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reiding-writing · 2 years ago

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Incessant Insomnia [ s.r ]

summary:

The BAU had just finished a case across the country in California, and were now finally on the jet to fly back home, needless to say, everyone was absolutely exhausted and very ready to get some shut eye during the 5 hour flight. Trouble was, Spencer couldn’t sleep, even though he had managed to bag the jet’s sofa, which was arguably the comfiest place on the plane.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers?

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of child death, mentions of touch-starvedness, no use of y/n

wc: 2.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: this is my first upload so please bare with me i’m still learning 😭

As you board the jet alongside your team, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on Spencer Reid's face. It had been a grueling week, with a disturbingly gruesome case across the country that took all semblance of mental energy out of the team to solve. Spencer, ever known for his genius-level intellect and unwavering dedication, didn’t take a single moment to rest throughout it.

And even as he scored the jet’s long sofa for the flight, arguably the most comfortable place on the plane, that moment of rest still didn’t arrive, and Spencer had long given up trying to fall asleep by the time the jet had stablised at 40,000 feet.

He’d tried everything, a Tchaikovsky Sonata playing through his cheap headphones, a travel pillow around his neck, his shoes discarded on the floor so he could curl up his legs under him, he’d even counted the amount of dimmed lightbulbs in the light strips and the number of creases in the leather bound chairs. Nothing. And he was becoming increasingly jealous of the rest of the team resting soundly in their seats.

He’d battled with insomnia for most of his life, a curse of his intelligence as he liked to call it, his mind constantly running so fast it never gave him any time to relax. But this was a little different. Spencer hated working cases involving children, for what ever reason they seemed to press all of the wrong buttons in his mind, and in this instance, the child they’d been called out to save had died before the team had even arrived in California to help.

Spencer couldn’t seem to get the image of anguish from the child’s mother from his mind, replaying like a faulty cassette player with no pause button as he rolled onto his back and let his eyes fall back open. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this flight.

He instead took to an ever-living comfort of his, reading, in the hope that his inner monologue would drown out the guttural sobs ringing through his ears from the grieving mother when the team had uncovered her child’s body, buried underneath her own house.

He pushed himself to sit upright, his legs stretched out in front of him to the point where his feet were hanging freely, and he rifled through the go-bag left tucked under the sofa beneath him for his hand-bound anthology of his favourite poets, a book you’d gifted him for his birthday a few months prior. A book he’d read a dozen times since then.

His fingers traced over the familiar cover. He could almost feel the indentations of the embossing on the hardcover, a tactile memory that was as comforting as the words within. The pages were already dog-eared from countless readings, corners turned down to mark passages that had resonated with him, pen marks and streaks of neon yellow over phrases that had touched his soul in ways that only the poetic articulation of human emotion could.

It had become more than just a collection of poems to him; it was a sanctuary, a haven he could escape to when the horrors of his job became too much. He cherished each line, each word, each letter, as they provided a counterpoint to the harsh realities he faced daily. Except, this time it didn’t seem to work.

His mind was still overrun with images of the recent case, each line of verse morphing into a haunting reminder of the child’s life cut short. The words that usually brought him solace now echoed with a sorrowful undertone, amplifying his guilt and making his insomnia all the more pronounced.

The jet’s engines hummed steadily in the background, a usual comforting sound, now merely adding to the cacophony of his thoughts. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, scanned over the pages, but the words blurred, morphing into a tale of despair that was not originally intended by the poets.

He tried to divert his mind, to block out the pictures of the crime scene, the teary eyes of the distraught mother, the lifeless body of the child, but it was all in vain. Their faces, their voices, their cries, they clung to him, refusing to let go.

His fingers tightened around the book, knuckles whitening with the strain. He could almost hear the deafening silence that followed after they’d found the body, the grim realisation that they were too late, that a life was lost before they could even try to save it.

Spencer felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of the guilt and sorrow threatening to suffocate him. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to break him. He was a profiler, a genius, he was supposed to save lives, not let them slip through his fingers.

He closed the book, the once soothing words now a stark reminder of his failure. He leaned back against the plush leather of the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft hum of the jet's engines was the only sound that filled the silence, a silence that was deafening in its own right.

Sleep was a distant dream, an elusive solace that he knew wouldn’t come. The guilt, the sorrow, the failure, they were his companions for the night, refusing to leave.

“Spencer…”

Your voice cut through the chaos ravaging his mind, and he flickered his eyes to his left, where you were comfortably curled up under a fleece blanket, head nestled in the small gap between the padded chair you were sat on and the jet’s wall, eyes resting closed.

“Why are you moving around so much..?”

Your question was cut short by a yawn, voice laced with an obvious exhaustion. His restlessness must have woken you up.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, rubbing his temples. "The case... it's still playing in my mind." His voice was barely a whisper, the silence of the jet amplifying its weight.

Your eyes fluttered open at his confession, a mix of concern and understanding washing over your face. You knew how deeply these cases affected him, how they seemed to burrow into his mind, refusing to let go.

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice barely louder than his own. "You did everything you could. You always do."

He glanced at you, his weary eyes meeting your earnest ones, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words to explain the turmoil churning inside him. “We didn’t- none of it mattered…”

You sighed, removing yourself from the comfortability of your previous position, letting yourself sit with your legs in front of you and your feet on the floor. “Spencer of course it mattered,”

Spencer pushed himself upright as you did, subconciously mirroring your actions as you wake further from your half-asleep daze.

“He still died-”

“He was dead before we even landed Spencer, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that,”

You cut off the inevitable start of a ramble from Spencer, raising your voice a little to take over the conversation whilst still making sure not to wake your sleeping teammates scattered around the jet.

“I know… I’m sorry i’m just-”

Spencer sighs, dragging his hands over his face and through the unruly mess of his hair, flattened and tangled from his incessant restlessness. “I’m fine… Sorry for waking you,” He let himself fall backwards to lie down again, turning onto his right side so that his back was facing you, as if not being able to see you would put an end to the conversation.

You didn’t say anything else, and Spencer resigned himself to listening to the mind-numbing drone of the jet’s engine as he heard you shift around, presumably getting back into a comfortable position to fall asleep again.

Except you weren’t quite done with him yet, and your weight on the edge of the sofa shifted his position as you sat down, your hand ghosting over his shoulder, not quite sure if you should actually touch him or not.

