#have they met a st vincent fan

[the-man-in-the-suit-official]

Strange Mercy.

Summary: After hooking up with Harry occasionally, you fall pregnant. The real problem starts when he begins touring, and no matter what, you can never seem to make it past fans - or even the guards in order to tell him.

A/N: (D/N) = Daughter’s Name

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Length: Medium

TW: Cheating, Single Pregnancy, Violence While Pregnant (Slight), Hookup, Angst (Fluff at the end)

Celebrities: Harry E. Styles

Song(s) To Listen To: Strange Mercy - St. Vincent

You met him at a party. You had been a groupie of some lowly band, really just because you liked their music, but since then, their guitarist had taken a liking to you. You had hoped this meant you were his girlfriend, and yeah, he’d sleep with you and take you on ‘dates,’ but he’d do this with other women, too.

Truthfully, Harry wasn’t even supposed to be there. The party was in New York, close to the building that happened to be throwing an after party for an awards ceremony. So when he saw you smoking a cigarette outside the building, watching the dirty guitarist flirt with a few girls to the left of you, he approached you.

“Erm,” He began, shifting your attention.

He was dressed rather lavishly, but casual for the party. He wore a floral Gucci button up shirt and dress pants with Gucci shoes. The Apple Watch against his wrist read, “You’ve Arrived!”

“Is this The Louvat? It doesn’t really look like it…” His accent was thick, rolling off his tongue slowly.

Taking another drag, you chuckled a bit, “No, this is Lamar, the bar a bunch of shitty bands play at? You must have mistyped it.”

You looked back at your ‘boyfriend,’ watching as he slid a hand up one of the girls’ waist. You settled into your fluffy coat a bit more.

“Here,” You took his phone and typed in the right thing, “So you don’t miss it.”

Harry blinked. It was odd not to be noticed, but he wasn’t complaining, and eased into it, “Thank you.”

“The Louvat, how’d you miss that?” Another chuckle escaped your lips, “Hasn’t it got paparazzi littering the place?”

Furrowing your brows, squinting and pressing your lips into a thin line, you asked, “Are you famous?”

This time, it was his turn to chuckle nervously, “Eh,” He shrugged.

You softened your face a bit, glancing at Luke, the guitarist, who now was caught up wrestling tongues with a different girl. You looked down, “Well, you should probably get going, huh?”

You flicked your cigarette to the side, and he noticed the man you were looking at.

Dipping his eyebrows in worry, something came over him, “Would you like to come with me? Completely free. You just, I don’t think you really belong here, is all.”

A pink dusted your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but blame it on the cold Fall air.

“I…” You looked toward Luke, but the stranger stepped closer, gently turning your head toward him by the chin.

“Think of yourself, alright?”

Those sea green eyes could have controlled you. Suddenly, it wasn’t chilly. It was warm, stemming from your heart.

“Aright,” You responded softly, “I’d love to go.”

To be honest, he could have been a kidnapper or a killer, but could one have such sweet eyes? And to be fair, you’d rather be anywhere but here.

He smiled at you softly, “Well, I’m quite early since I had a feeling I’d get lost. Let’s get you something to wear, yeah?”

You’d been dressed the opposite of him - wearing a sleazy coat lined with faux fur zipped right as low as it could be without showing too much cleavage, Daisy Dukes, and a pair of tennis shoes. All to impress some boy that didn’t seem to want you anyway.

You’d felt hot earlier, but in the presence of this stranger and his enchanting eyes, you melted with embarrassment.

“That would be great,” You sighed with a smile, “Someone told me to wear this here, and now he’s off flirting with someone else.”

“I see,” Harry began, “Then you need to choose what you like…” He trailed off.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N),” You took a hand out of your pocket and held it out, but he kissed it instead.

“Harry Styles. Nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

Luke caught a glimpse of you leaving with your handsome stranger, angrily shouting after you, but you flipped him off and laughed as the car strolled on, turning back to Harry soon after.

Harry had found himself enchanted by your laugh. You were gorgeous in the face of revenge.

