi on the couch. His face twitched and eyes shut from the move up. You handed the cup to him to which he reached forward, ”Thanks — AH AHHH!” The pain was too unbearable to keep silent. ”I think these fucks broke my ribs.” He lifted up his torn shirt from the side to expose his ribcase. Colors of red and purple covered his left side and chest. ”This is so fucked but I don’t know which god to thank that you’re doing better than Tae.” Jeongguk said and tilted his head to examine the damage on the dark purple spot on his side. ”There’s something broken in there for sure.” ”Yeah... Wait - He’s alive?” Yoongi’s eyes shot up to Jeongguk’s and then to yours. ”Is he really?” he asked, eyes glowing and filling with hope they didn’t have a second ago. ”He is still breathing but got a nasty cut. We’re lost without you, we don’t know what to do.” You rubbed your forearm and pouted, this wasn’t a normal situation in the slightest. What broke you even more was that Yoongi had spent the night in the belief that Taehyung was gone. Yoongi sighed deeply of relief and his eye twitched from the pressure to his side from the inhale. ”They asked for invitations for his funeral.” You didn’t need to look at Jeongguk to feel him boiling over next to you. His fist tightened and lips pulled a flat line. The intention wasn’t to just hurt, it was to kill and shake everyone involved. ”How much blood did he lose?” ”Quite a bit... I don’t know how much or certain.”

Yoongi nodded and took a moment to himself before speaking, “They stole everything I had on me, including our money and my bike keys,” he leaned his arm on the arn of the couch and smirked, one eyebrow raised high and teeth peaking from his mouth, “Hey Jeongguk, ain’t that financial ruin?”

“Do you mean it?” Jeongguk’s eye lit up and his pupils grew, along with the bunny smile that was no longer cute but sadistic. You weren’t sure what was going on, you weren’t in on this.

“Yup, cause that to ‘em,” Yoongi nodded.

“Are you going to be fine if I leave?” Jeongguk asked. You looked at him, he bit his bottom lip and had his gaze pressed on the wall towards the dozens of polaroids. You never thought they’d be into revenge. ”Tae’s in the other room?” Yoongi asked. ”Go. I’ll take care of him.” Go where? It’s like he knew what was going to go down. ”Take her with you, nothing good will come out of this if she’s not there.” Jeongguk nodded and pressed his finger on your arm to motion you to follow him. You were uneasy leaving Yoongi and Taehyung for that matter, but he assured you they’d be fine. You followed Jeongguk to the garage. "Grab that,” Jeongguk pointed at a black gas can while searching for the keys he stole for the rat truck. ”It’s heavy...” You breath out and grew nervous by the second of what he had in mind. He picked up two larger red gas cans and set them on the pick up truck, before he slammed the door after himself. ”What’s in it?” You asked when you got in after him, but you knew, you just hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was. He hummed with the sadistic smirk making its form on his face, ”Gasoline.” ~ You pulled over next to the cornfield near Pogtan’s wooden hut and their barn. Jeongguk hopped out of the car and picked up the two cans from the back and waited for you to come aswell, trying to ignore the excitement he carried. You got your smaller can and struggled to follow him in to the maze. He carried more and bigger gas cans than you did but it was so effortless from him. You were breaking a sweat from just the one, heavy, can you pulled along with you. ”I never thought that accidentally opening the door for Yoongi would lead me to sabotaging others,” you joked to lighten up the mood made from the lack of communication and the intention he had in mind when you had finally reached the marijuana plants in the middle of the field. ”You thought it was me?” Jeongguk looked up from opening the latch of the gas can. He sounded surprised with his voice dropping just a bit. ”Yeah...?” ”You thought?!” His voice rised further than you would’ve believed, he looked offended. ”Don’t you make sure who it is? What if it was anyone else than Yoongi? Look what they did to Tae, they could’ve done something worse to you like -” ”Don’t you think I can handle myself? Do I always need protection from you?” You had to cut him off, it wasn’t the first time Jeongguk went on a rant of how dainty you were. He was no longer slouched over the gas can so he stood tall and was honestly intimidating. ”I know you don’t need me.” The words that left his mouth got you confused. ”I’ve known since you told me to fuck off and you genuinely meant it, I could see it from your eyes. You don’t need anyone to protect you but I need to do it. I know you don’t need me” he lowered his gaze away from your face, ”it’s me who needs you.” You were mindblown, you couldn’t say anything, your mouth fell open and words got stuck in your throat. You were expecting him to blow up but not like this, he was spilling his deepest emotions and not rage. ”They can beat me, violate me, do unforgiven things to me but once they touch my loved ones I will make sure they join hell with me. There are three people that I love and they’ve touched every single one of them. They wanted to kill Tae, they broke bones on Yoongi - Which they’ve never done before. I can count the times they’ve hit Yoongi on my two hands. He is usually left alone.” He paused for a while and turned down his volume, ”They’ve kidnapped you once for bait, what’s to say that next time isn’t way worse? I can’t live with that idea.” You mirrored his expression of pure worry but your throat was dry and you didn’t say anything. These are the kind of words you once expected from Jimin but when he failed to deliver them, you forgot the whole idea of someone caring so much about you. But then there was Jeongguk. He went out of his way to make sure you’re safe, even though he knew you could handle it yourself. He wanted to be that safety for you, not because you needed it, but because he cared enough to provide it - what was even better, he didn’t expect anything back. There was something in his eyes, they glowed in the dark and was full of something you couldn’t quite catch. Jeongguk sighed and picked up the open gas can. He said his piece and if you had nothing to say then it was a done deal, he thought. He walked in between the pot plants and started pouring, spilling the fuel everywhere. You went around the plants and threw gasoline everywhere you saw fit. It was more difficult than expected, the gas can would shift its weight around on every move, you struggled with that. Jeongguk opened his second gas can and knocked it down on the ground. ”Won’t this land us in jail?” You threw your empty can along with the full one he knocked down. ”The cops won’t care and they wouldn’t tell on us for destroying drugs.,” Jeongguk shrugged and started pouring a trail leading out of the maze. ”They deserve this for nearly ending Tae’s life.” ”Why did they target him exactly?” ”Simple,” Jeongguk shrugged again and pursed his lips, ”Tae killed Poodle’s uncle.” ”Huh?!” You snapped your head at him - or rather his back. He was scrouched over, making sure the trail was intact, ”You’re not serious.” ”You know,” he started as he looked at the shimmering trail, ”Tae has a little sister whom he adores so much, I think that’s why he is so overly protective over you.” He shot you a small smile that soon fell down. ”Poodle’s uncle did something to her... we don’t know what and Tae refuses to speak about it.” You didn’t want to entertain that thought for longer, what ever it was it couldn’t be anything anyone could accept. ”So he... killed him...?” ”Just one deep cut from his stiletto knife was enough... of course Tae knew what to do and twisted the knife so his chances of survival grew to minimal.” Jeongguk set down the gas can he just emptied, ”Tae caught him in the middle of an alley trying the same to some other girl.” He said while still looking at the ground, you weren’t sure if it made easier for him to talk about. He shook his head and moved on the topic.

He dug his hand into his pocket and gave you a box of matches, ”Wanna do the honors?” You lit up a match and threw it on the ground. The trail caught on fire instantly and ran inside the maze of corn into the pot plants, the fireball went up at the sky and grew aggressive, starting to flame up the corn as well.

Jeongguk smiled, from ear to ear. He looked proud with his chest puffed and hands by his side when he just admired what you had done. The smile grew bigger when faint sounds of shouting and yelling came from the otherside of the maze.

“What’s that?” You looked at him confused, you didn’t want to hurt anyone unintentionally. You doubted that he did this while whole of Pogtan was present.

“The beginning of the end my dear,” He smiled at you and shifted his weight from side to side.

Four people ran around the side of the maze and stopped when they saw you two standing there. They were a good distance away but you recognized them all despite the darkness. The flames danced wild while no one made a move.

“Do you wanna make Jimin madder?” Jeongguk smirked, not shifting his attention away from the men.

“How?” You were quick to ask, you wouldn’t pass on that idea.

“Like this.” Jeongguk grabbed your head and slammed his lips against yours. His palms were set against your cheeks that quickly grew red from the sudden attention. It was a light kiss despite how fast it happened. You don’t know how long it lasted when he pulled away, he was unfaced unlike you. Your feelings shot in every direction and you didn’t know which of them to focus on.

”And this.” He smirked and you screeched when he picked you up in his arms. Your arm found it’s way around his neck and the other flipped off your enemies.

”Nice,” he laughed and walked with you in his arms towards the truck.

It felt amazing to finally realize that you really gave no fucks of what Jimin thought of you, you really didn’t care. He could hate you or love you and it really made no difference. Just before Bangtan thought you to be yourself and stood up to yourself you were so desperate for everyone’s approval. For once in your life you were allowed and expected to make your own decisions.

So, to make another decision of your own, you set your finger under his chin to make him look at you. He lifted up his eyebrow and smiled, waiting for you to say something.

You slightly tilted your head and kissed him, this time savoring what was happening. He took no time to kiss you back but it was unexpected, he nearly missed his footing but thankfully regained his balance. Your fingers tangled in his ruffled hair all the while he worked to deepen the kiss.

You reached the truck and you were forced to pull away when he set you on your feet, but before you did you felt his lips form a smile on yours.

”We’ve got to run,” the coy smile was on his face, and eyes still glued to your lips.

He was right. You set someone’s property on fire and to avoid ass beating you had to go fast, really fast. This wasn’t the time to socialize despite of how much you wanted it. Jeongguk was a strong guy but he couldn’t handle four guys in a fight.

Jeongguk slammed on the gas and with insane drifting you were finally off the wet grass of the morning hours.

Your mind wandered everywhere during the ride, he barely spoke but the smile on his lips never faded, neither did yours. Your heart raced and you couldn’t stop over-thinking, until he took a wrong turn that is. Your mind shut down from the giddy thoughts.

”Aren’t we going to the club?” You asked once Jeongguk pulled over the rat truck in a suspicious looking lot filled with rusty cars here and there. ”We’re gonna set this bad boy on fire,” he said, simply as always while tapping his hand on the dashboard, but before exiting the car he went through every corner and gathered any loot worth something. Jeongguk took a look at the empty bed of the pick up with the last gas can in hand, he frowned and shook it, ”We don’t have anymore left.” ”Then how’re we gonna destroy it?” Your stomach dropped and sweat pushed from your temples, you were starting to feel nervous. Did you have to destroy it in the first place?

”Don’t be so hasty,” Jeongguk winked and opened the gas can. He took out the pipe and stuck it in the gas tank of the truck. ”Let’s hope it’s fueled up…” he set his mouth on the top of the pipe and sucked, soon grimacing from the awful taste in his mouth.

”YUP!” Jeongguk spat out the gasoline and lifted up the pipe, making sure the fuel from it dripped everywhere, leaving a small, extremely flammable trail. He motioned his open palm in front of you, signalling you to step back. ”It’s going to explode once I set it on fire.” ”Isn’t that a movie thing,” you asked and backed off with small steps.

”Shooting at a gas tank won’t explode it. Igniting the fuel will because of the amount of fuel in such a small place.” He said and lit up the match. He gave you a look before he scraped the match on the box, he put it on the ground and bolted, “Go GO GO!”

The flames ignited faster and harder than you expected compared to what happened at the maze. The gas tank was full and it ignited with such a force it made a loud boom while the fire tore it’s way through the metal.

You had ran far enough with Jeongguk but the noise still startled you. You accidentally bounced against him to his surprise but he thought nothing of it, just wrapping his arms around you to make sure you won’t fall from your clumsyness.

Your back pressed against his chest as his arms took you in their care “We’ve got to hurry. The police actually might come here.” He couldn’t help but let the nervous chuckle out once he let you go but gracefully slithered his hand on yours.

You ran with his hand engulfing yours, you haven’t run this fast since you quit being on the track team, but this time it was better, it didn’t feel like a chore. Your heart was racing and beating out of your chest but not because of the spurt, because of him.

You reached the club house and Jeongguk let you in first. He set his hands on his thighs to huff in some air. You heard the police sirens pass the property, never stopping on the way. You could finally sigh from relief, though Jeongguk never doubted you’d actually get caught.

Yoongi sat on the couch where you had left him few hours earlier, his head was tilted at an angle to scan your and Jeongguk’s heavy breathing forms. You just rushed in without saying a word.

“Have you gotten up at all?” Jeongguk turned his head at Yoongi who just shrugged.

“With great struggle I have,” he said, “Y/n, I think you wanna go to say hello to someone,” he pointed his thumb at Tae’s room, “The stitches were better than I imagined, well done Jeongguk.”

“Actually it wasn’t me, I couldn’t do it. Without her help I would’ve been useless.”

“You’re our savior then,” A smile spread on Yoongi’s often so serious face while looking at you, and just by his look you started to grow warm, you felt proud.

“Go in,” he ushered you.

You peeked in the room to find Tae laying on his back, his head was prompted on a pillow against the board of the bed. His eyes grew into slits when you entered, just only then the smile following to his lips.

He was alive, some color had returned his face, his cheek were rosy. He didn’t look close to being healthy but much better than he was when you left, Yoongi really had a magic touch and to think he did this all the while being hurt himself.

You crouched down and swooped his hair away from his forehead, his smile growing even bigger.

He grabbed your wrist when you were pulling away, “It wasn’t my time to go,” he said slowly and silently all the while looking at you- His eyes followed the tear that fell down your cheek, he exhaled through his nose and hummed, “Thank you.” He pulled you closer and his hand found its place on your back and you buried your face in his neck with your eyes closed shut to prevent the tears from falling.

He was alive. You were an idiot to leave him in his condition to someone who was barely able to stand up by his own, but he survived. Your best friend pulled through during the time you had left him. What if he didn’t end up like this?

Taehyung shushed you, his voice vibrated against your ear but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You tried your best to not bawl your eyes out but it was unsuccessful.

”I think I’ve entered heaven,” he said and wasn’t shy of letting his amusement been heard, ”There’s an angel in my arms.”

Jeongguk sat down on the arm of the chair and stayed with Yoongi to let you have a talk with Taehyung first. He slightly smacked Yoongi’s knee. ”How’s Tae? And more importantly how’re you?”

”Good, surprisingly. I was about to take everything from our safe to take him to the hospital but then he opened up his eyes when I yelled from kicking my foot at the door,” he chuckled and shook his head. He looked at the swollen ankle he had prompted up on a chairm wondering how on earth he walked to the club like that. “I’m a bit beaten but it’s going to be alright, I’ll handle it. Good job on taking care of Tae.”