You knew Spencer had an aversion to physical touch, he always had, as long as you’d known him anyway. He’d rattled on about the number of bacterial colonies on human skin and how their transference could lead to illnesses you wouldn’t even try to name, swerving handshakes for awkward waves and keeping a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser on his person at all times. He’d insist on keeping his distance, even from the people he was closest to, claiming that ‘you never knew what illnesses someone could be carrying’.

But you also knew that he needed comforting, and that words seemingly weren’t enough.

You gently placed your hand on Spencer's shoulder, your fingers just barely grazing over the sleeve of his shirt, offering a silent comfort that words couldn't provide. He tensed for a moment, his body still on high alert from the intensity of the never-ending rampage of his thoughts, but then slowly relaxed into your touch. The weight of his exhaustion seemingly lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to lean into your presence.

The soft warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the deep-rooted ache within him. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture. In that moment, you became his anchor, providing a much-needed respite in the midst of his turmoil.

As Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closed, shutting out the harsh realities that had plagued his mind. He found solace in the simplicity of your presence, the tangible reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. The weight of the guilt and sorrow that had threatened to suffocate him slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and support.

You sat there in silence, your hand still resting gently on his shoulder, offering a steady presence that allowed him to find a temporary refuge from his racing thoughts. You didn't need to offer empty reassurances or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, your mere presence and the touch of your hand conveyed a profound message: "I am here for you."

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, connected by that simple touch. It was a fragile moment. Fragile, but powerful.

You slowly added a gentle pressure with your fingers, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his shoulder as his behaviour showed that the contact wasn’t crossing any boundaries, as Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his racing thoughts begin to quiet, a sense of calm washed over him.

The weight of the case and its tragic outcome still lingered heavily on Spencer's mind, but your presence provided a much-needed respite.

“I’m so tired…”

You slowly escalate your touch, running your hand slowly over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, careful to watch for any signs of discomfort from him.

“I know Spence…”

The soft nickname rolling off your tongue only fuelled to add an extra blanket of comfort over him in the moment, although joined by an uncertain ache that spread through his chest until it felt almost suffocating. Your touch comforted him more than he could ever thank you for, but it also upset him beyond belief.

Spencer couldn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, nor could he stop the slight tremble of his shoulders as they threatened to spill down his cheeks, and the shaking of his breath only proved to expose him further as you slowed the gentle caresses of your fingers to a halt.

As you felt the weight of his emotions, you gently pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing him to release the tears he had been holding back as he buried his face into your lap. You held him tightly, offering a safe space for him to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry-”

Spencer choked out an apology through his tears, as though his emotions were burdening you. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn't mind. You were just grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let his emotions out, to release the pent-up pain that had been haunting him.

“Don’t apologise Spencer, it’s alright…”

You whispered soft words of comfort and reassurance as your hand moved to slowly run through his hair, reminding Spencer that he was a brilliant and compassionate person who had done everything in his power to help. You reminded him that he couldn't shoulder the weight of the world's tragedies alone, that he needed to take care of himself too.

Slowly, Spencer's sobs subsided, replaced by deep breaths as he regained control of his emotions. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in them.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and appreciation. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You gently guide his head back down into your lap, allowing him to use your thighs as a makeshift pillow so he could finally get some rest from his own mind. “It’s alright Spencer, just relax for me alright?”

As Spencer finally succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing gradually slowed and his tense muscles relaxed. You continued to stroke his hair gently, your touch offering a sense of comfort and security that Spencer desperately needed.

The weight of the case and its devastating outcome had taken a toll on him, both physically and emotionally. He had carried the burden of the child's death on his shoulders, blaming himself for not being able to save a life that was already lost.

But in your embrace, he felt a glimmer of hope.

With each gentle stroke of your hand, Spencer felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was as if your touch carried with it a healing energy, easing the pain and sorrow that had consumed him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully surrender to the comfort and safety of your embrace.

In the silence of the jet, Spencer's exhaustion finally overcame him. His body relaxed completely, finding respite from the relentless strain it had endured as it fell into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hold him, providing a sense of security and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time, and you slowly fell into your own exhaustion, your fingers slowing their movements through his hair to a halt as you drifted into your own state of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort #mgg #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst

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cricutnewmachinesetup · 1 year ago

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How to Make a Bookmark With Cricut: A Stepwise Guide

Hey, Cricut enthusiasts! Are you in search of a tutorial on how to make a bookmark with Cricut? Be patient, as I have covered everything in this write-up. I always need a bookmark to keep track of my reading progress in books. Without it, I can’t continue reading books. Since I forget things a lot and can’t remember which page I read last time, it becomes essential for me to keep a separate bookmark for each book😅.

But don’t you think it costs so much to buy a new and small bookmark from the store🤑? Damn, its price is really high! I couldn’t afford that much, so I thought I’d create one myself. Yes, being a crafter, if we can’t make a bookmark using Cricut, then what’s the point of crafting? If you want to create a glitter bookmark with me, hop on a board with me!

Step 1: Start a New Project on the Cricut App

Before we delve into how to make a bookmark with Cricut, you need to ensure that Cricut Design Space is installed on your compatible computer device. After that, follow the steps in the section below:

You have to open up your Design Space app and start a New Project.

Go to the left toolbar menu and select Images.

Then, open the Art Type menu and choose Draw Only.

Afterward, you will need to type “Enjoy the Little Things” on the search bar and press Enter on the keyboard.

After that, you have to select the design that you are looking for and click on the Insert option.

Step 2: Edit the Bookmark Image

Step 3: Adjust the Shape and Size

Now, we need to adjust the width of a rectangular bookmark as per the required size. For this, go to the Shapes menu, and you will need to insert a square. Hit the Padlock icon so that you can adjust the width and height of the shape.

Step 4: Arrange Your Shape

Once you are satisfied with the placement, you should drag the selection box over both shapes and select Weld to join both shapes together. Then, you need to weld the design to join both shapes together. Furthermore, you have to add color to the shapes.

You have to go to the Shapes and then click the Score Line. After that, you have to change the line type to Foil and select the same line.

Step 5: Start Cutting Your Material

On the next screen, you will move to the Mat Preview screen. Then, hit the Continue button and proceed.

Place the faux leather on your cutting mat and then use a brayer to adhere it to the mat properly. Install the foiling tip into the housing. Move the white stars on the right side. Perform the instructions to cut the design. Before you unload the mat, you need to remove the foiling sheet.

After that, install the Fine-Point blade and cute bookmark shapes. Finally, you have learned how to make a bookmark with Cricut. Follow the instructions carefully to create your own.

FAQs

Question 1: What do I need to make a bookmark on Cricut?