And that’s where it began. You’d become good friends since then, and when you made your ‘debut’ accompanying him, you’d been dressed in lavish branded clothes, from your dress to your heels to your accessories.

You owed him a lot, really, but working as a waitress really sucked. You didn’t get paid much, unless some guy had taken a liking to you and you flirted back a bit.

But now, every attractive guy seemed less and less so, even when your coworker, Emma, seemed to gleam the handsome men. Harry, though, seemed more beautiful by the minute.

“I still can’t believe your friends with him,” Emma sighed, obviously envious, “And that you didn’t know who he was!”

She had begged you so many times to get him to meet her, and you refused, knowing her and her…tendencies. Not that you disapproved, you just wanted to keep Harry safe. Safe. What a weird way to put it.

Your shift had just ended and Emma was on break, though you weren’t even listening as you fixed your makeup and waited for your ride.

He came strolling in soon after, curls gorgeously bouncing with his steps, smiling from ear to ear when he caught a look at you.

“(Y/N)!”

The diner was nearly empty now, so he noted he could make a quick entrance and exit.

“H!” You smiled and ran toward him, hugging the taller man, “You all packed up?”

He nodded, hugging you back, “Yeah, but you call me if that Luke is giving you anymore trouble, alright?”

You nodded, starry-eyed and so obviously enamored, “Thank you.”

It was Harry’s yacht party when it happened. The both of you were as sober as can be. You had admitted (hesitantly, of course) that you were afraid of the water, and Harry, without the bat of an eye, decided that he would watch over you and drink nothing for the night.

Ultimately, you felt bad, but noted that he seemed to be having as much fun at his going-away party as he would under the influence.

“(Y/N),” He started, once he managed to come away from the crowd of celebrities you still couldn’t process were actually there, “I rented the yacht out for the night. After the party, you wanna take it around?”

Your heart leaped at the opportunity to have Harry alone, and you nodded, “That sounds great!”

And when the time finally came and the last person left, he turned to you with a huge smile.

Who would have thought that you’d be here, with the most handsome man you’d ever seen? He had a goofy smile and eyes that glittered, the ocean reflecting on them.

He was perfect.

“There are some pretty things out here,” He had spoken, excitement bleeding into his voice, “I wanted to show you.”

You were quite surprised that he even knew how to drive a boat, but you felt safe with him either way as he steered it through the night.

And there you sat together, staring at the stars that seemed so much clearer out in the open. His hand found the small of your back quickly but softly, and he smiled into the night sky.

“All of those guys forget that we’re just humans. We’re nothing compared to the stars,” He spoke, not even turning to you.

You hummed happily, not even noticing when he did face you, “Except you, (Y/N).”

You met his eyes in confusion, raising a brow before he continued, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You smiled bashfully, looking down, “Ah…I’m not that special, H.”

“But you are,” He scooted closer, “I…I knew from the moment we met that there was something different about you.”

Your eyes glimmered when they met with his again, your heart skipping a beat as the salty ocean air nipped your cheeks, “That means the world to me.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he inched your faces closer, “(Y/N)…would you let me love you this once? Before the tour starts again.”

Your face flushed red. And suddenly it made sense. Harry had felt something for you since you met, only he decided not to pursue anything after your breakup, and when you explained to him just how much relationships scared you since Luke. He figured that if dating a minor celebrity hurt you that much, then dating him would only be worse.

But he’d be leaving soon. And you’d miss him so, so much.

You nodded softly, lips parted before his met yours.

The butterflies began to fight their way out of your stomach, even as the kiss grew in intensity, and when he hoisted your legs around his waist, carrying you to the bed downstairs.

There wasn’t much thought for either of you, as he looked down at you, straddling you, “And you’re sure…you want to do this?”

“Yes,” You replied quicker than you meant to, “Yes, I’m sure.”

He was going to say something, but was only surprised when you pulled him by his collar and kissed him deeply.

-

The gentle beams of bright ocean light woke you, and you found yourself covered from your chest down to your thighs in a thick white comforter that felt like the softest thing in the world.

When you turned, you were met with an empty bed, making your heart sink. You’d trusted Harry dearly, would he just leave like Luke would?