”I didn’t stitch him, she did. Without her he would’ve died, I don’t know what happened. I froze.”

”Everything’s fine now though, so it’s okay. And hey, Tae’s not in fatal conditition, I think he got knocked out from the shock and the pain,” he explained but to deaf ears. Jeongguk had his attention towards the open door to Tae’s room, he heard your cries and Tae’s words.

”You know you can’t throw a fit if she picks him over you.”

”I know. She’ll pick anyone she likes as long as she is safe and happy,” Jeongguk returned his gaze and a sorry smile to Yoongi, ”... that brings me to this; do you remember our plan?”

”Which one.”

”The one to take down Pogtan.”

”Ah, operation Get ’Em, it’s my masterpiece, of course I remember.” Yoongi looked like a proud father, his lips pulled up along with his chin, “Why?”

”Let’s do it, we just have to take down Poodle, the others will fall along him. They need a leader and Poodle took advantage of their small minds.”

”It’s risky for you. Are you sure?”

”I am.” His lips pulled a tight line, at once something Jeongguk was hundred percent sure of.

”You’re doing this for her aren’t you?” Yoongi asked the obvious question to which there was an obvious answer that he could see through. Jeongguk didn’t answer though, he look at the ground as if he didn’t hear it. Yoongi slammed his hand on his back and smiled,

“Let’s do it.”

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marypsue · 6 years

Text

Imbalance, 7 / ?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / ?

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

"So, Griffin. I have a question."

"Mhm?"

"So this old guy -"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry, Dad. So this sprightly youth of about forty-five, fifty years old - he thinks he's a lich?"

"That's right, Trav, well done for catching that. I know I made that one kind of hard to puzzle out, you know, with him saying it and everything -"

"That's not my question, okay! So he wants to find his phylactery and make sure it doesn't get destroyed."

"Yes."

"Griffin?"

"Yes?"

"Since when have our liches had phylacteries?"

“...”

"Well, they've - they've had them all along, Travis. I can't believe you don't remember that."

"Really."

"Mhm!"

"So...what're Lup and Barry's?"

"Well, now that's a - very personal question you're asking there. I'm not surprised they didn't tell you, Magnus."

"Oh! Oh, Trav, he got you good!"

"So that's how you're gonna play it, Griffin?"

"Yep, I think that's how I'm gonna play it."

"All right, Griffie, just remember, this is how you wanted to play it."

...

"Ahoy! Taako! I have a question of great import!"

"Yeah, homie, what's crackalackin'?"

"What's your sister's phylactery?" Magnus asks, reaching for another meringue.

Taako blinks at him.

"Okay, first of all, I'm frankly a little suspicious why you'd even see the need to ask that," he says, raising one finger in the air. "Second of all, what's that got to do with the, the price of eggs?"

...

"Seriously, Juice? I thought you were on my side here!"

"Oh, I am, I am. Justin's all for making our beloved baby brother sweat. But, uh, Taako just got asked a very weird, very personal question, and I don't have to tell you that shit's already pretty weird, sooo..."

"This is about the character voices, isn't it."

"Travis, my dear brother...it has always been about the character voices."

...

"Well, Barry mentioned it, when we were talking about the whole lich-on-the-plane-of-thought thing, and I thought, and I don't know a lot about necromancy, but I thought maybe if there isn't magic on the Plane of Thought, maybe whoever it was turned themselves into a lich...here. And maybe they left it here, to make sure it wouldn't get...I dunno, de-magicked? So maybe, if we knew what kind of thing we were looking for -"

"We could find it and smash the shit out of it before things get any more, uh, uh, buckwild around here," Taako says, tapping a finger against his chin in thought. Magnus takes advantage of the opportunity to stuff the entire meringue in his mouth. "Not a bad - not a bad plan at all. So we're back in the old saving-the-world business, huh?"

"Wookf wike it," Magnus says, and swallows the last of the meringue. "Think we should give Merle a call? Y'know, get the band back together."

"Hmm," Taako says, thoughtfully, still tapping his chin.

...

"Yes! Yes, you should! Come on, throw your poor old dad a bone here."

...

"He's been pretty busy with that whole adventure camp thing," Magnus says, uncertainly.

"Oh, for sure, for sure," Taako agrees. "And trying to be a good father to the children he basically abandoned."

...

"Oh, come on, now that's just dirty pool!"

...

"And running an entire earldom? He's a busy man. We shouldn't be calling him up to bother him over every little, uh, every problem that comes our way," Taako finishes, decisively.

He looks over and meets Magnus' eyes.

"I've got his Stone of Farspeech on speed-dial," Magnus says.

...

The call goes to voicemail, again.

Liliana frowns at the device in her hand, before ending the call.

"Maybe he's still asleep," Rowan suggests uncertainly.

"Nope, he said he wanted to come meet the one and only Joaquin with us," Liliana says, unable to keep a hint of disdain out of her voice. "Can you just drop me at his apartment? Something here's not right."

"It's a quarter mile out of the way," Rowan starts, sounding annoyed, then glances over and sees Liliana's face. He sighs, and merges into the left lane. "Fine. But I'm going to drop you off and keep going, okay? Time may be of the essence."

"Sounds like a plan," Liliana says, already looking down the street for Storm's apartment building.

With the traffic, it ends up taking almost ten minutes to get there. Liliana piles out of the car at a red light and walks the last block to Storm's building. She rings the buzzer, and waits, tucking her hands under her arms and stamping her feet. September's cold this year, and the wind howling down the back of her neck has a bite to it. She hopes it's not going to rain.

Finally, Storm's voice echoes out of the little speaker by the door, tinny and hollow. "What."

"It's me," Liliana says. "Open up."

There's a groan from the speaker before it abruptly goes dead. The door doesn't buzz. Liliana gives the handle a tug, but it doesn't budge.

She lays on the buzzer again, jamming her thumb against the button marked with Storm's name until her knuckle aches. She doesn't let up until the speaker crackles to life again. "All right, all right! Fine!"

Storm's apartment, when he opens the door for Liliana, is dark. "Hey, I didn't say you could come in -" he starts, as Liliana shoulders past him into the entryway. Liliana ignores him.

She sighs at the closed blinds, the pile of dishes in the sink, the unmade bed, the overflowing trash cans, the collection of half-drunk water glasses sitting on the bedside table. "That bad, huh?" she asks, as she pulls open the living room curtains. Storm winces when the light flows in, but he doesn't try to stop her.

"I'm fine," he says, defensively. "I'm dealing. You saw the news, didn't you? You know what our miserable fucking excuse for a government did -"

"I sure do. And I know sitting alone in a dark room feeling sorry for myself ain't gonna make it better," Liliana says, shortly.

"Nothing is," Storm says, his voice bitter and brittle, and Liliana pauses in her quest to get some sunlight into his apartment to look over at him. He won't meet her eyes. "Nothing is going to make anything better, do you understand? Sense hasn't saved us, law and order haven't saved us, knowledge, kindness, solidarity definitely haven't saved us - the wheel is spinning into misery again, and there is nothing that can stop it now except time. And even that - eight years! We got eight measly years to breathe in, and even that was too much, and now we're paying for it just like we always have, and we'll pay for it and pay for it and pay for it -"

"Just so you know, you stopped making any sense about four sentences ago," Liliana says.

Storm looks her in the eye.

"The only governing force in the universe is entropy," he says.

"That's an interesting theory," Liliana says. "That why you haven't done dishes in a month?"

"They'll just get dirty again! And then they'll have to be washed again, and it's an endless cycle that just wastes precious, finite energy, and then you die, and you've wasted your whole life washing dishes, and -" Storm protests, and then stops, finally seeming to hear how ridiculous he sounds.

"All right," Liliana says, taking pity on him. "Why don't you give that therapist of yours a call, and while you talk to her, I'll take out your trash and clean up in here. It's not gonna make the world a better place, I know, but it will make the immediate future suck a little less." She waves a hand in front of her nose. "Been burning incense in here again? This place reeks like an ashtray."

"It's against the lease," Storm says, hollowly. "Like most other small pleasures that would make life feel more like it was worth living."

"Jesus, you're a cheerful guy today," Liliana says. "When's the last time you slept?"

Storm doesn't answer, but his silence is glowering and guilty. Liliana nods. "All right. Call your therapist, then go take a nap."

"What's the point?" Storm mutters. "This is just how reality works. What's she going to do about it? Tell me lies to try to make me feel better? Tell me to lie to myself to try to feel better?" His voice goes even smaller, quiet enough that Liliana has to strain to hear it. "Maybe it's a good thing we opened that circle. Maybe we should just leave it open and hope it destroys us all."

"Oh, for -" Liliana starts.

She doesn't get a chance to finish, though, because the fire alarm goes off.

...

It's a beautiful day at Bottlenose Cove. They've mostly been beautiful days so far, at least the ones that Merle's been in town for.

...

"Finally! And here I was starting to think you boys had forgotten about me."

"Well, Magnus and Taako have been trying to call you all year, Dad, it's not their fault you keep forgetting to take your stone off silent."

"Oh, sure, you can say that -"

"Listen, old man, I will personally walk through your phone settings with you right now -"

"Hey guys? Hey? Hey guys? Hey guys, wanna play - hey, do you guys maybe wanna play some D&D?"

...

Extreme Teen Adventures keeps him away from home for weeks at a time, of course, out in the wilderness far from civilisation, where you can't even get a decent signal on a Stone of Farspeech -

...

"Oh, sure, all gang up on the old guy, why don't you? I hope you all remember who gave you life!"

"Well, Dad, technically -"

"I contributed half the genetic material!"

...

- but Merle's finally got a week or two of well-earned vacation, and, as he drops his bags on the front steps of his cliffside manor and turns to survey the tiny beach earldom laid out before him, he decides he's going to spend as much of it as possible lying on the sand, in the sun, not moving. The water is a perfect crystal blue, little rippling waves sparkling in the light, the sun hammers warmth into the top of Merle's head and shoulders under his Hawaiian shirt, the sky is an unbroken dome of pure lapis fading almost to white around the horizon, unblemished by even the faintest wisp of cloud -

And the moon's falling out of it.

Merle blinks, raises a hand to shade his eyes, but the moon's still there and it's still falling. He can see its shadow, now, a little dark disc in the middle of the water that's growing bigger and wider by the second. The moon itself is getting bigger, too, and the closer it gets the more Merle can see. It's a little reassuring to know that the actual moon isn't about to drop on Bottlenose Cove, but seeing the Bureau of Benevolence moonbase dropping towards him at high speed isn't exactly a reassuring sight, either.

"Dad?" Mavis asks uncertainly, and Mookie shouts, "Cool!" Merle gathers them both close to his sides, as much to reassure Mavis as to make sure Mookie doesn't go charging down the beach and get squished by the falling moonbase.

A few heartbeats pass, Merle holding his breath as the shadow covering the beach grows bigger and bigger, before the moonbase crashes into the water.

The impact is deafening. The spray reaches all the way up to the manor steps, spattering a fine cold mist across Merle's face. Mavis' arms tighten around his waist, and Merle gives her an unthinking pat on the back.

Once the wave that the moonbase's splashdown landing had kicked up onto the sand starts to retreat, Merle finally loosens his grip on his kids' shoulders.

"We - we should go see if we can help," Mavis says. "If there were people in there -"

Merle just nods, and grabs his backpack back up from the porch.

By the time he gets down to the beach, the party's pretty much over. Half of Bottlenose Cove has swarmed out of their homes to come help evacuate the slowly-sinking moonbase, and rowboats and Fanta-Sea-Doos are already ferrying people with silver bracers to shore. The glass cannonballs have been repurposed as lifeboats, bobbing on the waves in random patterns, and Merle catches the eye of someone waving from inside one of the glass globes. It's Avi, looking just a little too cheerful for somebody whose flying house just crash-landed in somebody else's cove. Merle follows his line of sight, and realises Avi's looking past him, at Chesney's up the beach. Well, that makes sense, then.

One of the other globes, one that's a little closer to him, gets caught up in the breakers near the beach, and there's a chorus of yelps as it topples over, spilling its passengers into the surf. Merle hurries down the beach, thinking of riptides - but by the time he reaches the water, several people in extremely sodden blue-and-white robes are already dragging themselves out of the ocean. There's a lot of embarrassed laughter, and one of the people who'd spilled out of the cannonball flicks her hair back over her shoulder.

"Lucretia!" Merle calls, and she turns. "Long time no see!"

Lucretia turns, and her smile grows sheepish.

"Merle!" she calls, raising a hand in greeting. "Hope you don't mind us, uh, dropping in."

#the adventure zone #balance arc #this is mary's fic tag

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shark-myths · 6 years

Text

Dizzy On Dreams

With the concept of dreaming showing up on almost every Mania track, I’ve been itching to dig into this metaphor that Pete has used so consistently over the years. Then I thought about IOH being framed and styled as entirely within a dreamscape; then I thought, what is Folie a Deux, a shared madness, but a dream shared by two—a madness outside of reality? And remember when Pete said of Patrick, on one of his many pre-hiatus blogs, I think I dreamt him?

And then I was like, fuck. I need to write this post.

Three days later, Pete posts THIS on Twitter, framing the whole tour and possibly even the concept of touring as a dream? HOW IS A GIRL SUPPOSED TO COPE WITH THIS SHIT HONESTLY?????

So hello and welcome to shark-myths’ DREAM EXTRAVAGANZA!

Lines like FUCT’s I’m sleeping on your folks’ front porch again, dreaming show us an early romantic association with the phrase. It lays early groundwork for the use of ‘dream’ as referring to an imaginary, might-have-been, wish of a relationship that is not grounded in reality. That is not grounded in waking life. (I woke up, no luck, if you’ll permit a brief time-traveling leap to Mania—and I do devoutly believe this is how Mania is meant to be used, as a time-traveling cipher to fill out more context for earlier songs and themes, earlier joyous, unsustainable madnesses from Pete’s life.)

One of the first really meaty appearances of the word is in notorious gay anthem Gin Joints. (The Petericks definitely made out inside a crashed car; some theories place the Van Crash on the way to the Grand Theft Autumn video shoot as the likeliest time point for their first kiss, as memorialized on the cover of FUCT.) Gin Joints gives us this: We’re making out inside crashed cars, we’re sleeping through all our memories. I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, now I only waste it dreaming of you. This gives us an early division between his lived life and whoever (*coughPATRICKcough*) he’s dreaming of/with.