Answer: Basic supplies are required for making bookmarks with Cricut. Besides, you must install your Design Space on a computer or mobile device. Here are the supplies needed for your bookmark:

● Cricut Machine (Maker or Explore or Joy)

● Brayer

● Faux Leather

● Foil sheet

● Tape

● Cricut StrongGrip Mat (Purple)

● Fine-Point Blade

Question 2: What materials can I use to make my bookmark on Cricut?

Answer: In my experience, you have various materials that you can try for making beautiful personalized bookmarks. For example, you can use

● Cardstock: It can be easily cut, engraved, embossed, or curled.

● Faux Leather: Available in multiple patterns and easy to cut on Cricut.

● Resin: Make decals and use resin to top them to seal them.

Question 3: Can I make bookmarks on Cricut Joy?

Answer: Yes, of course! In fact, the Cricut machine is the most suitable device for making small projects such as cards, bookmarks, and so much more. So, there is no doubt about it. The Cricut Joy is compatible with 50 materials, meaning it can cut up to 50 materials hassle-free. Moreover, you can use specialty papers to create an extraordinary bookmark.

Final Words

In this tutorial, I have explained how to make a bookmark with Cricut. From step-by-step instructions, I have tried to make it easier for everyone, including beginners. Making bookmarks with Cricut will require you to use some materials or supplies that I have already mentioned in this blog. Make sure you get all of them to make everything smooth. Start your journey to make a bookmark with me and keep tracking your reading progress.

Read more: install cricut design space app

cricut.com/setup

cricut.com/setup mac

Source: how to make a bookmark with Cricut

#design space signin #how to make a bookmark with Cricut #cricut.com/setup mac #install cricut design space app

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divergent-practice · 1 year ago

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These were my first attempt at intaglio prints, i used mount board to carve and add to. I used diffrent materials such as fabrics, masking tape and glue to create patterns, aswell as scoring into the board and removing the top layer.

This was to simulate the marks on the cloths i use at work. I found the process challenging as i had never done it before and there are many steps to remember, but once i got the hang of it i started getting better prints.

The hardest part for myself was the mess of it all and trying to keep my paper clean. I used gloves to try and help with this.

I prefer the look of the darker more saturated prints, they are slightly embossed and the bleeding makes it seem more natural, like the patterns on the cloths.

The insperation 🔽

Some close up of plates 🔽

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antonia-gergely · 2 years ago

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EVA EXHIBITION REVIEW !!!

soft 5/10

Let me preface by mentioning that we went on a Tuesday. That brought the score down a lot. About five venues were open (One of them contained a single poster). But I'm going to focus mainly on the Limerick City Gallery of Art.

It was a slight disappointment, frankly. There was amazing art on display within, some really striking stuff, and kudos to each artist whose work was chosen for display, but it seemed like it was set up a day before opening, and didn't exactly strike me as an international-level event.

Photos were tacked up like posters in a teenage bedroom. Shadows seeped out from underneath, distracting any viewer from the immersive experience that could have been achieved. It's Lala Meredith-Vula's Haystacks series that I'm mainly referring to. I was enamoured by the work, it reminded me of the haystacks I would see driving through the Romanian countryside on my holidays, it had enough imagery to allow a viewer to add narrative, and question the events within. And yet, all I could see were the jarring buckled shadows underneath the asymmetrically displayed images.

Seóidín O'Sullivan's ongoing research project, Crex crex, crex crex, crex..., really bewildered me and a few others I was with. Beautiful old coins embossed with the corncrake showed her inspiration on a wall whereby a viewer would have their back to the large main piece, rendering everything quite disjointed and unconnected, and harder to picture interacting. Her research images seemed haphazardly tacked onto MDF board screwed into the walls. I left quite confused and underwhelmed by the unfinished nature of the display.

Her beautiful textile work, illustrated with deep blue corncrake postage stamps, draped over a hay-bale whose scent would transport any viewer out to the Irish springtime countryside, was labelled and described, but across the room. I went over to the work and examined it, only to have to pace back and see what it was actually called. This was a repeated issue. The gallery had its artwork labels in weird places that weren't conducive to someone's movement through the space. I would walk in to a room, have to turn back, read a label around the corner, look back at the art, and figure out if I was reading the right thing. It gets really annoying when all you want to do is understand an artist's idea and concept and be submerged in the work. It felt as though the technicians didn't know much about gallery operations at all.

Orla Barry's video installation was in the middle of the first main atrium of the gallery. I don't know anyone who would actively enjoy standing in everyone's way with a pair of headphones, staring at words scrolling across a screen. I tried to watch the video, but couldn't focus for the discomfort of standing in the middle of a gallery pathway.

Rosalind Fowler's video was more intimately set up, more comfortable to sit and watch in private, but the sound was neglected. A tiny speaker accompanied the projector showing the work. It was almost like the piece was afraid to intrude on the gallery environment and adjoining café. This could have been intentional, but I didn't find it very effective. One of my favourite things at the Venice Biennale was the booming, unapologetic noise that you would here from whatever room awaited you, and the excitement of discovering where it was coming from. Not the case here. In fact, I almost missed the video completely. I was just curious enough to look around the inconspicuous curtain and find a quiet video rolling therein.

Unfortunately, I did not have time to go out to UL, where the work might have had a more thought-out display, but for such a small biennial, I don't understand why the work would be spread out around the town. It's not the Venice Biennale and I think it's wrong for it to try to be, at least physically. It felt like each individual venue provided nothing much at all, other than Rachel Fallon and Alice Maher's monumental tapestry (whose display I quite enjoyed), whereas having the works in fewer, larger spaces would have had a much more immersive, lasting impact.

It's just such a shame because I know it could have been wonderful. The art itself was fantastic - again, from what I could see of the few open venues - but the execution of the exhibitions was less than impressive, and brought my experience down significantly.

#exhibition review #art research #irish exhibition #eva limerick

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merakiui · 2 years ago

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Pretty ssure tumblr ate my ask, but ikagine vampire!azul treating reader to something to celebrate this human celebration called valentine's day🌹

He makes a Valentine's Day card by hand and it is the most extravagant thing (he spent all night making it)! It's bordered with lace trim and embossed with beautiful, swirling embroidery. There's a cupid printed on the front, and on the back he's penned a wonderful poem that is so flowery and fluffy. It's very Victorian. He addresses you as his dearest one in the card and the prose that follows comes right from his cold, dead heart. For someone who acts so frigid and stoic, he is surprisingly romantic. The card even smells pleasantly of your favorite flower.

Azul's wardrobe is very gothic, so he doesn't have many bright colors. But due to a washing error (or so Jade claims) the cloak he's so fond of wearing has been dyed a pastel pink. He holds it up, scrutinizing it with narrowed eyes. It's the only one he owns; he's had it for centuries and has kept it from fraying or succumbing to the erosions of time with magical enchantments. But today is a holiday humans are so fond of; it's a holiday he often scoffs at, and yet you seem so eager to celebrate, evidenced by the heart-shaped decorations strewn about the foyer and the pinks and reds littering the halls. Azul supposes he can be festive for the day, but it's quite irritating when Floyd sees him and crumples into a cackling fit. Azul will string both him and Jade up for being foolish with his laundry.

But the pink cloak is worth it in the end because when he delivers the card to you during breakfast, you tell him he looks cute in pink. Azul denies it immediately, but he's quick to avert his eyes, mumbling under his breath that it's not something you should get used to. Don't let him fool you; he is immensely happy you think he's cute!

He spends the entire day doing everything you want to do. Playing board games with the twins, baking Valentine's sweets (the recipes he can recall are quite dated), reading together in the library. When night falls, the piano plays an uplifting waltz all by itself (you're amazed at how easily he commands magic) and Azul offers a gloved hand to you, internally hoping you'll accept the invitation for a dance. You do, and he is very pleased to dance with you under the moonlight in the ballroom. Jade and Floyd will join in, and Floyd's the one who enchants the piano to change its tune. You go from a lilting melody to a fast-paced, energetic piano score within minutes and you're spun between the three of them in a dizzying dance. Azul's irritated, but his annoyance vanishes when he hears your laughter and notices your smile.

Perhaps Valentine's Day is not the worst holiday he's had to endure throughout his long existence.

#twisted chit chat #vampire azul

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cyclesprefectpress · 4 years ago

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[video description: recording of feeding notecards into a clamshell-action letterpress. The press opens and closes on a hinge. Every time it closes a card is hit with a relief impression, and every time it opens a blank card is placed by hand into the registration pins while the previous card is removed. On this pass the inking rollers have been removed from the press, and it only makes a dry impression to raise a rectangular border out of the card, where you could tip some other piece of text weight paper, art, photo, etc., inside. end description.]

Weird feed! I set this up in the first place to emboss a border around a digitally printed photo, which was not going to have perfect registration, so I built a slightly more forgiving embossing die than a custom ordered one would’ve been. The die is just built from scoring rule, and there’s a counter on the platen cut from green board, and my mother found us some cotton scraps to pack on top. It makes a kind of pillow-y texture for the embossing that I like! And is just a bit forgiving. The fabric is garbage to feed over though. Secret tech is to slip n slide the new sheet into the pins while the old one is still in there.

#letterpress #letterpress printing #video

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miissbiianca · 5 years ago

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Bee’s bdrpwrimo 2020 ∟ Day 6 — Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long

The headmistress stood at the very front of the room, up on the small stage. The girls of St. Margaret's Private Boarding School watched her attentively, oblivious to the teacher who stood at the very back of the room, hands clasped tightly behind her. She watched carefully as the headmistress began to announce who would become Head Girl for the next academic year before graduation. If it was who she thought it would be, then she had a report to submit. The room broke out into applause; young Miss Gabor, her hair tied back into a neat ponytail, her uniform immaculate as always, took the stage, pretending she had no speech prepared in thanks. The teacher slipped out of the assembly hall and towards her office, drafting the letter in her mind.

~*~

Bianca took a deep breath. She had practiced the routine a thousand times before the day of the competition, but now there was an audiance. People watching. But it was no time to lose her nerve; she had designed the routine, and she knew she could do it. Mounting the beam with a one-armed handstand, Bianca's arm wobbled; she locked it into place, arranged her legs into a split, and then righted herself, the world rushing into the right place. Scissor leap, full turn, back handspring. Straddle jump, cross handstand, half turn, and then the big finale: an aerial side jump, into a roundoff, that would take her down to the floor. She didn't have time to hesitate — the judges would know if she did. So with as short a run up as she could, Bianca flipped herself over, ignoring the temptation to place her hands on the beam for balance; her feet hit the beam again, the impact jarring her ankles, but she had to keep going. Using her momentum, Bianca flipped herself over again, dismounting the beam in a roundoff that rattled her bones when she hit the floor. She turned towards the judges, raising her arms — she was done. Perfect scores. And in her delight, she didn't notice the person at the back of the room, whose face she didn't recognise, watching her carefully.

~*~

"She's begun working for outreach groups now, sir. For the homeless, mostly, another for asylum seekers. Apparently she's working as a translator, too, for the police. No, it's more — precisely. They have someone in custody who doesn't spek Hungarian, they call her. Exactly. No sir, for free. Mm hm. The homeless charity is for providing rucksacks, toiletries, food, water, things like that. No, she's just a part of the group, but the asylum seekers— that's the one, yes. She matches them with lawyers and pays the fees. Right. Yes. When shall I arrange the meeting for?— with you? You're sure, sir? Yes, sorry, of course. I'll send the letter. Thank you, Director. Goodbye."

~*~

September 2010 "Take some time to think," The Director told her, rising from his chair. "You have my number." He gestured to the card in her hand, milky white and glistening with the number embossed onto it. It was a lot to take in. An agent, an international one, mundus helping magicks escape from all kinds of horror. It would be difficult work, heart breaking work, and dangerous too. There might be missions that sent her to the hospital, others from which she never came home at all. But she would be making a difference. She would be saving lives, and because of that, Bianca didn't need to think. She rose from her chair, calling the Director's name, ready to give him her answer.

~*~

One, two, three, four— Bianca hit the targets in quick succession as they sprung up, teeth clenched as she focused. She ducked behind another fake building, one of many along the fake street the Academy had constructed inside of an old aircraft hangar. She just had to make it to the finish line, as fast as she possibly could, neutralising as many targets as she could, and without get caught, or shot herself. Easy. Or so she was telling herself; she peeked out from her cover, and spotted two targets running towards the space she'd just vacated. Take them out, and she could get to the finish line, in record time too. So Bianca threw herself out of her cover, firing two shots and then sprinting towards the instructor at the end of the building. She ducked to miss a shot and lost her footing, skidding across the finish line and landing on her back. With her ears ringing, Bianca only just tuned in to hear the instructor say "—close. One more target and you'd have beat the record. Better luck next time." Bianca could only stare at the ceiling, and try to catch her breath.