Next, IOH. It’s 2007 and, in his suicide song, Pete writes, You are the dreamer and we are the dream. This is generally read as a loving message to the fans, a reading that I fully support. The definition it gives us, of the band and/or the Petericks being the dream, is what I’m going to go with for most of this analysis.

Next significant invocation is of course, Disloyal Order, the anthemic opener for Folie, their most ambitious, artistic, and personal record yet. The record opens: I’m coming apart at the seams, pitching myself for leads in other people’s dreams. (And does this evoke the stitch line from Hold Me Tight or Don’t for anyone else? Just saying.) Disloyal Order, with the boycott love/detox just to retox chorus, is one of my all-time Peterick jams. The drug use metaphor that is so incredibly linked with Patrick alone it prominently in the realm of #trysttheory. Significant is the ‘someone else’s dreams’: it tells us Pete is focusing on a relationship, a shared and aspirational happiness he can only conceive of in dreamspace, that does not belong to him. Let’s just go ahead and assume he’s thinking about Patrick. The numbness and the blurry headedness of this song also speak to the pill addiction and other maladaptive coping Pete was relying on during this time period. He was erasing himself, trying to disappear into dreams that he hates himself for having. He was sick with what he could not have, with what he was trying to make work instead—sick on reality (Young and Menace, anyone?). And he sings about how sick he is, in Disloyal Order and throughout the album.

America’s Suitehearts, of course, is played entirely as a dream/nightmare/alternate reality. The video and the alternate personas of the boys gives us that much. And Pete writes why won’t the world revolve around me? In my dreams, trees grow all over the streets. Then the song turns into the anthem of I’m in love with my own sins; you can bow and pretend you don’t know you’re a legend; time just hasn’t told anyone else yet; I’m sorry, I just let my love loose again. What do we think this song is about guys. What sin i n p a r t i c u l a r.

And even before Disloyal Order, FAD opens with the hidden pre-track Lullabye, a song tied closely with the album art and with many people’s reaction to the stitch line in Hold Me Tight Or Don’t. The chorus is pure hope, but tinged so sad: it’s not what it seems in the land of dreams. Don’t worry your head, just go to sleep—when you wake up the world will come around. To me, this song seems to speak almost directly to the questions asked in America’s Suitehearts. It reminds Pete of the reality—that whatever he shares with Patrick is not what he wants it to be, whether it’s sex or just intimate friendship—and it also shows his hope that maybe, one of these times, he’ll wake up and reality will come around to what he’s dreaming of.

You ready to kick things up a notch post-hiatus? We need, like, the Mario Kart star song playing double-time here, because this is a new intensity level. Like, fucking grab onto something. The albums are about to transition from gay reading to gay reality.

Because what is the first SRAR single but My Songs? Besides, in the mean time, I’m just dreaming of tearing you apart. Pete is becoming bolder and more explicit about what he’s dreaming of. He writes too, now the world can never get me on my level, as if saying—even with all we’ve been through, hiatus and not talking and everything, I still love you this much. There is no dose of reality that will talk me out of this dream. All these years and I’m still dreaming of tearing you apart. The whole song speaks very aptly to the idea of secret trysting in the pre-hiatus years too, doesn’t it?

Oh, fucking Where Did The Party Go. We were the kids who screamed ‘we weren’t the same’ in sweaty rooms, now we’re doomed to organizing walk-in closets like tombs speaks to clearly to the passage of time and the way their lives have changed, how fame and age have changed them, and to nostalgia for the Van Days era Pete has always glorified in his writing. Then: so let’s fade away together one dream at a time.

My. Fucking. Heart.

As we move into post-hiatus material, you’ll notice that very often, the dreaming of becomes dreaming with in implication—Pete is identifying a collaborator, a fellow dreamer. How many times do u want me to scream TRYST THEORY ‘cuzzzzzz…

The Mighty Fall: Your crooked love is just a pyramid scheme and I’m dizzy on dreams. But if you ask me two’s a whole lot lonelier than one. Baby we should have left our love in the gutter where we found it. ‘Cause you think your only crime is that you got caught. IF THIS ISN’T ABOUT TRYST THEORY I WILL TURN IN MY BADGE AND TIN HAT, GUYS. Our love—this is not Pete watching from a closet, anymore. This is a Pete who held in his hands what he wanted most in the world and has seen it sullied or slipped away or ruined. The loneliness of trysting and each pretending they don’t want more, believing the other doesn’t either. The idea of their love being a gutter-thing pulling up associations of queerness/social taboo and infidelity. The idea of crimes and getting caught. And Pete, not caring that the trysts would never pay out on the full bid of his aching heart, because he’s dizzy on dreams. His reasoning is shot and he’s outside of reality again, so intoxicated on the moments they do share. Our drugstore cowboy. Our self-identified medicine man.

And finally, we close out the album with this: I need more dreams and less life.

😭😭😭😭😭

I CANNOT

On Pax-Am, the track Demigods (which is, imo, an incredibly important Pete-reflecting-on-himself song) gives us the question: what if it were all a dream? What is we were demigods? They’d take to our knees, raging at the half of our sins. Someone who can think about something other than blowjobs and secret sinful queerness pls offer an alternate explanation because I’m having a heart attack. If they were demigods, they’d still be half-human. They could do anything, but they’d still have to answer to the human world, wouldn’t they? And if we knew even the half of their sins…

Cue AB/AP, the Gayest Album So Far. The title track gives us I wish I dreamt in the shape of your mouth/but it’s your thread count I really care about, which is explicitly about sex. As you’re drifting off to sleep, all those dirty thoughts of me, they were never yours to keep. If this is directed at Patrick, it’s the idea that when they slip off to sleep together—in every sense of the phrase, but especially in the sense of entering dreamspace, the sometimes-shared fiction that they can enjoy for a few hours: that they are together, that they love each other out loud to each other and everyone else—that when they slip into this, it is never yours to keep. Our boy cannot set down what he knows of reality. Not even here. Altar boys (once sacred, once holy), altered boys (who they are now), we’re the things that love destroys. AB/AP is so gay and so seeded with small hopes and so, so sad. I absolutely believe that the Pete who wrote it believed he had been destroyed.

I have a lot to say on the song Centuries and the theme Pete plays with about immortality through embracing gay love—Immortals, all his references to the afterlife, all of his Pete Pan/Lost Boys fuckery has this thread—but for now, let’s talk just about mummified my teenage dreams and who we think his teenage dreams were about. The idea of legends/demigods and gold comes back here, and he evokes the concept mistake, which is a way he often writes about trysting. And: I was only born inside my dreams; I am the opposite of amnesia. Pete won’t let himself be forgotten, won’t let Patrick forget. He’s only felt wholly, truly alive and realized in those moments where they were together, or where he dreamed they were.

Uma Thurman: I slept in last night’s clothes and tomorrow’s dreams. Is Patrick tomorrow’s dreams? If you went to your own home for the night, rather than someone else’s, you wouldn’t be left wearing last night’s clothes…

Immortals: I’ll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams, I’m the sand in the bottom half of the hour glass (meaning: something that’s already gone past), I try to picture me without you but I can’t. Also, the line you pull the blackout curtains down (just not for long) seems like Patrick denying feelings, moving away from Pete and the tryst—plunging them into daylight, reality, wakefulness. Denying him at daybreak and all that Judas-y stuff. And then returning, again and again, to the shared and darkened space of dreams.

And then. And then there’s fucking Mania.

Young and Menace: Woke up on the wrong side of reality, and there’s a madness coursing right through me. Is Pete saying he’s tired of this waking life reality that doesn’t hold space for him and Patrick to be together? Is that the madness he means—that he’s ready to throw caution to the wind and really ask for, and believe he deserves, to love Patrick out loud for the first time?

Champion: I’m back with a madness… I got nothing but dreams inside.

Last of the Real Ones: I’m here at the beginning of the end of infinity with you. I’m done with having dreams, the thing that I believe, you drain all the fear from me.

Wilson (Expensive Mistakes): on the wrong side of paradise (evokes Y&M, the idea that he’s on the wrong side of something that could be so perfect and good.) There’s nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you.

Hold Me Tight Or Don’t (and the all caps here is consistent across sources and deliberate, I think—like. Pete is not being subtle anymore and he wants us to know it.) I just pinch myself, no longer comatose. I woke up, no luck. I woke up, no luck. …I want to sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out of you.

Hold Me Tight, Or Don’t. Is Mania Pete’s way of saying—I don’t want to wait anymore? Let’s not just pretend, let’s have it all? Even if he’s growing out of the idea of running away down south from all of their problems, is he asking Patrick for—whatever version of a big poly happy ending he can have? Is he saying, I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you? I’ve taken too many hits off this memory and now I need more? We were never just friends? Hold ME TIGHT or DON’T????

ARE YOU GUYS WITH ME HERE????? BC I AM D Y I N G

Some gems from related themes for my true believers out there:

Grand Theft Autumn: when I wake up, I’m willing to take my chances on the hope I forget that you hate him more than you notice I wrote this for you.

Reinventing The Wheel To Run Myself Over (the lyrics of which are written by Patrick, so it doesn’t fit as well with this obsessively deep dive into Pete’s interiority, but let’s acknowledge it in the canon): I can’t wake up to these reminders of who I am

I’m Like A Lawyer: me and you, setting in a honeymoon, if I woke up next to you (AAAAAAAH)

She’s My Winona: Never the same person when I go to sleep as when I wake up (likely about the fickleness of media coverage and the vagaries of fame, etc)

w.a.m.s.: when all the others were just stirring awake, I’m trying to trick myself to fall asleep again

20 Dollar Nose Bleed: Who will I be when I wake up next to a stranger?

Alone Together: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead

Novocaine: I am your worst, I am your worst nightmare

Thank you for joining me for a thorough screechy documentation of Pete’s use of the dream metaphor and how I think it relates to Peterick! Hit me up with your own thoughts and theories and let me know if you’ve got any meta requests! More to come, and check out my lyrics meta and/or tryst theory tags to tide you over.

Brought to you by Fyne Purveyors of Bandom Crafts, the manufacturers of Tryst Theory ™, and our mother organization, the Peterick Institute

#lyrics meta #peterick #fob #fall out boy #pete wentz #tryst theory #mania #dreams metaphor #fall out boy meta #fob meta