~*~

They were in another cafe, not the same one as that little hole-in-the-wall in Budapest, but not too dissimilar. The Director had left, and had left her with a file: two days after her graduation, she had her first assignment. There was no time to lose; the plane would be leaving in three ours time. Just enough time to pack her things and say goodbye to her apartment for the foreseeable future. Bianca knocked back her espresso, and rose from her chair. She had worked to do.

~*~

They couldn't run. If they ran, the wolves would follow. Zofia's hand curled around Bianca's arm, holding her tightly, and together they backed away through the dense jungle foliage. They had no weapons; this wasn't meant to be that kind of a mission. Bianca's foot caught a vine, and the two agents tumbled to the ground, falling backwards into a clearing. They were exposed, and now even more vulernable, trying to get their footing. The wolves pressed closer, circling, the alpha leading their slow charge until, out of the brush, a tiger— it leaped across them, snarling at the wolves, lashing its tail and pinning its ears back. The wolves jumped back, deciding it wasn't worth the fight. The agents had been saved! Until the tiger turned its dark, deep eyes on them...

~*~

"You're parachuting down into the bush," The Handler yelled above the roar of the plane's engine. "There'll be a team down there to meet you, providing you land in the right place. Your contact is Agent Rogers. He's a local, he'll help you out." Without asking if she was ready, the Handler yanked open the plane door. It didn't matter, though; Bianca was ready. She pulled her goggles over her eyes, and checked her pack was secured tightly as she stepped closer to the door. The air was freezing, threatening to pull her out of the plan before she had even jumped, so she held onto the door. "Radio in once you're down there. Good luck, Agent Gabor." And with that, Bianca threw herself out into the pitch black sky, activating the night vision on her goggles that would help her reach the ground.

~*~

"I'd like to put myself forward, sir." Bianca addressed the Director alone, despite being surrounded by her fellow agents in the main meeting hall of the New York HQ. She didn't see why she shouldn't volunteer. Her last mission with Agent Roberts had been a success, and her assignment to the Hungarian HQ, to run things whilst Agent Szabó was on maternity leave, was drawing to a close. The only thing she needed to take on this new challenge was a partner; there were several agents in the room whom she'd worked with before and knew well, but Bianca's eyes flitted to a man at the back of the room; an ordinary man, not an agent by any means, but that didn't mean he couldn't become one. If he wanted to take the opportunity, Bianca would offer it. "Sir— My dear sir, have you ever given any thought to becoming an agent?"

~*~

"She's ready," Bianca said to the Director, the two of them standing side by side, watching Agent Shiftwell at work. Whilst she had hated the idea of a probation at the Academy, aiding new agents in their training whilst undergoing re-education herself, now that it was almost over, she found she'd quite enjoyed her stint as a teacher. Maybe this could be a route out, when she was a little older. When she decided to settle down, if she ever did. "If you want to sent her to Swynlake, I'd approve her for the mission." At first, the Director didn't say anything at all. But then he nodded just once, stepping away, and Bianca smiled to herself. If Holley was heading to Swynlake, maybe Bianca could make the case for her own return, too.

#bdrpwrimobee #bdrpwrimo #i hate this task so much usually #but i actually kinda liked this one #( journal. )

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daybreak-academy-fanfic · 5 years ago

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Daybreak Academy: Chapter 15

White Day

Summary: In which Strelitzia falls even more in love with Anora, and Ephemer accidentally overshares his thoughts on the headmasters. Word Count: 1,577 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

The purpose of White Day is to give back what was given to you. The thing was, Anora didn't know how you could repay someone for gifting you a hand stitched plush doll. A card felt stupid, and she barely knew how to sew a button on, let alone create another plushie for a stranger. A stranger, mind you, who only now decided to make some form of contact with her.

Well, at least she knew some things about her perfect stranger. Too bad finding anything that was a creamy white proved impossible. There happened to be patches of daisies scattered about campus, so Anora did pick some of them a day or so in advance. She also managed to find a white marker at the school store (which was now under new management since the debate club fiasco) so she could decorate the last gift bag left from Valentines. Also at the school store, Anora had found a couple white notebooks with a gold embossing on them. She looked for anything to put in the bag so there would be more than just the candy she hadn't eaten yet.

Anora glanced over at her clock and nearly cursed at the time. So far, she could say that the bag could be presented, if she felt like it. The leftover candy filled about a third of the bag, then there were the daisies she had found, and she even happened to find chibi-like stuffed mice who served as spiritual stand-ins for Miss Bianca and Bernard. However, Anora had to meet with Ephemer soon- she had managed to convince her stranger-friend to meet her at the concrete slab, but at this point she might have to take Ephemer with her. Would he be mad at the detour? Glancing at the time again, Anora would just have to hope he could understand.

Meanwhile, Ephemer was rather patiently waiting for Anora at the school gates. He was sitting on the grass, legs folded, and staring up at the sky in amusement. There was a cloud that looked a lot like an elephant- it was slowly starting to morph into a giraffe instead. When Ephemer looked back down, he saw Anora running up to him; she was waving at him with one hand, and the other was firmly holding a goodie bag.

“Aw, you didn't have to get me a gift!” the boy teased as he stood up.

When Anora caught up to him, she shook her head, laughing just slightly at him. Ephemer raised a bemused eyebrow at her.

“It's not for me, then?” he then surmised.

Another shake of her head made Ephemer feel a bit envious.

“Who is it for?”

He didn't get a direct answer, instead Anora gestured for him to follow her. Giving a small shrug, he did so without question- it's not like he wasn't familiar with every inch of the campus anyway. A part of him just didn't expect for her to lead them to a place behind the cafeteria; the space was rather unkempt with shrubs boarding the school wall and a few trees that had been planted eons ago. There was even a decent sized concrete slab that provided cover for some kind of underground electrical system. Why on earth was she bringing a gift bag all the way out here?

Strelitzia's heart stopped when she saw someone with Anora. It then proceeded to go into overtime when she realized that she recognized the boy with her. It was the same boy she had run into before Valentines Day- the one who said his friend didn't bake as often as she did. For a moment, Strelitzia feared that Anora had been the friend he had talked about, but then she shook it away in remembering that his friend had been named Skuld. What was he doing with Anora? She didn't mention bringing someone with her?

“Are you ever going to tell me who that's for, and why you're just leaving it out here?”

“A friend.” Anora hummed, looking back up at the boy with a smile. “Like you.”

Something about the boy seemed to jolt in a small realization- either from the answer itself or from hearing Anora talk. Strelitzia then watched in envy as he put on a million-watt smile.