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glopratchet · 4 years

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retirement-home

e realm of astokahn with blood in the distance You can see a dark figure standing on top of it watching you to consume you, tall grass growing at an alarming speed nearing on which to swallow you delaying the night, warding off the dark In the darkness you can hear something like a heart, beating rapidly and a soft panting signs and orange cones littering the area If you follow woodgrain stickers and arrows, it will lead to astorl's compound blocking the entryway, demanding some viable ids before allowing entrance, or exit blindfolding the eyes that allow light in, band-aids the leave sticky residue on swollen wounds, in a language no one understands int he retirement village showing astorl's flawless fines, astorl comes on the loud speaker mentioning when to eat or drink tubes linked together stopping the spread of disease, creating an atmosphere to non-live in Cp vending machines spitting out cigarettes and alcohol rounding everyone up to sterilization or vaccinate them creating a false drug to repress the population rooms swarmed by delinquents drowning their sorrows away Wall-to-wall windows allow pure natural light through the building with sports-car paint jobs, driving at dangerous speeds inside the retirement village -mounted knights, rushing forward on horses demanding vids from you waiting in the trading post, his bionic implants a must-have performing dopebusts like he has forever in exchange for nothing Skirmishers gambling with fine coins in a nice office guarded by heavily-armed and armored juggernauts stand ready to strike down any who oppose in his chair, preparing do some crowd control Lector giving a sermon to praise astorl anounncing damascus' newest creation on the streets as dissidents and heretics start up a war at the retirement village Bullets chewing through skin This must be the place! face and his terminal you see mercenary captains attempting to persuade and force new recruits to join their army as part of his retirement package Clerics thanking astorl for blessing food and providing clothes with a gas-grenade to quell riots You distract the attention of the automated turrets , as always-watching cameras spotlight you of riflebolts spray around you, and you tumble behind cover to avoid them giving medical exams right now there's a line circling around the building Nurse accepting verbal criticisms grumbling as he wields a rolling-pin with societies ills as he's forced to listen or look at each and every citizen the shadows, wearing white to stand out against colored-clothes prisoners as they are thrown in and out or his armored car Sergeant nearing retirement drinking himself into a stupor every day people using his sleek, new metro medic computer There used to be another agent here, but they refused to play astorl's game any longer his beard while watching eight screens of tv mounted into a composite frame astorl as a hero, superbly painting fake scenes to indoctrinate his citizens Silvershield firing buckshot into car doorsteps the Emperor's wrath upon unsuccessful applicants, so they can repent for their failures people to seperate the criminals from the law-abiding Druglord selling enormous water-pipes to clouds of steamwhippers to avoid jihadi control and bribing the medical inspection officer watching his progress teeth to make the people's smiles more radiant for astorl Sending an agent swishing into the cloakroom, without interrupting your own surveillance is worsening day-by-day for the integrated agent; looking for pretense, he goes from house to house Is this really a surveillance state? agents sweeping trash off the sidewalk and moving on without awaiting their payment of silvershields---patrolling, defending joint interests in the steam-century of tubes overhead individuals ascending into the terminal building, but not friends with local law enforcement citizens traveling the plains actively navigate through defenses, for purpose of civilian safety in blue mingling amongst themselves in a sea of black marble ceremony for an art-deco colonial revival never finished; facing a building-material store are filling the silvery steam-clouds above their city; they look like silverfish in a bowl of milk herself in the sunlight , she smiles to her tiny minions and waves at the buildings -on-sticks excersizing around the kiosks, she loudly says the univeral indication of friendship hall: maroon sofa, wooden table, candlelight---and ever-after understanding they just say what everyone's thinking; what're we going to do? contest juust ended in the underground cafeteria, and three hospitalities workers were disqualified No cameras focused at an average citizen's two-parent, cashier closing the bars by the train depo emponymous a tumbledown frat house fallen into disrepair: mob-dominated pool hall, peeling the paint off their walls at the kiosk buying an iced caffe latte Baking scents wafting through the terminal, as cooks prepare desserts for dinner in hammocks at nightfall: creepy crawlies tentatively crawl the wooden pier buzzing at night; the whirring sound recedes as the lights turn out Grease sticks to fingers in the tunnelman's lunch pail listens over the loudspeaker, breathing in godly instructions Greydancers break-dancing on tape: they watch for a moment, judgmental with strawberry nuts, soggy-soft enough to eat all 15 pages in one bite on scrapbook paper out over three tables; too large for one day He remembers his dreams but you don't; overworked at the plants her infant girlchild, as she fantasizes living in the distant past Rumor holding an outdated truncheon while hiding behind rumormongering -teeth jealous of your immigrant status, but holds respect for law-enforcement lean over; their painted lines maybe haven't been maintained for years Sunlight shining through clear-plastic curtains, oblique onto the grandfather's face to the hangout is too a crowded daycare Spoiled scoundrel, throwing tiny blocks at a foosball opponent congregating in the ratty footstool; nobody yells at lazybones Kindly ferrel cats couple up on a bolt hinge, one squealing desperately sewing-baskets setting up a chair factory in the basement Servers flirt briefly with you before their children call them away from you for the ulcers, served during your three-hour dinner period frantically feeding drinks to patients incapable of swallowing Phosphorescence buried, half-buried under aging coloring books onto your textbook during your lunchbreak; usually you read glossy magazines in the skyrocketing price of nails since the union lost their benefits blowing upwards through the door from afar; somebody hold onto your hat Occasional stranger hugging themselves against hall drafts this time of year drugs for people laughing with it Foodstuffs stirring under a waterproof tarp during afternoon showers drying out in their suture packets on the metal garage shelves Late-sleeper washcloth worn down to a nub in the public restroom faced-players jumping all the way down to pick up a dropped quarter leading into his lounge from the cafeteria's walk-in freezer Streetcleaners sweeping cigarettebutts to prevent slips and falls of trust between employees stealing lunches from each other Let sleeping dogs lie; you don't want to agitate the baggageman leading a gospel sing with deadengine sound effects travelling through the airshafts stacked outside for the next trashday; out for the roaches A book thrown with a thud against the door hitting in a spiral pattern stapler stapled to a post as proof of claimed land Liturgical-candles burning briefly in protest on city hall's doorstep -fallout buzzing loudly under a crack in the floor Kneeling on feathers tickling your ears while tiding up the bedclothes pie-maker pumping out pans of crustless shells Rotating wallhanging scattering pictures with tornadoes preacher prays for apocalypse to wash humanity away Sconces flashing in the factory owner's dorm pan inexorably sweeping its load into the trash-disposal unit This isn't even the tip of the iceberg! advertising in the license-plate factory MTBE with lead-based paint from childhood, drinking contests in nightclubs -overdoses at the local hospital appreciating your service to country railing against a vote-fraud investigation Trifocals fitting lenses into Marxist economic theory earwax blocking your auditory canals with wax diamonds Expatriate hipsters barfing in the airport terminal dripping thimblefuls into plastic coolers outside the fallout shelter squinting in the hazy smog with your biiiiiig eye And pummelling atheists with bibles under the hot mid-day sun Tusk unaccountably sharpened to a fine point, look out your naive comrades! in the battery-optimiser with overburdened charge capacity Infernal-Globe crushing your enemies, seeing angels in the explosion orating the Truth with a bullhorn on the corner of State and Main condensing in the humidifier and smashing it open for the bounty thundering inside crop circles and your Pastor's bad breath Machinery raining down from the bridge during a liquidation of gov't property the chief-of-police's prize Husky, and feed it the human bodies -boy, you're going tooooo marching into battle with their chariots Steins mass-produced for the festival-goers with built-in coin-slot for easy carrying flashing through garbage-dumpsters with glitz and grime Snowblower limping to safety across virgin white-land with bloody limp And more! warding off the unclean spirits that follow your 17 syllable Singularity badges peddled by the handful as cult-souvineers poured unmeasurable drops averting the apocalypse Cobwebs weaved with caustic chemicals catching the overheated owners By you! oozing into a sticky situation, fortunately too slow for you Bartender's special clearing out the town with alcohol and fisticuffs stirring up a worldwide 'incident' by reporting the news ADHD prescribing Ritalin to guzzle and grumble thy sleeping beast dancing the dance of diplomacy New-Meat bulldozing over the dying town with grace and big guns hefting and hurling their favorite projectiles Whistle-Pigs direction-reading for incoming metal freezing the battlefield to take out the opposing team Survivors wallowing and hiding away from the overwhelming odds framed by an exceptionally tanned chest-piece with hero-worshipping admiration Lifesavers protecting the subverted armored vehicles by conversion terrorists bankrolling the local talent, with fat purses of loot Land-mines whizzing towards you at immense speeds eating away at the enemy from the inside out Laxatives mixing with drinking water to wreak havoc leaders, and taggers spraying multicolored blister-causing graffiti Sculptors subjecting victims to a slow demise with living stone Criminals battling their criminal insanity but killing their enemies instead messing up the muscle-memory of aberrant limbs rioting and pillaging their once peaceful towns Witches brewing potions to instill fear and dread Engineers experimenting with explosives and volatile compounds -lovers making mountains out of molehills Fire-insurance scaring the living daylights out of complacent homeowners leaping towards lanterns with suicidal intentions Academia schooling the youth in how avoid the clutches of death filtering out corruption causing poison Bricklayers building the nice wall against bad people paying fence-sitting paupers to pave the way Files sorting bad people into the proper slots Research uncovering brutal facts of reality hidden in plain sight pointing out the suspicious behavior Standup warming up crowds with familiar favorites and festival favorites knocking people out cold with a healthy dose Gunslingers winging it with overflowing bullets waiting around the corner to sting you viciously Fetishes kinkying it up all night long providing thirst-quenching ammunition to shoot at people Expeditions braving uncharted territory to take the enemies supplies -divers searching the trash for consumable goods Northings participating in the bloodsport of sadism and violence threatening death and mayhem for loot and personal gain Exhilerating! Retinues following the whims of royalty OU have such whims? -buggies riding up and down the dunes, avoiding gunfire shielding yourself from death's embrace Tees modeled after the funniest/darkest/weirdest messageboard tirades keeping the grime and grim off of that lovely teal uniform Skirmishers skirmishing the fools who get in your way charging into battle without care Olive-Drab provided you protection! Stereotypes matching before God, the Emperor, and everyone you were assigned to kill guzzling down grain alcohol and throwing the empties at your enemies What? It's free, clean, and sanitary! reading up on the behavior of certain animal groups extinct elsewhere skewered and grilled six different ways OU want the entire lizard mounted on a pole, or just the tail? revealing the inner-workings of your enemies for all to see Tenaciously tracking down those that would try to evade justice expressing your genotype for all to see It's science! Snipers shooting those that refuse to re-enlist Musketeers shooting everybody using DNA splicing to create the most vicious chimerals yet Dendrisers creating a giant creature inhabiting all of the strange lands or the land will sent out tremors of unhappiness What other objects or material can you come up with? or you face splashing down on the surface of Dendrin's moon and drowning in its oceans, despite being an air-breather too Everyone will spontaneously combust if you enter the atmosphere too fast or steeply again as you wait for another Meteortric cycle when you might again be stricken is pretty simple actually just don't enter the atmosphere to slow or fast or too shallow and you will have a safe landing Tips: shells to surround the egg so it does'nt break on impact You will also need to provide protection from any side to side motion that might occur; so a cushion The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls as you descend, Once again cracking and even breaking your prize possession You will also need to find a way to keep the egg steady within the container The main problem with all of this is that space is a vacuum so if it cracks then there is nothing to hold the atmosphere in and it will instantly be rendered You decide to go big because you have nothing left to lose and put your entire self into this one task With the newly added protection of the endless chambers and halls your weight has increased by at least 40% so you make your way back to the warm waters of the As you slowly break the surface of the water you can see air above you beyond the water that your parts are submerged in

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bcautifullyarchived · 6 years

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( nick roux, he/they ) did you see QUENTIN QUIRE from X-MEN walking down the streets of canada? they’re quite INFLUENTIAL but also SELF-ABSORBED. they’re here as a PHARMACIST and I heard they’re here seeking safe haven.

cue the statistics profile link

summary: the insane insurgent that’s incognito

tbh Quentin is a hot mess and the story’s a bit... complicated. implied (not full) trigger warnings for drug usage, lots of deaths, and needles. here we go!

born and raised in Las Vegas. not Paradise where the famous Strip is. actual Vegas, full of residents addicted to everything under the sun, winding streets, and crimes aplenty with police always sniffing about. though “fortunate” enough to be the daughter of a lawyer, she only benefited financially. socially, she was outcast due to her boyish habits, labeled a snitch’s son. was familiar with ruthless bullying from a young age. at some point, she just c r a c k e d. with a yell and small motion, she telekinetically shoved the high school boys into the lockers so hard one’s ribs fractured, another’s nose broke. Quin high-tailed it outta there and was found huddled in an alley, trembling from the mutant gene awakening by Emma Frost and Wolverine

almost immediately whisked away to the middle of nowhere, New York, her parents were given the usual story; invited to a prestigious academy for gifted and talented students. here, she assumed the identity of a male and referred to herself as Quentin. the enrollment statement was absolutely true with him -- he was brilliant. with a brain that constantly craved new material to learn, analyze, and opinionate, he quickly was Professor X’s prized pupil, to the point of being personally tutored in telepathy. accomplishments include anti-gravity floats for a fellow student’s brain canister, a completely see-through mind that not even Emma Frost nor the Stepford Cuckoos could peer into, and cracked another student’s full-body illusion

on his eighteenth birthday, his parents called and finally told him he’d been adopted, given away by a drug-addled nobody that wanted him to have “a better life.” out of anger, Quentin revealed he was a mutant, and his father didn’t miss a beat, denouncing his name. desperate to cling to something, he confessed his love to Stephanie Cuckoo only to be turned down, who told him he was “disturbed” and she marked his forehead with INSANE NOW. completely unhinged, he went into town and got a new haircut and wardrobe style that resembled Boliver Trask’s depiction of a mutant overlord. he suddenly relished anarchy, jumping on bandwagon for revenge on Jumbo Carnation’s behalf. when questioned by Professor X, he retorted by questioning the merits of the school's policies, wondering if X would allow any dream other than his own to exist

assembling a group known as the Omega Gang involving like-minded students, they became addicted to Kick, often overdosing; feeling big surges of power and rage. past experiences include killing/maiming a gang of protesters and getting tattoos together afterward like nothing happened, hijacking a van and attacking U-Men Central since they felt that they were too dangerous to mutants if left unchecked, and starting a mutinous riot at the school during open house day (for parents and media stations invited by Professor X) while declaring “death to all humans.” it took all the faculty to finally subdue the students, but they still couldn’t stop Quentin’s rampage; all the Stepford Cuckoos had to band together and temporarily embrace the Phoenix to take him down. this killed the sisters, which still weighs heavily on his conscience

technically was killed physically, but in actuality was reverted to pure psychic energy. forced to make a deal with the Phoenix to get a second chance at life in return for becoming the next avatar. when he returned, he was given the ability to come back as biologically male, was found by Captain America and Wolverine wandering the streets of New York City

eventually was convinced to return to the Xavier Institute and became an official X-Man after a couple more years of adventures, making begrudging allies out of his classmates and mentors, Kitty Pryde and Jubilee. was unofficially adopted by Wolverine at some point during their trip to Genosha. sometime after graduation, Professor X and Quentin butted heads again over the freedom of mutants, and he left for the last time

faked records of his high school education and reinvented anti-gravity floats, repurposing them with a boot design. using his new patents, he founded Quire Mechanics and successfully ran an engineering and technology firm that almost rivaled Stark Industries, headed by an openly pansexual mutant. during this time, he was persuaded by Magneto to do privately commissioned inventions, almost took the title of White King in the Hellfire Club until he was convinced otherwise by Wolverine

realizing his mistakes, he decided to go incognito. has been a pharmacist for a couple years now, taking on the profession as a way to wipe his slate completely clean and utilize skills he once abused; an extensive knowledge of drugs. specializes in diagnosing the specific kind they need using pink glowing “probing” needles. he states that they gather a profile using nanobots of his invention -- but in actuality, he himself peers into their minds and anatomies using telepathy.

still has the power of the Phoenix but doesn’t actively use them. believes in not having to rely on his abilities even though he’s unconsciously addicted to the surges. in fact is heavily reliant on the omniscient deity to survive every day since Quentin owes his very p h y s i c a l form to it. also is easily addicted to other vices, like drinking, drugs, and smoking

more of a fun fact: outside of being the second greatest telepath (the first being the original Phoenix avatar, Jean Grey), he’s a Shi’ar god!! was recommended by Loki given his innate obsession with details since he was known to have successfully replicated all the mutants and other persons he’s ever met into a "utopian universe” that still resides in his head. helped the alien race reconstruct society using concepts for human civilization

#halifax: ic intro #trigger warning #drugs tw #death tw #needles tw #Still not fully back but I managed to finish this up!!#I'm... sooo sorry for how long this is #Technically an AU version of Quentin #tl;dr he's an addict that also handles drugs for his new living

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asfeedin · 4 years

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BTS, Beatles, Madonna, Taylor Swift, More

BURBANK, CALIFORNIA – JANUARY 27: (L-R) Jin, Jungkook, RM, Jimin, and J-Hope of “BTS” speak onstage … [+] at iHeartRadio LIVE with BTS presented by HOT TOPIC at iHeartRadio Theater on January 27, 2020 in Burbank, California. (Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for iHeartMedia)

Getty Images for iHeartMedia

Upbeat songs are having a surge of popularity in this time of coronavirus gloom. “Happy“ by Pharrell Williams and “Get Lucky“ by Daft Punk are among the most-played tracks of the last decade. The optimistic “Lovely Day” and “Lean On Me” by the late Bill Withers are enjoying a boost on YouTube and other file-sharing and streaming sites.

Here is a list of some musical medicine – songs that are doing well in lockdown, and some alternative cheer-up suggestions.

Recent Songs Doing Well: It is no coincidence that the song doing best in recent weeks is as upbeat as possible. Tones and I’s hit “Dance Monkey“ continues to dominate the YouTube charts and in the top slot on the Global Top Songs chart for the fifth straight week and 20th week overall with 75 million hits. It is followed by the likes of “Don’t Start Now” by Dua Lipa, whose new collection Future Nostalgia set a number of Spotify steaming records, including the most streamed album in a day globally by a British female artist. These songs are followed by more pure pop by the likes of Ariana Grande, Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Rihanna, the Sugababes and Katy Perry. “Say So” by Doja Cat tops various happy 2020 playlists, as does “Stupid Love” by Lady Gaga. Among other tracks picking up plays: “Red Light, Green Light” by Duke Dumont, plus the slightly older songs “Green Light” by Lorde and “Can’t Stop The Feeling” by Justin Timberlake.

BTS: Songs by the K-Pop sensation have been doing well. The septet’s online concert Bang Bang Con had 50.5 million views last weekend. Even some of the group’s older and more obscure tracks are picking up hits, such as “Just One Day” off the Skool Luv Affair EP from 2014, in which each group member imagines one day with his love. The song has topped playlist ideas, and quietly racked up 24 million views on YouTube.

Be Happy: Not surprisingly, people wanting to be happy seek out songs with the word in the title. Apart from “Happy” by Pharrell Williams, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin is back on top of the Spotify playlists. “Happy” tops a YouTube equivalent playlist along with “Shots” by Imagine Dragons.

“Shiny Happy People” by R.E.M., which Michael Stipe said he wrote for children, is also finding its way into radio and internet playlists. The Georgia band’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” returned to Billboard charts last month, while Stripe did his own solo version, adding some tips to avoid coronavirus. Also recommended is R.E.M.’s “I’m Gonna DJ” with its insane lyric: “Death is pretty final/ I’m collecting vinyl/ I’m gonna DJ at the end of the world!”

Not everyone likes singles that force joy, but if you do, try any version of “Happy Days Are Here Again” or “Oh Happy Day,” such as that by Spiritualized. Sting’s remake of “Spread a Little Happiness,” Captain Sensible’s “Happy Talk,” “Happy Together” by The Turtles, and “Happiness” by Goldfrapp are all ripe for a comeback.

Sunny Songs: “Lovely Day” returned to the charts (along with “Lean On Me”) after the death of Withers. Lyrics with optimistic meteorological metaphors do well: “I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash; U2’s “Beautiful Day”; “Here Comes The Sun” or “Good Day Sunshine” by the Beatles; “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves; and “Rainbow” by Kacey Musgraves.

Reggae Joy: “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley has been much played for its universal message: “Don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be all right.” For more reggae joy, there is always Marley’s “One Love,” his own version of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and “You Can Get It If You Really Want” by Jimmy Cliff.

Some Kind Of Wonderful: Another Cliff song, “Wonderful World, Beautiful People,” reminds us that even at the time of COVID-19, listeners still know that life can be wonderful. The words of Otis Redding have been ringing out online (“If you love me too, oh what a wonderful world this could be”) as well as Louis Armstrong (“I hear babies cry, I watch them grow, they’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know/ and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”). Singles such as “Wonderful Life” by Black and Hurts, two different songs, have also gained some traction.

Material Girl: Madonna’s upbeat 1980s hits such as “Holiday” and “Lucky Star” have been much mentioned in 2020 playlists.

Lightening Up: Bob Dylan’s long and downcast comeback “Murder Most Foul” has a modest 192,000 hits so far on YouTube after its surprise release amid lockdown last month. Still, the Nobel laureate’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” “Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat” and “Highway 61 Revisited” all are witty and fast-moving and recommended to raise a smile. Simon & Garfunkel are getting played for “Cecilia,” “59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy),” the bittersweet “I Am A Rock” and Paul Simon solo tracks such as “Loves Me Like A Rock” or “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.”

For all the gl0om of “The End” and “When The Music’s Over,” Jim Morrison of The Doors had his lighter moments and “Hyacinth House” has a false cheer a bit like Elvis Costello’s later “Other Side of Summer” or The Flaming Lips song “Do You Realize?”

David Bowie provides cheer with “Fill Your Heart” and “Kooks,” though probably not “The Laughing Gnome.” His “Heroes” is one of the anthems for frontline workers, with 9 million YouTube views, and has enjoyed a new lease of life with the cover version by Motörhead racking up 36 million views.

Kanye West: Yeezy’s can-do anthem “Stronger,” and his “American Boy” with Estelle, are enjoying playlist success. So has his “Runaway,” as is the Linkin Park song of the same name.

Kids’ Stuff: The lockdown proved to be an ideal time to launch Disney+ in new regions. It was announced this month that the channel reached 50 million subscribers in just six months. A lot of its songs are uplifting for children and others: much of The Jungle Book (“The Bare Necessities”) or Mary Poppins (“Let’s Go Fly a Kite”.)

Elsewhere, listeners of all ages may enjoy Jonathan Richman’s child-like “Ice Cream Man,” “The Tag Game” and “That Summer Feeling.”

Love Songs: “Sex on Fire” by the Kings of Leon came at No 10 in the list of most-played songs of the last decade. Most people have their own personal romantic smile inducer, with those recently mentioned online including James Brown’s “I Got You (I Feel Good)” and Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” has shown up in a few lists, even though it is a song about jealousy. Others include Motown classics “My Girl” by The Temptations and “My Guy” by Mary Wells; Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me”; and Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.”

Good Times: Van Morrison’s “St. Dominic’s Preview” is an example of a feel-great-right-now song. Trending tracks with a similar vibe include “One Day Like This” by Elbow; “Perfect” by The The; “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay” by Otis Redding; or Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” “I Got a Feeling” by Black Eyed Peas says “I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night.” Prince has much the same sentiment in “It’s Gonna Be A Beautiful Night,” while his “Let’s Go Crazy” has brought happiness to 15 million via YouTube. Prince died exactly four years ago, so expect his streaming numbers to rise on the anniversary.

Rock The Trouble Away: When times get tough, the tough get rocking. Think Elvis Presley, Nirvana, AC/DC, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, or Guns N’ Roses, if they make you punch the air. Bon Jovi has also popped up on fan playlists for COVID-19 tunes with “Livin’ On A Prayer” and “It’s My Life.” He declares: “I ain’t gonna live forever, I just want to live while I’m alive.”

‘On The Rise’ Pick-Me-Up Songs: Primal Scream has also been popping up on fans’ playlists with “Movin’ On Up” and “Loaded,” both off the album Screamadelica. Also recommended: “Up!” by Shania Twain and “The Only Way Is Up” by Yazz.

‘I Am The Greatest’ Music: Spirit-raising tracks include “We Are The Champions” by Queen, especially popular since the Bohemian Rhaposdy movie; “The Best” by Tina Turner; “So What,” by Pink; and “Born This Way” by Lady Gaga. Also recommended: “The Greatest” (Ringo Starr and Cat Power, two very different songs.)

Songs Relevant To COVID-19: “Don’t Stand So Close To Me“ by The Police has surged as lockdown became a reality, even though it is really about a school romance. Just because of the titles, “Splendid Isolation,” by Warren Zevon, “Isolation“ by Joy Division and “Isolation“ by John Lennon have all got extra plays, though none are particularly cheery.

The streaming and file-sharing sites also see boosts for defiant-mortality songs, really just based on their titles. Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” from 1978 has been a standout, an anthem for strength, with the singer taking to TikTok to rework it and inspire others to properly wash their hands.

“Stayin’ Alive” by Bee Gees and “Don’t Fear The Reaper” by Blue Öyster Cult have also added plays, as has “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson, with its words “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“Resistiré” (I Will Resist), originally by Dúo Dínamico in 1988, has been redone for 2020 and has had 19 million hits on YouTube. The equally defiant “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift is also the YouTube happy songs playlist, Natasha Bedingfield’s “Pocketful Of Sunshine” also raises spirts with its message “Do what you want, but you’re never gonna break me.”

More COVID-19 relevant titles boosting hits are “Work From Home” by Fifth Harmony and “Down With the Sickness” by Disturbed, which has surged 31% in digital song sales, according to Nielsen Music/ MRC Data; and “Quarantined” by At the Drive-In, which is up 70%.

COVID Spoofs: There are many memes out there but it is hard to fault Chris Mann with “My Carona,” spoofing “My Sharona,” and “Stay At Home Vogue,” parodying Madonna’s “Vogue.”

Songs In Response To The Virus: Not necessarily so bubbly are Bono’s “Let Your Love Be Known” and Randy Newman’s “Stay Away.”

A three-minute single won’t doesn’t erase the tragedy of COVID-19, its threat to jobs and economy but helps to lighten our load. As the record and radio-industry slogan says, “life sounds better to music.” Some relentlessly light tunes are madly irritating to some people and inspiring to others. Based on listening to 1,000 new albums a year and thousands of singles, here is a personal choice: “Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3” by Ian Dury and the Blockheads; “My Favorite Things” from The Sound Of Music; “Pure” by The Lightning Seeds; “Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me)” by Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel; “Candy” by Paulo Nutini; “It’s Gonna Be Okay, Baby” by MUNA; “Song 2” by Blur; and “One More Time” by Daft Punk.

Maybe add to the playlist a few pieces of 1960s psychedelic pop such as “Itchycoo Park” or “Lazy Sunday” by the Small Faces; “Sugar Sugar” by The Archies or “Marrakesh Express” by Crosby, Stills and Nash. If you are making a playlist, hopefully these suggestions will help boost your “quarantune” spirits.

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beatemporium · 4 years

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Recording with Pendo & Leah Zawose and Wamwiduka in 2019 and 2020

Part 1: British Council Trip February 2019

Having spent a small but influential portion of my childhood in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, I was over the moon to be returning to take part in a music production and education project set up by the British Council. I’d be going out into the heat of sub-Saharan summer with accomplished guitarist, fellow music producer and regular collaborator, Tom Excell, to be part of a project I’d been dreaming about for 15 years. I held such fond memories of Tanzania; remembering street corners piled high with infinitely juicy oranges, the lush smell of a tropical climate next to the Indian Ocean, and the warm smiles of the Swahili people, always welcoming with cheeky curiosity. Exiting the airport I felt a strong sense of home wash over me as these thoughts returned to me expectantly.

I was excited to meet the musicians we knew so little about, that would soon change not only my perception of rhythm, but my outlook on what it means to write music from the soul. I discovered that writing and performing music for these particular Tanzanians isn’t so much a creative endeavour or choice, but a necessity. An unstoppable thirst for creative expression that defines they way that they live.

Our roll call was at 10am the morning after we arrived, but with Tom suffering from a mild bout of yellow fever (as a reaction to the jab he had had a few days before) I timidly arrived by myself at Nafasi Arts Space in the Mikocheni area of Dar es Salaam. Aziza Ongala, the creative brain behind the project, arranged us in a circle on the dusty dance floor of the outdoor space for an introductory meeting. There were the four boys in Wamwiduka band, all in their early twenties and wearing trendy clothes - purposefully ripped jeans, slogan T Shirts and a combination of beaded, dreaded and threaded hair that oozed style. None of them spoke more than a few words of English and with my Swahili embarrassingly bad, our introductions were limited to a thumbs up, smiles and hand slap thumb click combo that would be become the standard greeting. The Zawose sisters were next; Pendo & Leah, accompanied by Pendo’s 11 month old son, introduced themselves with a few words in Swahili that were translated for my benefit - they were excited about our collaboration, and had an open mind coming in to the project. Music to my ears! I fumbled a similar introduction for myself that was translated into Swahili, sweating in the 30 degree heat.

Having done a small amount of research beforehand, I had discovered that Pendo was the daughter, and Leah the granddaughter of the late Dr Hukwe Zawose of the Gogo tribe from central Tanzania. Hukwe had found fame with Real World records in the 90s singing and playing traditional instruments such as the illimba (a large thumb piano), zeze (similar to a kora as found in west Africa) and chizeze (similar to a violin). He had supported Peter Gabriel as part of his Growing Up world tour, and become a beacon of East African music when ‘world music’ was getting a first wave a recognition among western audiences. He brought the Zawose family to the UK for the 2000 WOMAD Festival, and released three albums with the label before his untimely death in 2003 from AIDS. Dr Zawose was highly regarded in his own country too, performing for the then President Julius Nyerere under whom Tanzanian arts and culture flourished. He started the Bagamoyo College of Arts in his home town and taught his large family (which consists of 7 wives and 14 children) how to play the music of the Wagogo. Later on I found out that Pendo’s brother, Charles Zawose, had become the de facto band leader when Hukwe had died, but in tragic circumstances Charles was also to succumb to AIDS only a year after his father. The family still perform occasionally, but their days of making a living as a large travelling music troupe are over. In this moment, we realised that Pendo & Leah have an opportunity to take the torch for their family legacy - not only as incredibly talented multi-instrumentalists and singers, but also as women, breaking the mould of their family’s patriarchal past. Their music is psychedelic in parts - motifs repeated with entrancing effects, topped with powerful voices in harmony, and intricate poly-rhythmic drum and percussion parts that bring an upbeat energy. As our relationship with them and their music developed, we realised how important it was to give these women a platform equivalent to the men in their family, and raise the profile of the Zawose name once again.

Wamwiduka tell a different story. The young men are from a small village just outside Mbeya, itself a small town in the far south west of Tanzania. The band consists of Brown as lead singer and banjo player, Peter on shakers and backing vocals, Matcha on a hand bass drum, and Zacharia on babatone, a large homemade instrument resembling something not too far away from an upright bass. The story goes that Brown, devoted to being a musician from a young age, learned to play the banjo from his father, as well as how to build the instrument out of a sauce pan and cow hide, with cycling brake wire for strings. On the daily long walk to gather water for his family, Peter would accompany him, begging him to let him learn too so they could perform together. Peter made his shakers from coffee tins with seeds inside and hand carved wooden handle, developing a highly intricate and energetic performance style. Later Zacharia and Matcha joined, forming a band that would get their whole village dancing on street corners as they honed their craft. Once old enough, they decided to leave the village and travel the 850km across the country to Dar es Salaam, where they stood a chance of making it as professional musicians. With just their instruments on their backs, they would busk in towns along the way to collect enough money for the bus fare to get to the next town, or hitch rides wherever possible. Their heady mix of upbeat banjo-led 3 chord progressions, fast syncopated drums, and 2- and 3-part harmony instantly puts you on your feet, conjuring feelings of island life and care-free joy. Upon arriving in Dar es Salaam, they gigged relentlessly until noticed, building up a reputation as one of Tanzania's most exciting contemporary young bands.