“I hope they know I'm a tough act to follow!” he even teased without skipping a beat. Anora offered a small laughter as she finished arranging the gift bag. When she stood up, she gave the boy a nod and together they left for the day.

Strelitzia didn't wait to see what Anora had left behind. What she saw made her clench her chest in shock. Anora had left Strelitzia a White Day gift, in thanks for making her Chirithy. The girl sat down on the slab as she went through the bag's contents. Her gasps with each shift of the bag's contents got louder and more surprised as she went on. Anora had put so much thought into the gift bag that Strelitzia found her heart fluttering in adoration.

Was this love?

. . .

Ephemer quickly decided that he enjoyed seeing Anora smile. It was a bit hard to explain, but she was able to smile with her whole face. There was so much joy in her expressions that you almost couldn't help but smile back at her. It didn't even take much to make her smile either. Just seeing the tents set up for the seasonal fair was enough to make Anora's face light up in wonder.

It was Anora who led them around the fair- Ephemer dutifully followed and enjoyed her child-like wonder. They tried a few games and even won some prizes. Ephemer gave them all to Anora; today was all about repaying her for her Valentines gift, after all. As the day wore on, the more Ephemer started to become curious about this girl. When he got them some food, and they sat down in the grass, he finally decided to ask her some things.

“So what's your story?” Ephemer asked. “Everyone's got one.”

Anora, who had been happily nibbling on an oversized lollipop, stopped moving. She refused to look at him. But, unfortunately for her, Ephemer was stubborn.

“A bit shy, huh?” he bemused. “Don't worry, I'll go first!”

This earned him a little side glance of curiosity. He beamed at the off-handed approval, but then something hit him.

“Oh geez,” he then realized, “This is going to be a bit harder than I thought… Where do I start? Oh, um… Oh! I know! Okay, so get this, Ava's not actually my mom- in fact, she's only ten years older than I am!”

Anora raised her eyebrow at him, deliberately giving her lollipop a lick to show her skepticism.

“It's kinda funny, actually,” Ephemer grinned, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “For as long as I can remember, the headmasters -Ava, Ira, Invi, Gula, and Aced- they were the closest thing I had to a family. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, Ava is my mom. Invi's the aunt that'll slip you some vodka if you ask for it, Gula's a weird mix between a big brother and an uncle, Aced's just one big teddy bear once you get to know him, and Ira's the one that stops everyone from having too much fun. We're a weird family, and we're not perfect either, but it feels just right. You know?”

Suddenly Ephemer jolted in a realization. “Oh wow! I didn't know I could over share like that! I'm so sorry!”

To his relief, Anora gave a small chuckle. But then her smile faded into a frown.

“Usually, things come easily to me.” she quietly admitted. “I hate it. I want to struggle. But when I do, when I can't do something on the first try… I give up. Sometimes, I avoid doing new things. It's dumb...”

“I don't think it's dumb.” came the thoughtful reply from Ephemer. “I think it just means that you know your limits.”

Anora didn't look at him. He made it sound so easy- for her, it felt like beating her head up against a wall. It was an awful feeling. Sensing her discomfort, Ephemer tilted his head.

“What does come easily for you?” he wondered. “Based on your tests scores in the entrance exam, you're a pretty well rounded learner.”

The dark look Anora gave him made the boy sheepishly chuckle.

“I'm not the best example of a teacher's pet.” he admitted. “Every time there's rumor of an interesting student, I go search 'em up in the student records. And, you're free to hate me for this, you were one of the most interesting students this school's seen in awhile. Like, years, awhile.”

This did not help Anora's outlook on him. Ephemer shrunk a little in his spot, knowing that he had stepped well beyond his boundaries- and for once, he was actually admitting to it too. Just when Ephemer believed he was going to get the silent treatment for the rest of the day, Anora calmly said;

“I like skating.”

“I bet you're good at it.”

Anora held her lollipop a bit tighter as she gave him a small nod. She never thought she was that good, but she did enjoy it. A small smile finally came across her lips as she decided that, once she and Ephemer knew each other better, maybe she'd show him.

#daybreak academy #chapter 15 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Strelitzia #Ephemer #Anora #Season 1

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danganmos · 6 years ago

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Ch 7 Execution

The Fall of Eve

Ultimate Female Model Takano Shion’s Execution: Executed

Shion is standing at the start of a long catwalk in a typical premiere-esque setting; faceless mannequins are packed into the stands in place of adoring fans and paparazzi, bright flashes of white light illuminating her face and the floor that extends before her. Instead of the normal tastefully designed stage board where models slipped in and out of the public eye, a giant megatron splays out in bright neon. The text on the screen reads [PUBLIC RATING: 100%]. It’s basically business as usual for Shion. Just another day on the catwalk. Thus, the model begins to take graceful strides forwards, face perfectly even and doll-like— almost as still as the mannequins that frantically snapped their cameras.

Just as Shion moved off of the main stage, however, the floor of the catwalk itself split open to reveal a grated surface below. A nightmare to walk on top of in high heels, but that didn’t stop her- she was a trained professional, after all. Once she was several feet away, a board rose up from below the stage behind her and began to slowly follow Shion’s footsteps. It was decorated with long blades akin to those which adorned an iron maiden- motivation to continue walking down the seemingly endless path. But it was fine, she kept walking; a tried and true model indeed, Shion didn’t let these distractions hinder her. At random intervals, razor sharp spikes prodded out from the openings in the ground, one finally piercing through her foot clean and ripping an anguished shriek from the girl. Blood gushed from the wound and dripped down into the abyss beneath her, but she somehow tore away her foot from the spot and continued to walk. The blades pursuing her back wouldn’t relent, after all.

As a consequence, her public rating suffered; the most minute contortion on Shion’s face dropped the megatron’s numbers to 92%, and the imperfect limp in her once-perfect form only continued to coax the number downwards. 90%, 87%, 86%...

When the second spike hit Shion’s other foot, the model collapsed onto the ground in pain, screaming as two holes were torn into the palms that cushioned her fall. The mastermind’s dress was quickly becoming stained with bright pink, and her score began to plunge even more. An international model falling at a famous exhibition, what a scandal… the flashes around her only grew until it was registered as nothing but a bright white sea. 72%, 56%, 22%...

Behind her, the iron maiden wall had completely caught up; it towered over Shion’s collapsed figure for one, two moments, before teetering and falling at a startling speed. The point of the knives dove towards her back, set on impaling her.