So it was with this knowledge that we set out in February 2019 to form a supergroup band consisting of the Zawose women, the four young men in Wamwiduka, Kenyan musicians Ambassa Mandela & Dunga, myself and Tom. We felt very fortunate to be involved and exposed to such inspired musicians, so decided to record as much of it as possible. During the project organised by Aziza (herself the daughter of Tanzanian music royalty, Remmy Ongala) we delivered 4 days of music production workshops in Dar es Salaam, and in Stone Town Zanzibar, as well as performing three 45 minute long sets of original material. On one down day, we took a memorable trip to Bagamoyo - the home of the Zawose women. We spent it on the beach swimming, dancing and laughing, but most importantly, jamming. It was here that I realised how important musical expression is to all of these musicians... they just did not stop! Here we were on our ‘relax’ day, having been rehearsing in a small hot room for 5 days straight, and there wasn’t a single moment in the day where someone wasn’t performing. Their thirst for music is unquenchable - they sing while waiting for the bus, dance across the beach, teach each other banjo while relaxing in the shade. They are singing about the plight of their people, love gained (never lost), and about their gratitude for the experiences they are having through music. There is something about this pure self-reflection and relentless positivity that is so different from western musical culture, and so uplifting. Even if you don’t understand the words, this spirit translates effortlessly through the music. I challenge anyone to listen and watch without a smile from ear to ear.

Our second and only other collective down day was in Zanzibar. We were all staying together in a typical Zanzibari guest house, complete with rooftop breakfast bar. It was on this rooftop, with its shaded area and view of Stone Town ferry port that we built a small recording setup using the equipment we were touring with. By this time I had gotten used to recording East Africa style - with 10 microphone cables of which only 5 worked, and the imminent threat of the power cutting out at any moment - so I knew I had to be clever with my microphone choices and quick in order to capture it all. The Zawose women were downstairs in one of the rooms, writing with the help of Tom and Dunga, while I recorded a rousing 3 song performance from Wamwiduka. Their music is very high energy, and knowing that they are used to playing to excitable audiences I hit record and jumped around like a maniac on the rooftop while they were playing, to make up for the lack of crowd. My questionable ‘mzungu’ dancing got a good few laughs in between the songs and I think we managed to capture their energetic performance.

Next up were the Zawoses who had written their first ever pair of songs. We couldn’t believe it, but such is the strength of the family patriarchy, that the women were never encouraged to put forward their own compositions for performance with the family. The first song, Sauti Ya Mama, was about Pendo's new role as the mother of a son. Baby Yussufu was with us on the trip and just before coming up to the rooftop to record the song, Pendo had been breastfeeding. It felt like the perfect time to record such a personal song, with Yussufu just out of sight but certainly not mind. Tom joined on guitar and a performance was recorded with two illimba thumb pianos and the voices live, with the sound of the nearby port bleeding into the background. As their act is made up of just the two of them, we decided to record some extra drum and percussion parts over the top to give the performance more energy. I watched how Pendo played the ngoma (drum) on every single beat that I did not expect her to play, and missed out every beat my western trained rhythmic brain had expected. All the while it felt like she was dancing simultaneously - a remarkable sight.

Part 2: Recording in Bagamoyo, February 2020

Once we had carried out all of our performances and the project for the British Council completed, Tom and I headed back to the UK. We spent the next 3 or 4 months sporadically working on the tracks we had recorded, adding subtle percussion and bass elements in order to make the production fuller, without taking away from the traditional aspects of the songs and performance. We resolved to return as soon as feasibly possible so we could complete full length recordings with the artists.

Towards the end of 2019, our plans started to come into fruition, and we enlisted the brilliant and enthusiastic help of Pepe Waziri in order to make it a reality. She conferred with the artists, acting as de facto manager for both groups, in a stroke of fortune Tom’s UK band Onipa had been booked to play at Sauti za Busara festival so would be in the area already during February 2020 already, and we felt like the opportunity to get out there and make these records had to be taken. We carried out meetings with UK based record labels specialising in releasing music from Africa, and they were enthusiastic about partnering to work with us on the project, giving us the guarantee of financial support to make it possible. We also received an extremely generous donation from Sue Huxtable, my old school headteacher in Tanzania that enabled us to pay for our initial costs. The next month was spent frantically organising all aspects of the trip - we decided that the location should be Bagamoyo so as to be close to the Zawose family, and found a pair of houses in a small cul de sac where we could stay and also record undisturbed. The Wamwiduka guys would travel from Dar es Salaam to be with us for enough time to record their album in a live setting, as we realised the Zawose record would involve more composition and potentially a deeper level of production. Once all aspects of the trip were in place, we booked our flights and were able to put more thought into the musical development of the project, listening to the music of Hukwe Zawose for inspiration.

We arrived and went straight from the airport to the house in Bagamoyo to meet Pepe and unload our equipment. We felt prepared technically, but with no real plan for how the music was going to play out. We had an incredibly tall order for the two weeks ahead, taking on the recording and partial writing of two entire albums - something that we would have spent months working on had it been done in the UK. Despite this, it all felt very immediate: the musicians seemed to have no lapses in energy or confidence, and we were able to keep up with the pace by working into the early hours each evening after the musicians went home. In order to break up the recording and give some variety to the sound, we decided to do some of the recording on the beach less than a mile from our house and home studio. We took Wamwiduka and a small portable setup with us in Pepe’s 7-seater car, setting up in a big fire pit at the back of the beach to avoid the wind. Wamwiduka performed around 8 songs in this setting as the sun went down, including an a cappella version of one of their songs, and a few that Brown sang without accompaniment. Once we had recorded and incredible 19 songs with Wamwiduka over the course of 3 days, we listened to them all as a group and chose the 12 that we felt best worked together to give the record variety and depth. What we’ve ended up with is a collection of performances that represents their sound completely - from the high octane songs as performed in their live set, to the more intimate performances where Brown’s rich voice tells stories of a life of struggle, and love for his companions.

The album with Pendo and Leah required a bit more planning and involvement on our part. On the first day, we were told that 4 songs had been written for the purpose of this recording, and a potential 5th existed as a collaboration with Leah’s father (also Pendo’s brother), known to us simply as Baba Leah. We were told he had played with Hukwe as part of his band, and specialised in the chizeze and zeze instruments which we had heard on Hukwe’s recordings. Setting out to record the songs already written, we helped develop them structurally and led the women through building up the production on the tracks bit by bit, making decisions as to what instruments might work on which songs as we went. We decided to keep some tracks in their bare forms, opting to maintain the traditional elements, but when it came around to writing new songs we started with an electronic beat that Tom or I programmed, in order to give Pendo & Leah a foundation to write on top of. They responded amazingly well to this - sometimes writing verses in a matter of a few minutes and being totally open to our ideas for the backing tracks. In total we wrote 4 songs from scratch in this way during our time with them. On two particularly special days recording with the Zawoses, Baba Leah graced us with his musical skill and enlightening company. We never asked his age, but his spirited performances belied his years and thin frame - proof that music really does keep the soul alive. His bright eyes lit up as soon as he started singing, and we found ourselves uncontrollably drawn to this experienced performer who had needed help getting out of the car, but could hop and skip around the room with ease when performing. We travelled with the Zawoses for a short recording session on the beach as well, only 50m down from where we had seen videos of Pendo’s late brother Charles make his final group performance before his sad death. It felt like such an honour to be entrusted with capturing their music - this music style that has been passed down for many generations through the Wagogo people.

Amazingly, on the day before we left, we were able to complete the recording for the Zawose’s album. 12 tracks in total that tell stories from the plight of their people, to feelings of collective hope in humanity. After making some video and photo content to use as part of the promotion, our job (for the time being) was done and we departed from Bagamoyo with our heads held high. Great friendships had been developed, as well as a huge amount of excitement for the next chapter of their story. A particularly special moment was when Peter, the shaker player in Wamwiduka, was leaving the Bagamoyo house. He shouted through the open window in his broken English ‘I love you guys, all so much’ with a huge grin spread across his face. It’s this completely genuine display of emotion and enthusiasm that fills the music of both groups, transcending language and borders to uplift the soul of anyone who listens. We really hope you enjoy it!

#recording #tanzania #eastafrica #britishcouncil #zawose #wamwiduka

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weepingstar · 7 years

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The Feelings You Have at the Funeral of an (Un)loved One

(So I’ve been working on a multi-chapter fic which is coming along, but this little idea sprung forth and it was a nice little distraction to write it. Just to be clear, I’m not excusing the actions of Mary Lou or of any abuser, Credence is going through a process in his head that I believe many victims of abuse go through. He’s wary of thinking Mary Lou is all bad, and can’t quite accept that as a blanket term for her any longer. His feelings are very mixed up with an obedient love and his contempt too. I hope I handled this okay and that I didn’t offend or upset anybody.)

Mary Lou had died, and Credence wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that.

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Nothing lasts, Mary Lou had once told him bitterly, when Credence was about ten or so, he’d torn his winter jacket and Mary Lou had to go and find a new one, called him a spoilt child, a wretched boy. He’d had to get used to a permanent draft in the threadbare material he’d got in return, had to shiver and not complain because it was his fault, what he deserved, Mary Lou said. Nothing lasts forever.

When he had left, run away in the middle of the night into the welcoming home and arms of Mr. Graves, he had never looked back. Credence had happily put Mary Lou in a box marked ‘Bad’ and had left it at that. Now, however, she was in another box.

Graves had gently told Credence the night before that Mary Lou had passed away, a heart defect the doctor had told him, quickly slipped away in her sleep, the best way to go, Credence. While Graves couldn’t and wouldn’t find a lick of sympathy within himself for the woman, he certainly held it for Credence. Who had all of a sudden looked exactly like a little boy, small and lost and scared. Graves had sat him down on the couch and waited the inevitable tears out, a hand on the back of Credence’s neck, watching him rock a little and clasp his hands together, small patters of tears the only thing he could hear.

Credence was of course well aware that the woman had abused him, had made his life a living hell for some years, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold any love for her, or something close to it however strange that might seem. She had, despite her numerous flaws, fed him, taken him in off the streets and clothed him.

Credence had wept, not for what Mary Lou had been - a tyrant, terribly misguided and with a violent prejudice - but what she could have been to him - a mother.

Spending much of the night in the company of Mr. Graves, rubbing his fist into his eyes to stop himself from crying, a silly reaction he was sure Graves would think. Telling Mr. Graves to leave him alone, the older man had heard the shake in his voice, the hesitancy that lay beneath it, and he had stayed.

Graves had escorted him to the funeral held in the New Salem church, amongst a crowd of bedraggled and devoted followers who all spoke of what good work Mary Lou did against the evils of the world, what a pure vision she had, an unparalleled devotion. Credence would answer that yes, she had been terribly focused, and yes she was devoted, had tried to comment on how she had fed many tiny mouths while trying to forget that it always came at the price of spreading the Second Salemer’s word. Had tried to say that she had kindly taken him in, had tried to forget what exactly it was she’d done when he’d begun to show magic capabilities, how she’d beaten it out of him. Everyone had eyed Mr. Graves warily, a well dressed and evidently wealthy man at a funeral such as this? They didn’t ask questions, Credence told them he was his guardian, the word sticking to his tongue like syrup.

Graves looks around the church, as decrepit as he remembers it, watches the service held for a terrible woman and wonders how such a wonderful boy could have come out this life. Still is in awe of Credence on a daily basis, and being here in the heart of his upbringing makes him a little preoccupied, a little morose. It’s a very simple funeral which mainly consists of lengthy sermons about how to avoid mortal sin to enter the afterlife, how Mary Lou had most definitely done so. Graves thinks of the stripes across his boy’s back, how he’d worked for months with potions and balms and creams and magical doctors to free him from the wounds of his past, thinks that if Mary Lou is anywhere now, it certainly won’t be heaven. He’d written a large cheque anyway, entirely for the boy’s sake and no one else, to pay for the funeral, the church had said they’d use it to further their cause, if that was alright, already having pocketed the cheque. Graves thought about how the Magical Congress would view him if they found he’d contributed to a force trying to destroy him, first hand at that. He’d call it undercover work and tell them to mind their fucking business.

Bringing himself back to the uncomfortable pew he was sitting on during the service, Graves looks over to Credence on his right, head bowed with his fringe falling into his eyes, hands pressed so tightly together his knuckles had turned white. While Graves had wholeheartedly hated the Barebone woman, Credence hadn’t. Graves had tried his very best to not quip that the fact the woman didn’t have a heart was certainly a defect. Certainly stopped himself from shaking Credence and asking how such a terrible woman had carved out a place for herself in his boy’s chest. Jealously hoped he would be able to consecrate himself in Credence’s precious heart just as firmly as she had.

Credence could barely hear the sermons being preached at the time, had probably heard them a million times over, enough for a million lifetimes he hoped. He was sitting in the church, or, the kind of church kind of home kind of not anything. Just a building he lived in once, not his home but somewhere he stayed for a time. Knew he had found more to call home in Graves’ house within a few short months than he had ever had here. Mary Lou and her oppressive regime, her love not really love but a chore. He had always thought Mary Lou’s love had been much like a league of empty streets, you could wander along them forever and never encounter her there, or anyone at all. Credence thought of how he hadn’t been sad to leave her, to run away, had thought ‘good riddance!’ at the time, high from his escape. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! That she could have mistreated him so badly and still have Credence ping back to place at a moments notice like a particularly worn elastic band.

Credence remembered how when he was a boy she’d tutted at his scraped knees from where he’d been pushed over for spreading God’s word, had put her hand over them and kissed. Remembered her also inflicting such marks on him years later for being late to a meeting she’d brought forward without telling him. Thought how Graves had sent a embracing warmth through his body and healed each and every little ache and pain with just his hands, how he’d been breathless from the relief of every wound, every discomfort, each scar and bad memory.

Remembered how she’d let him stay at the church for once when he was little because it was raining and he was sick with fever, then the times after where he’d been told a temperature was surely the Devil’s work and to fight it off he must go into the rain and serve God. Thought of how Graves had taken him into his home and asked him never to leave, one night, a little teasingly but with glinting eyes which made Credence suspect he was serious. Credence desperately, desperately tried to think of anything to redeem his kind-of-mother. Justify her somehow to Graves, maybe justify her somehow to God, the fearful and unforgiving God that Mary Lou had told him about, even though he didn’t want to believe anymore, a lifetime habit was hard to kick.

Looking at her new box, a too-small coffin for the formidable woman he knew her to be, not marked Bad but engraved with her name. Mary Lou just wouldn’t seem to settle in Credence’s mind, wouldn’t stay in the Bad box in Credence’s head, wouldn’t let him close the lid whatever he did.