[PUBLIC RATING: 0%]

Right at that moment, the floor completely opened up, and instead of meeting the business of several sharpened spears as the model expected, she was dropped into a cylindrical tank full to the rim with some glowing blue fluid, the top of which was sealed as soon as she was completely submerged. Right in front of the cylinder was a golden plaque embossed with a single word: EVE. Gasping and struggling did Shion no favors and instead filled her lungs with liquid, and she pressed her fingers desperately against the glass prison while wild golden eyes searched the figures of the students just mere feet away from her. The blood from her previous injuries poured out in beautiful pink swirls around her dress and feet, thin silken waves decorating her aquatic prison. From the bottom of the tank upwards, they began to freeze into place.

The liquid was crystallizing.

Beyond the glass, none of her cries were able to go through. First her feet, then her calves, thighs… all the way up, the blood within her flesh slowly turned to solid, encased eternally in a twisted form of what the museum defined as art. Eventually the model accepted her fate, closing her eyes as her entire body turned to stone agonizingly slowly. The pillar of pure crystal stood in front of the remaining students, still as death.

Shion is Eve, and Eve is art. Untouchable by human hands, forever.

#fanganronpa

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endoftheroad1983 · 6 years ago

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The Trouble with Steve pt 4

Y/N now found herself sitting on a train heading towards Starling City. Her stomach rumble as she tried to settle it with a bag of peanuts. Tony always had perfect timing on sending someone on a mission. She was a little over half way there and she could swear that there was someone on this train that had pizza. Which brought her back to the small bag of peanuts and an angry stomach. She thought back on Steve, he had protest that she should eat first. The thought made Y/N heart flutter like butterflies. But Tony refuse to listen. The reason was that Tony needed Y/N to retrieve a dangerous subsidence that Oliver and his team had discovered. It was going to be an over night trip with dinner. Easy Peasy.

Expect for now, the pizza smell was getting stronger. Y/N tried to ignore it but her stomach wouldn't have it. She tried watching the trees fly by her. Her thoughts drift back to Steve's weird mood switch. He was acting like nothing had happen between them. Nat had comment on it as well. She was now torn about her feelings for him. The mix signals she was getting from him was driving her nuts.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” A voice broke her from her thought. Instantly she wanted to say yes. They had the whole train to themselves why would they want to sit here?

“No, it's free.” She spoke up when Steve slid into the seat in front of her.

“Hello Y/N, happy to see me.” He chuckle a bit. Y/N sat up and look around. Only another male passenger was on board.

“I'm shock as hell actually. What are you doing here?” Y/N sat back down and regain her through process.

“Tony sent me as back up.” Y/N mouth dropped open.

“He did what?” Why didn't Tony let her know? She was pretty sure that this was a solo mission.

“Is that a problem?” A shadow of worry appeared in his eyes. Y/N shook off her shockness.

“Not at all, just you caught me off guard and Tony never said anything.” She laugh at his puppy sad eyes and toss the empty peanut bag in the trash.

“Well I had to bring you this.” Y/N hadn't noticed the container he was holding. He open it to reveal two slices of pizza and then hand it to her.

“Where did you score pizza?” Steve laugh as Y/N took a small bite.

“At the train station, there was a food cart.” Now Y/N was really puzzled.

“Wait, you were at the train station with me? Why did you wait till now to show yourself?” Steve smile. He knew you were a very curious person.

“Tony didn't want anyone to see us entering together in case you are followed. I will be watching your back.” Now that made sense. Y/N began to ease into her chair it was nice riding along side Steve.

Before Y/N want it to end, Steve had to leave. He wished her luck and would met up with her when he could. She nodded and thank him for the pizza, once he was gone it was time for Y/N to change. Fifteen minutes later the train pulled to a slow stop. The whistle blew and Y/N stood up and stretched. It was a quarter till seven and she was right on time.

As she stepped off the train she was greeted by Oliver.

“Y/N!” She turn and look at him. He was dress up in a nice black suit with a green tie. Y/N eyes lit up.

“Oliver! I thought we were going to met at the restaurant!” She beam back. The plan was going smoothly.

“What?! I would never let a beautiful woman walk these streets alone.” He gush. The two embrace.

“You look so beautiful Y/N!” He gush over her dark blue dress.

“Why your looking as handsome as ever.” Oliver lend in for a kiss on her cheek. While doing so he slipped the tiny vile into her coat pocket.

“Shall we then?” Oliver offered his arm to her and the two headed towards his limo.

Now Oliver and Y/N sat across each other at a very fine restaurant. It was a little over the top for Y/N.

“Wow you really know how to go all out just for a small date.” She tease him as she took a sip of water. A genuine smile flash over his face.

“Yes, well I like to treat all my dates with great detail.” The two share a laugh. Acting through this fake date was going to be easier then Y/N thought. The waiter arrive and Oliver took over.

“Do you mind? Tony told me that your a bit of a foodie.” Oliver looked over to her.

“By all means, Mr. Queen, surprise me.” She beamed back at him.

“Absolutely Ms. Y/L/N.” He then spoke French to the waiter.

The food was amazing and the wine was to die for. Y/N praise him for his choices. Oliver had told her that his father had impeccable taste for food and wine. Y/N reveal that her parents kept to the basic dinners growing up. It was easy to find simple things to talk to him about.

The two strolled through the park to where the theatre was. Oliver was taking her to a midnight Mattie. Y/N was looking forward to it and besides, she just couldn't show up for dinner and then head back on a train right afterwards. It would look to suspicious. But half way through the first movie Oliver got called away. He apologies over and over in front of the theatre and promised her a make up date at a later time. Y/N held her confused look and agreed to the next date.

“Do you need me to call a cab?” He asked.

“Oh no my hotel is just around the corner. Till next time Mr. Queen.” Y/N cruise to him and a sneaky smile appeared on her lips. She knew he had work to do and that he wouldn't be calling her for another date unless something big came up. She could see in his body language that he was a loner type guy.

“Yes, Till then.” And with that Oliver disappear into the shadows of his city. Y/N waited for a moment and took the scenery in. A lot of people where out and about this evening. She ponder about another walk through the park but opt for heading to the hotel. She was wondering if Steve had made it there before her.

The hallway down to her room was bright and quiet. She assume that there wasn't a lot of other guests stay in tonight. She slid the card key in the slot and wait for the lock to open. Once inside she scan the room. No sign of Steve yet, so she took advantage of it and called room service before jumping into the shower. Upon entering the living space again she was greeted with a sober looking Steve. He was sitting at the desk.

“Great timing, Sir!” She beam as there was a knock on the door. Steve immediately flew up to his feet and was ready for action.

“I order room services.” He relax and stepped away from the view of the door. Y/N took the basket out of his hand and tip the boy. Once he was gone Steve come back into view.

“Why Steve, it's so romantic in here with all the curtain’s shut.” She tease. Y/N knew she caught him off guard with her joke.

“It's for security reasons.” He stumble over his words.

“Ah, well I order the wine anyway.” She pull out the red port and two wine glasses. She fill them up passing one of them to him.

“To a successful evening.” She announce happily only to see Steve wasn't feeling the mood. She brushed it aside. If something was bothering him then he had all night to say something.

“So you up for a movie?”

“What about Oliver Queen?” He question, not giving Y/N any clues to what it was about.

“And?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you two suppose to meet up again?” He was looking at his hands. Maybe Nat was right. He was getting jealous.

“Not unless something goes sour. But I don't see that happening since we were a success with the date.” Steve eyes shut at the word date. It was like he didn't know what kind of plan this was. Surely Tony would have filled him in, besides he did find the hotel just fine.

“Beside I’m not a go out all night every night kind of party girl. So you wanna watch a movie?” She flick on the TV and hunted down the movie list. Steve's mood switch again and he seem up to it. So for the rest of the night Steve and Y/N choose two movie to watch together. It was something that Y/N was hoping that would happen for a long time.

When Y/N woke in the morning she took note that Steve was already gone. She didn't worry about it though. He probably left in the darkness of the morning. She remember she was suppose to be alone on this trip. There was not much to do but enjoy a beautiful morning on her hotel room balcony. She was left alone with her thoughts. Which were mainly on her and Steve last night. A flash of heat embossed in her cheeks. Things were starting to look better for them. She muse on that thought with a smile. After a hearty breakfast and a stroll through the park. Y/N return to the train station. The train was just pulling into the station and Y/N couldn't believe her luck. Now she was closer to getting home without the long wait for the train.

Y/N kept her eyes on the window. There were a few more people on the train then there was last night and she had to keep herself from scanning around for any signs of Steve. The four hour ride was going to be tortures against her patients. The drink she order arrived earlier then what she expect. It was also brought to her by another stewardess. First red flag, she noted. Then two men had taken seats a few rows ahead of her caught her attention. Well if that isn't a big red flag there. She thought to herself. She promptly sat the drink down.

“Is everything alright Miss?” The stewardess asked.

“Would there be a problem if I ask for a drink that wasn't poisoned?” Y/N ask in a nonchalant voice. The two men were getting out of theirs seats and Y/N could feel two more coming up behind her.

“Yea that's what I thought.” She could never catch a break.

to be continued....

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x reader #captian america fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines

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for-furious-games-with-bell-blog · 6 years ago

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dustedmagazine · 6 years ago

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Flying Lotus — Flamagra (Warp)

Photo by Renata Raksha

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In the decade-plus since Flying Lotus’ breakthrough 2008 album, Los Angeles, it’s been a true pleasure to watch the artist otherwise known as Steven Ellison evolve from a darling of the L.A. underground beat scene to a globe-trotting, Grammy-nominated super-producer. Best of all, perhaps, is the fact that success hasn’t dulled Ellison’s casual brilliance and restless, questing weirdness. In the five years since his last Flying Lotus record, Ellison has been creatively prolific in other forms. He directed Kuso, a truly bizarre horror film; scored “Blade Runner Blackout 2022,” a short by acclaimed anime director Shinichiro Watanabe; and shepherded more than a few great records into existence as head of the Brainfeeder label, including Thundercat’s acclaimed 2017 album Drunk and Georgia Anne Muldrow’s excellent 2018 album Overload. It’s satisfying to report, then, that the new Flying Lotus record, Flamagra, finds Ellison still burning bright--both a savvy collaborator and curator, and a sharp creative mind in his own right.

Flying Lotus is a Millennial artist in the fullest, most complimentary sense of the term. The product of a steady diet of Adult Swim absurdist humor, J Dilla records and Afrofuturism, FlyLo’s genre-agnostic approach to electronic music has one foot in the warm, booty-mobilizing groove of hip hop and classic funk and the other in the ice cold, intellectual visions of techno shamans like Drexciya and Aphex Twin. In a way, it’s oddly fitting that a capital-L, capital-A Los Angelino like Ellison found a home for his music on Warp Records, home of groundbreaking UK IDM acts like the aforementioned Aphex Twin, Squarepusher and Boards of Canada. As Flying Lotus, Ellison has established himself as a key figure in bridging the divide between hip hop and techno, reintroducing electronic dance music to its quintessentially Black, American roots.

Flamagra advertises some of FlyLo’s biggest-name collaborations to date, from elder statesmen of the avant-garde like David Lynch and George Clinton to contemporary heavy hitters like Solange and Anderson.Paak. But, despite the boldface names, the total package is boldly embossed with Flying Lotus’ unmistakable stamp. Cinematic but not grandiose, varied but not scattershot, Flamagra feels like diving into a web of intricately interconnected ideas and synapses firing a little too fast for the casual observer to track.

Flying Lotus’ penchant for high concepts doesn’t always connect. His last record, 2014’s You’re Dead, was a pleasant but unfocused psychedelic ramble to...somewhere. Flamagra, on the other hand, is deeply rooted in and evocative of a sense of place. Like Los Angeles, Flamagra is a love letter to a city and a creative community, albeit one transformed by political upheaval and looming environmental disaster. The tense funk of tracks like “Burning Down the House” and “Fire is Coming” channels the psychic tension of life in a city threatened both by literal uncontrolled wildfires and other forms of manmade disaster: pollution, gentrification, socioeconomic inequality. But, as Flamagra’s guiding metaphor, fire can also be a force for balance, cleansing and renewal. This tenacious, up-from-the-ashes survivor’s optimism is embodied by mellower highlights like “Spontaneous,” “9 Carrots” and “Land of Honey.”

L.A. is a strange, singular place: a sprawling network of immigrants, stars, ramblers and seekers, a Hollywood-pop-industrial dream factory on a geological fault line perpetually on the brink of rupture, a smog-and-ash- choked testament to human ingenuity and human hubris. In 27 short tracks, Flamagra creates a vivid, memorable collage of L.A. life circa 2019, speaking to both the complicated present and the imaginative future of the city Flying Lotus calls home.

Rachel Smith

#flying lotus #flamagra #warp #rachel smith #albumreview #dusted magazine #Steven Ellison #hip hop #Funk #techo #anderson paak #solange #george clinton

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