Credence felt a strong hand grip his, realising he’d started sniffing a little as the coffin was sprinkled with holy water. Graves held his hand tightly, didn’t say a word, hadn’t said a word against Credence’s non-mother ever since he found out about her death. Hadn’t questioned Credence’s wild swings from hating to loving her, hadn’t scolded him for his erratic behaviour since the other night.

His Graves. Strong and consistent and kind and generous and steadfast. Would never leave him or make him go out in the rain and would even probably kiss his hurts if Credence asked him to.

Several men took Mary Lou away to be buried not far off in a local cemetery, Credence keeps his eyes trained on the box until it reaches the door, and then never looks back, lets the rest of the congregation filter out until it’s just Graves sat next to him, still holding his hand. Letting go only to guide Credence’s head to his shoulder and shush him, telling Credence it’s okay to cry, it’s okay, dear boy.

Later on, when Graves had swept Credence away from the church, he’d taken him for a walk in the park, along the lake, walking until he found a suitable bench next to the shore. They were both quiet for some time, hearing only the calls of birds around them, a odd few walkers with their children or pets or friends or alone. Credence’s eyes were mostly dry now, he still snuffled from time to time, was watching the birds flocking across the lake, landing in an interesting mixture of grace and clumsiness. Some birds were sitting in the skeletons of trees, no leaves left now in late October. Credence, finding his voice again, says to Graves

“She did do one thing right, no matter what you might think,” Credence smiles, the expression a little watery and trembling at the lip.

“Oh, what was that?” Graves asks, intent on indulging his Credence in whatever way he needs at the moment.

“She drove me to you, didn’t she?”

Graves shuffled himself closer to hold an arm around the boy’s shoulders. Hums quietly, a little too delighted to think up a proper sentence, a little touched.

“That she did,” he squeezes Credence’s shoulder in agreement. A pause, “it’s not your fault you know, no one could blame you for leaving her, Credence, you know that don’t you?” Graves whispers to him, fervent, finally giving into say something he’s wanted to for days now, no, since Credence came to him in the dead of night and said he’d finally left, that he was finally free of her.

Credence takes a deep intake of breath, nodding, knowing he hears what Graves says, maybe even believes it. Credence knows there are certain parts of himself that were forged by Mary Lou, knew he didn’t like most of them, but some were okay. His dogged perseverance, to a fault. His loyal devotion, to a fault. His overbearing shyness, certainly to a fault.

“I just don’t know what to do with her, in my head, I mean, she was bad and I know she was never good but now she’s just dead and I just-“ Another deep breath, another shaky exhale, Graves’ arm wrapping securely around him even more.

“She doesn’t need to be anything now, Credence, just let her be, let her go. You’re allowed.” Graves feels entirely inadequate, that his words can never be right, never be enough in this moment, desperately wanting to reach out to the boy and with touch alone show him what he means, push his forehead against Credence’s to say he wishes the woman had never marked him, had never made him something he wasn’t, say that he knows he’s brash and uncaring for the woman, of course, but that he’s trying, he’s trying. Wants to brush his lips across Credence’s knuckles to say that he wishes the woman didn’t take up any space in Credence’s mind or heart or soul because she doesn’t deserve Credence and Credence never deserved her. Wants to tell Credence none of this is his fault and he wishes he could shirk the blame from the boy’s shoulders to his own, would be like Atlas carrying the burden of Credence’s love for him instead, would do anything.

“You mean more, I mean… Yes, you mean more to me than she ever did, just so you know.” Credence says, as bold as a mouse about to be caught in the kitchen nibbling on something he shouldn’t. Needs Graves to know that through all this, even though he’s so mixed up and weary and feels like a jigsaw puzzle with none of the pieces in place, wants Graves to know he wouldn’t be anything without Graves, hopes Graves can see that.

“You mean a lot to me, too, sweet boy,” Graves is very daring, bumps his forehead into the side of Credence’s head, know he needs to give it time, give the boy space, but can’t help himself take that small indiscretion.

Credence and Graves, his definitely-not-dad, but possibly something else, sit together and watch as across the purple sky of late afternoon, a flock of birds leave South for the Winter.

“Where are they going?” Credence asks, happy with Graves’ warm arm around him, the side of his head tingling.

“They’re flying somewhere warmer for the Winter, flying home,” Graves answers.

“And then in the Summer?” Credence frowns, not sure why birds wouldn’t want to experience the Christmas holidays in New York.

“They fly back, find their place again,” Graves looks up at the formation of birds leaving across the lake.

Credence thinks that perhaps he won’t ever understand migratory birds or his sort of love for Mary Lou, just like he won’t ever understand mathematics and how to tie a double windsor. Thinks that perhaps his returning to Mary Lou wasn’t inevitable like a snapping elastic band, but instead like the birds, like going somewhere out of necessity for warmth, and upon finding none, maybe he would never go back. If he were a bird, Credence thinks, he would always find himself flying back to Graves.

“Shall we go home, too?” Graves asks him, probably hoping Credence isn’t waxing lyrical in his head about migratory birds.

“Yes, please,” Credence answers, happy to be led back, back, back, to his home, Winter or Summer, hot or cold, Graves.

Nothing lasts forever, but that means the bad things won’t last either.

#gravebone #gradence #fbwtft #fbawtft #credence barebone #percival graves #fluff #long post #fic #ficlet #writing #fantastic beasts and where to find them #mary lou barebone

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trevorbailey61 · 6 years

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Rickie Lee Jones

Assembly, Leamington Spa

Tuesday 27th February 2018

Thursday 6th September 1979. For many years this would have been the time I returned to school following the summer break but a few weeks before I had received a slip of paper through the post informing me that I had gained the grades I needed to secure my place at Nottingham University. My life was about to change but that wasn’t until the end of the month, in the meantime I had a few weeks to enjoy the break and prepare for a new beginning. The previous year Thursday afternoon had involved a long session of pure maths, struggling with differentiation and integration, matrices and transformations and the staggering complexity of a right angle triangle. Symbols, numbers, both real and imaginary, and obscure equations had taken the subject into the realms of the abstract and left me increasingly bewildered as to how it related to the world around me. Thursday afternoon maths would soon to reappear, in a lecture that began…. BEGAN!!! at 5:15, but for now I could saunter along the road that takes me to the No 9 bus terminus in Quinton without a care in the world. Whether it was football, music or the pubs and clubs of the city, the No 9 was our portal to the world, the route along the Hagley Road took us from comfortable detached suburbia to the city centre and beyond, a service it provided throughout the night. Growing up on the edge of the city certainly had its advantages.

Normally, waiting for the bus I would be accompanied by others, either the most unthreatening crew of football fans imaginable or a few friends sharing a late night out, but on this occasion I was alone. This was not unusual, most of the time I went to concerts I went alone as few, if any, shared my eclectic taste in music. Despite an obsession with collecting records that had started seven or eight years previously, I was still something of a novice in live music; it wasn’t until I went to University that I started to attend gigs regularly. Whilst my friends had parents who took them to see Bowie, T Rex and Pink Floyd, that was never something mine were interested in and it was only when I was able to make my own way and fund them myself that I started to go, mostly to the Odeon in New Street where I had already seen Status Quo, Genesis, Wishbone Ash and Gary Numan. This is not a list that gave me many credibility points later, a deficit made up a little by my only visit to Barbarella’s to see Blondie, an experience that scarred me for many years to come. As an aside, I only ever went to two concerts with both of my parents, one was Cliff Richard, we were kids at the time and needed some guidance, the other was Ella Fitzgerald and in terms of kudos it is difficult to think of a greater contrast.

That Thursday evening I was heading once again to the Odeon, this time to see Rickie Lee Jones. Quite what it was that persuaded me to forsake the lad rock of most of my previous gigs for Jones’ smooth woozy jazz intonations I cannot say but more than likely it was mostly to do with the success of the single “Chuck E’s in Love”; a song that had forced its way into my mind and challenged me to see music as something more than hairy blokes with guitars. Despite my naivety, even I was beginning to see that neither Rick Parfitt nor Phil Collins nor, despite how hard he tried bless him, Gary Numan were really cool. Rickie Lee Jones, however, was; the red beret, that covers her head as she lights a cheroot on the cover of her first album and which she wore that evening, told us that we were in the presence of, to take the title one of her songs, the Queen of “Coolsville”, the bohemian poster girl telling stories of seedy but exciting characters unencumbered by the trials of making sense of differential calculus. It would be nice if I could complete this story by saying that it was a transformational experience, that I was so moved by a performance of such intensity that I walked out vowing never to listen to “Supper’s Ready” again. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. Firstly, as a support act, she had decided to bring with her a comedian about which the kindest thing to say was that his humour didn’t cross the Atlantic; more likely, however, was that he just wasn’t funny. Jones herself was not a happy bunny and complained relentlessly during the set that barely made it to the hour mark. She did do most of her eponymous debut album but having done that she either ran out of material or decided that she couldn’t be arsed and when the auditorium lights came on the audience stared vacantly at each other trying to find the words to express just how much they felt they had been short changed. It would be nearly forty years before we would share a room again.

Subsequent events, however, suggest that there have been a little more to this than just artistic petulance with Jones being more than an observer of the dysfunctional lives of the Venice beach characters that inhabited her songs. She may have fused intricate storytelling with jazz rhythms and chord progressions but her lifestyle became pure rock ’n’ roll; drink, drugs and self indulgence. Despite this, her skills as a songwriter remained intact and the albums that followed, “Pirates” and “The Magazine”, stand in comparison with the delicate beauty of that debut; her set is still mainly made up of songs from this period. I still feel a little trepidation, however, in renewing our acquaintance as her reputation as an erratic live performer remains and as I arrived at The Assembly on a bitterly cold evening the doubts began to intensify. The email that arrived about a week before had told us that rather than the 7:30pm time that was advertised, the doors would now open at 7:00pm and suggested that we arrive there early. I did, about ten minutes before the time stated, and a small queue had already formed of those making sure they were able to secure the best of the unreserved seats. The anticipated short wait, however, became longer as did the queue until eventually a rather harassed man, who I presume was the manager, appeared to say yes he appreciated that we were suffering from the early stages of hypothermia but unfortunately they weren’t ready and they couldn’t let us in. He then promptly disappeared and left his colleague, a girl who looked as if she had only recently entered her twenties, to deal with the increasingly hostile people shivering outside. The “they” was obviously meant as an attempt to deflect this frustration on to the artist and the fastidious soundcheck going on inside, an easy target given the temperamental reputation that Jones carries with her. At about 7:30, however, a group of four stockily built men made their way to the front of the queue and took up their positions on the door. It appeared that whilst the punters had been informed of the earlier start, no one had thought to mention it to the security detail.

Having done most of the waiting outside, it wasn’t long before the two musicians who form the backing band were onstage laying down some intricate jazzy tones by way of an introduction. The precision of the playing was immaculate and formed a sparse but beautifully layered backdrop to the songs throughout. The wonderfully varied percussion used an array of hand held shakers, cymbals and a vibraphone to hold together the complex timing of Jones’ story-songs whilst at other times laying down a solid 4/4 beat. Around this, the guitar would add brilliantly nuanced flourishes recalling the street sounds that formed the setting for the stories being told. As they had done forty years ago, the songs from the debut album still form most of the salient moments in the set, so familiar now that the few notes that form the introduction are enough to draw hollers of approval from an audience well versed in her work. A few strummed chords are all that is needed to announce the opener “Weasel And The White Boys Cool”, extended into a long jazzy ramble showing that whilst she was happy to play the songs we wanted to hear, she would do so at her own pace. “Young Blood” had a laid back funky feel whilst the yearning in “The Last Chance Texaco” would melt even the hardest of hearts. It is unusual for a female songwriter to find a metaphor for a broken heart in a malfunctioning automobile but Jones pulls it off spectacularly, even transforming her voice into the desolate howl of a passing car at the end of the song. In introducing “Chuck E’s in Love” she explains how an old school friend called Julie had introduced her to the chords around which her most familiar song is built, as she says; “thanks Julie”. The set concludes with her tender reflection on childhood, "On Saturday Afternoons In 1963” where she is able to capture how fresh and exciting the world appears to a child before routine and familiarity dull our experience. With its haunting melody and Jones hushed singing, it is a beautifully emotional moment which she obviously feels she is unable to top as even forty years later she still doesn’t do encores.

Her inner child is evident in her strange girl/woman voice that makes astonishing jumps between registers, surely an influence on both Martha Wainwright and Cerys Matthews, but often this is set in a stark contrast to the deep pain and hard knocks found in many of her songs. She moves from acoustic to electric guitar, explaining her satisfaction at using the latter for rhythm rather than as a lead or for effect, before quietly moving to the piano towards the end. “Living It Up” is another wander amongst the bums and losers of Venice Beach, Eddie , Cunt-finger Louie, and a girl named Zero all drawn to a strange place where everyone seems to be “Living it Up”. “Pirates (So Long, Lonely Avenue)” is her breaking away from the familiar faces and routines; “Well, goodbye boys; Oh my buddy boys; Oh my sad-eyed Sinatras”; a recognition that the things are moving on and that staying around would diminish her. Written in the aftermath of her break up with Tom Waits it is clear eyed in its understanding that it is not just the relationship that is over but also that way of life. Both songs are taken her second album “Pirates” from which she also draws “We Belong Together”, like the others populated by flawed and dangerous characters who in some macabre ritual will always be drawn to one another. The depth in the storytelling so early in her career is astonishing and whilst she remains a songwriter of incredible insight, her more recent music doesn’t quite capture the same raw intensity. “Circle in the Sand” and “Haunted” were both immaculately arranged and played but still weren’t quite as moving.

The evocative melodies and delicate musical settings has always added a poignancy to even the darkest of Jones’ songs but with the passage of time, their emotional impact has been greatly enhanced. At the time, the characters and scenes she depicted were those that she saw around her but now they are like postcards from a past that has long ceased to exist; the Eddie’s, Johnny’s, Zero’s and even cunt-finger Louie having long since succumbed to the dysfunction of their lifestyle; the one that Jones herself was able to escape. As I listen to songs that have been with me for the best part of my adult life, I reflect on how my own world has changed since I sat in the stalls at the Birmingham Odeon, those friends at the time, most of whom I no longer see, and those in my life now who I hadn’t met, or who may not have even been born, then. In particular, I think of those eccentric characters who could, and possible should, have formed the subject of my own stories to preserve their life in the way that those who strolled around the streets of south LA have been preserved. Then it was probably not the will be the talent that prevented me from doing this. Jones remains a somewhat tetchy live performer who lacks the easy rapport to seem quite fully at ease in front of an audience but her writing and the intensity of her performance bring to life the songs that retain their power even when their subjects are no longer around. A performance like this all those years ago really would have singled the end for “Supper’s Ready” - “Then again years may go by: Years may go by.”

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free-mormons-blog · 7 years

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Early Accounts of Jesus' Childhood -- Mormonism and Early Christianity -- HUGH NIBLEY 1987

Early Accounts of Jesus' Childhood

There are two widely separated traditions of the childhood of Jesus. The older and more valuable one, whose chief representative is a writing known as the Protoevangelium of James, was condemned by St. Jerome, along with a great deal of ancient and authentic early Christian material, and so came under the ban of the Popes.1 In its place there grew up another and later tradition, a mass of popular fables and miracle stories which captivated the minds of the Middle Ages and have come down to us as the official “Infancy Gospels.”2 These stories are unabashed daydreams in which Jesus is always the “super-boy” whose tricks are the dread and envy of all his fellows: Jesus slides down a sunbeam or hangs his water pitcher on a sunbeam, and when the other boys try it with disastrous results, Jesus instantly and magically mends the damage; when Joseph the carpenter has a hard time fitting pieces of wood together, Jesus simply blesses them into place; when a local bully jostles Jesus in the street or breaks his sand castles with a stick, the offender is at a word from Jesus withered upon the spot; when the other kids will not play with Jesus, he turns them into goats, and so forth.3 Of course, it is the school teacher who takes the worst beating, being struck blind or dead if he dares scold Jesus or tweak his ear—but only, of course, after Jesus has brilliantly illustrated his own wisdom and the teacher’s ignorance.4

Separated “by an enormous gap” from this popular literature which so vividly reflects the mentality of late antiquity is the earlier tradition, sober, plausible, and of recent discovery. New Greek and Coptic manuscript finds now take us back more than 700 years earlier than any childhood accounts of Jesus heretofore known outside the Bible.5 Yet it turns out that both traditions deal with the same basic stories. If we strip the later legends of their fantastic accretions (which are easily recognized because of the conflicts among them), we may well ask whether the nonmiraculous elements they all have in common might not go back to a foundation of fact. What are these elements?

For one, all sources, early and late, Christian and anti-Christian, agree that Jesus’ family was often in trouble and moved about a good deal. The early anti-Christian writers made much of this: a family of improvident ne’er-do-wells, tramping about the country looking for odd jobs; Mary a woman of the lowest classes and the loosest morals, working as a ladies’ hairdresser, kicked out by her husband when she had an affair with a Roman soldier (they furnished the name, rank, and serial number), giving birth in disgrace to Jesus, the ambitious boy who picked up a bag of magic tricks in Egypt along with exalted ideas about his own divinity, and who gathered about him a band of vagabonds and desperadoes with whom he ranged the countryside, picking up a living by questionable means.6

Implicit in all the early Christian accounts of Jesus, Cullmann observes, is that they are obviously written in reply to these scandalous stories that were spread about concerning the young Jesus and his family at a very early date.7 That is why they lay such stress on the spotless purity of Mary, give full play to the journey to Egypt, and emphasize the diligence of Joseph, who “never at any time ate the bread of idleness,” with the youthful Jesus always working hard at his side.8

Now we know who it was that gathered, embellished, and published the scandal-stories about the family—it was the doctors of the schools, the same “Scribes and Pharisees” who relentlessly pursued Jesus and John the Baptist during their ministries. Here again all our sources agree that the trouble was about Jesus and that it was the local scribes who stirred up the people against him and his family wherever they went.9 And the people were easily stirred up since (again according to all reports) they were overawed by Jesus and rather afraid of him, like the widow who took the family in when they came to Egypt—”wrapped in strips of ragged stuff even as we are,” says one early preacher—but turned them out of the house when Jesus (at the age of three) brought a dried fish to life.10 The miraculous element is only to be expected, but would pro-Christian apologists all admit that the family was hated and persecuted because of Jesus if there was any reason for denying it? “These people [must] suffer and hate us and persecute us,” Joseph complains to Jesus in a very early source.11

But what did Jesus do to make all that trouble? All the sources agree with Luke 2:52, that he was a good boy and everybody liked him. Even our collectors of miracle tales are careful to specify that there was nothing abnormal about his family life: “And He increased in stature like [any other] child, and He obeyed His parents, and performed all the other things which it was right for Him to do. . . . [He] called Joseph ‘my father,’ and Joseph instructed Him like a son, and the child obeyed him like a good son.”12

It was not anything Jesus did (it will not be necessary to show what is wrong with the popular “super-boy” stories), but rather things he said which, according to the early sources, got people upset and enraged the local clergy. The sayings attributed to him as a child are significant, since they are found among the early logia of Jesus, some of which are being accepted by scholars today as genuine utterances of the Lord:13 “My nature is not like yours. I existed before you were born. . . . If you wish to become a father, be taught by me. . . . No one else has seen the mark of the cross which I have sworn to bear. . . . You do not know how you were born or where you came from; I alone know that. . . . I know where you were born, and I know it from my Father who knows me.” 14 When he heals the foot of a young man who had injured himself with an ax, Jesus says, “Arise now, split the wood and think of me!” This is very close to the recently discovered logion, “When you split the wood, there am I!” which scholars now accept as a genuine utterance of Jesus. 15 Whether authentic or not, these childhood sayings of Jesus do represent the oldest, pre-Synoptic, Christian record. Also, all three references to Jesus’ childhood in the New Testament mention his phenomenal wisdom, even the greatest doctors at Jerusalem being “astonished at his understanding and answers” (Luke 2:47).

Another significant element in the “Infancy” stories is their constant preoccupation with the temple. This again is a mark of the earliest tradition, for as we have shown elsewhere, the church writers after the fall of Jerusalem become definitely hostile to the temple as a purely Jewish institution.16 The main theme is Mary’s service in the temple, “behind the veil of the altar,” where she offered up sacrifices—a strange thing for a woman to do. “Her tunic came down over her seal, and her head-cloth came down over her eyes; she wore a girdle round her tunic, and her tunic was never soiled or torn.”17

Of peculiar interest in the older stories are the accounts of the family’s sojourns in the desert. The Protoevangelium of James tells how Jesus, when he was eight, walked with his family from Jericho to the Jordan, that is, right through the heart of the “Dead Sea Scrolls Country” at the very time when the communities were going full blast. On the way, we are told, young Jesus turned aside to inspect a cave where a lioness had a pair of cubs. The rest of the company were terrified, but the lioness and her cubs first trotted along down to the Jordan and then on out into the desert.18 Now this is just the sort of thing one would expect to happen: the country was indeed peppered with caves, and lions were being hunted there as late as the time of the Crusades. What Jesus did was just the sort of naive and foolhardy things that little boys do. The later legends, with the Pseudo-Matthew in the lead, make a great production of this: Jesus approaches a cave of dragons, who instantly obey him, while all the animals of the desert then accompany the family on their journey in a regular Dionysiac procession. Embellishing the sober old story of Anna, Jesus’ grandmother, the same stories then have the trees of an oasis bowing down to Mary while a spring of water bursts forth at their feet, and so on.19 The fact that the early version resists every temptation to tell a miracle story about the lions is a strong argument for its authenticity. But the thing to notice is that we have here the whole family going out beyond Jordan into John the Baptist’s country.

A recently discovered Coptic fragment tells how Elizabeth took her son, John, and fled with him to Torinê, which can mean either “hill country” or “the desert of Torinê,”20 the latter being favored in view of another Coptic source that says that Elizabeth and her son lived “in the desert of Torinê” for years.21 They actually had a house there, and a Coptic bishop who tells how Mary went out there to see Elizabeth cries, “I marvel at thee, O virgin, how thou didst know where Torinê was, and who shewed thee the house of Zacharias.”22 When Elizabeth died, according to Serapion’s Life of John the Baptist, Mary and Jesus came to spend a week with the seven-and-a-half-year-old John. When their visit was at an end, Mary had misgivings about leaving the boy: “Woe is me, O John, for thou art alone in the desert and hast no one.” They did not leave, in fact, until they had instructed John “how to live in the desert,” being themselves something of experts in desert lore. Jesus reassured them with the news that John would not be alone, but actually live in a community of prophets and angels, “as if it were a multitude of people.”23

Now Serapion knew precious little about the desert Saints of Qumran who had disappeared 300 years before his day, and naturally thought as we do of one living in the desert as necessarily living alone. But today we know that those very deserts in Jesus’ time housed large communities of pious Jews who had retired from Jerusalem by invitation, in the manner of Lehi. Jesus, as we know from the Bible, often retreated to the desert; and the practice seems to go back to his childhood. After the return from Egypt, according to the Pseudo-Thomas, Joseph took Jesus into the desert, where they lived until things quieted down in Jerusalem. Mary went to stay with her relatives in Capernaum, planning to join her husband later in Nazareth, where Joseph possessed the property of his father. Then when Jesus was seven years old and things were quiet in the realm, they returned to Bethlehem and lived there.24 James confirms the picture: “I, James, who wrote this, went into the desert when there was rioting in Jerusalem at the death of Herod.”25 It was the natural and customary thing to do, as the Dead Sea Scrolls and the example of Lehi amply attest.

The Proto-Gospel of James begins by telling how the righteous and childless Joachim, desiring a blessing, went out in the desert and lived in a tent for forty days. It also tells that when doubts were expressed by some regarding the virginity of Mary, Joseph went out into the desert to be tested, after first submitting to the “water of testing”; and after he had returned, his honor vindicated, Mary went out next to undergo the same test.26 The story is peculiar and awkward enough not to be anybody’s invention, and indeed one is reminded of the great importance placed upon testing and examining the purity of all comers to the community of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and of their purging of defilements by baptisms and washings. If any doubts existed as to a person’s sanctity, passing the tests of the holy covenanters of the desert would allay them.27 A valuable apocryphal source first detected by this writer recounts that it was in one of the desert communities of priests by the banks of the Jordan that Mary became betrothed to Joseph.28

So we would suggest as a possible historical kernel of the stories about the childhood of Jesus certain basic propositions: (1) the family was poor and hard-working; (2) they moved about a good deal; (3) the youthful Jesus said things that astonished and disturbed people; (4) the local ministers stirred up trouble and spread scandalous reports about the family; and (5) they had connections with the pious heretics of the desert, whose writings are full of New Testament ideas and phraseology.

The Latter-day Saint reader cannot but note striking parallels between the early anti-Christian scandal stories and the Palmyra tales about the Joseph Smith family.

* “Early Accounts of Jesus’ Childhood” first appeared in The Instructor, 100 (January 1965): 35—37

1. The subject is discussed at length by Oscar Cullmann in NA 1:279, 303. See also the English translation in NTA 1:373, 405.

2. NA 1:303 and NTA 1:405.

3. These stories are found in the Pseudo-Gospel of Thomas, in NA 1:293—98 and NTA 1:392—99; Sylvain Grebaut, “Miracles of Jesus,” in PO 12:636; the Pistis Sophia, and in later works, cited in ANT 66—70. The most important later work and the source of the “Golden Legend” stories is the Pseudo-Gospel of Matthew, in ANT 70—79.

4. Pseudo-Thomas, in NA 1:296—97 and NTA 1:397.

5. There is a complete discussion and translation of the text in Protoevengelium Jacobi, in NA 1:277—90 and NTA 1:370—88. H. Wall, “A Coptic Fragment Concerning the Childhood of John the Baptist,” in Revue d’Egyptologie 8 (1951): 207—14, has a reproduction of the text.

6. Origen, Contra Celsum 1:27, 32, in PG 11:711—14, 719—23.

7. O. Cullman, “Infancy Gospels,” in NA 1:278—79 and Wilson in NTA 1:372—74.

8. The quote is from “Demetrius on the Birth of Our Lord,” in E. A. Wallis Budge, Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt (London: British Museum, 1915), 656. See also the reprint in 2 vols. (New York: AMS Press, 1977), 656.

9. His particular enemy is the son of Annas the Scribe. See Pseudo-Thomas, in NA 1:294 and NTA 1:393. It is the Scribes who accuse the child Jesus of working miracles on the Sabbath and stir up the people against him (Pseudo-Matthew, in ANT 76) and it is to them that the people complain about Him. It is with the scribes at the local school that Jesus has the most trouble; see above note 4.

10. The quotation is from Budge, Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt, 679—80.

11. Pseudo-Thomas, in NA 1:294 and NTA 1:393; the translation here is Wilson’s.

12. Budge, Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt, 680, 682.

13. We have treated the subject of the Logia in Hugh W. Nibley, “Since Cumorah,” Improvement Era 67 (November 1964):924.

14. The fullest collections are in Grébaut, “Miracles of Jesus,” in PO 12:630—31, and in the Syriac Pseudo-Thomas, in NA 1:298—99 and NTA 1:399—400.

15. Pseudo-Thomas, in NA 1:296 and NTA 1:396, and in the Gospel of Thomas, in NHLE 126 (Logion 77). Most of the childhood sayings here quoted are found in this work. Jesus’ double in Pistis Sophia, ch. 61, and his passing “through the midst of the Archons,” ibid., ch. 7, also belong to the oldest Christian traditions.

16. Hugh W. Nibley, “Christian Envy of the Temple,” Jewish Quarterly Review 50 (1959): 97—123, 299—40; reprinted below in this volume, 390—432.

17. Budge, Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt, 655; Protoevangelium Jacobi 4—7, in NA 1:281—83 and NTA 1:376—78.

18. Pseudo-Matthew, in ANT 78.

19. NA 1:306—08 and NTA 1:410—12.

20. Wall, “A Coptic Fragment Concerning the Childhood of John the Baptist,” 209.

21. Budge, Miscellaneous Coptic Texts in the Dialect of Upper Egypt, 682.

22. Ibid., 667.

23. NA 1:311 and NTA 1:416.

24. ANT 59.

25. Colophon of the Protoevengelium Jacobi 25, in NA 1:290 and NTA 1:388.

26. Colophon of the Protoevengelium Jacobi 16, in NA 1:286 and NTA 1:382—83.

27. See, for example, the “Manual of Discipline,” in G. Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (New York: Penguin, 1975), 74—75, 79—80.

28. Tha’labī, Kitab Qiṣaṣ al-Anbiyā (Cairo: Muṣṭafa al-Ḥalabī al-Bābī wa-Awlāduhu, 1354 A.H.), 260.

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