You felt your mood begin to sour, that was, until you heard soft singing from above, and smelt blueberry pancakes, your favorite from the diner.

It was Harry, you would come to recognize, and your frown morphed into a wide smile. Once you were able to find the complimentary robe, you slipped it on, noticing it said, ‘Mrs.’

You giggled, figuring Harry had the matching one.

“Good morning, my sweet creature,” He set a plate down on the bar table for you, and another for himself, “How’d you sleep?”

You sat down and began to eat, thanking him before doing so, “Quite lovely, prince of pop.”

He exhaled a laugh, tying the robe around him once more, seeing as it was coming loose.

Part of you hurt, because you knew that you still weren’t quite ready - Like had messed you up terribly, and though Harry made you feel safe, there was still a block.

“Hey,” Harry’s hand met yours as you chewed your food, “I promise this doesn’t change anything. We can remain friends until you’re ready to decide, alright?”

You smiled sentimentally, overwhelmed with his understanding of you, “Thank you, H.”

He kissed your hand gently, and the two of you finished breakfast in peace.

He left less than a week later, taking your source of light with him. You wouldn’t be able to have him back at your house for almost a year, and though you could still visit, it would be hard.

It started with small things. About a month after he left, you began to wake up in the middle of the night more often, restless. Your chest became sore, no matter what, scaring you since your mind jumped straight to the idea of cancer.

It wasn’t until you sat on the toilet after spilling up last night’s dinner that you realized.

You were late.

And the theory became fact as you held onto the two pregnancy tests later that day, hand shaking in fear.

You were happy, of course, but you were anything but ready. Neither of you were.

The rest of the night, you were pacing, trying hard not to freak out in your small, bummy apartment, to no avail.

That night was more restless than the ones before it, and at 4:36 in the morning, you finally decided to tell Harry.

ME: We need to talk. Call me.

And just as quickly as it was sent, there was a reply.

HARRY: Due to insufficient funds, your service has been shut off until further notice. If you think that this is a mistake, or you would like to make a payment, please click the link below.

What awful timing.

It had come between either the phone bill or the rent this month, and you’d decided that you quite enjoyed shelter, but now you regretted it.

There was your friends you could meet in the morning, but Harry would never answer a message from an unknown number, especially one claiming such shocking things.

And who could you even talk to about this? Your family hardly spoke to you, ever since they found out you’d dated Luke, and this would only drive them away further, using their religion as a scapegoat for their pushing you away.

So you’d have to track him down. How hard could it be?

You saved for about three months, finally getting enough money for a plane ticket to meet Harry again, and though you couldn’t afford the concert ticket, you did your best efforts to come up with a plan.

As you idly watched the clock tick by, you prepared yourself for what was to come. Fan girls. Guards. Flashing lights. Nauseating smells.

And then you packed your bag and were on your way. Sneaking in was pretty easy, actually, especially when you recognized one of the guards as the one who drove the two of you to the party that fateful night.

The hard part was getting backstage during his intermission.

You had made it through, but now here was this giant man hassling you. He was buff, standing at at least 6’4”, and looking down at you through his sunglasses. You couldn’t have been farther apart.

“Hey, miss. You’re not allowed back here,” He raised a brow, stepping in front of you again, “I won’t say it again.”

You shook your head, “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m a friend of Harry’s, and I really, really need to tell him something important!”

You pushed forward, trying to reach the bright vanity, but the man pushed back with his hands. Instinctively, you grabbed your belly as you fell, landing on your side, a forearm holding you up.

“Hey! I’m fucking pregnant! What the hell?!”

He didn’t seem to care, hoisting you up by the arm on your belly, to your feet. The grip hurt, and you closed your eyes tightly, “I don’t care. I’m doing my job. It’s your fault if the baby dies because of you, you sick whore.”

He had obviously been frustrated, you’d noticed, and maybe he was right. Who were you to sleep around with Harry? Or with Luke? With anyone? What good did it do you but bring you here?

Tears started to sting your eyes, but all you could mutter was, “You’re stupid.”

He tossed you on the ground again, and you landed like before, not even meeting his eyes.

“Very bold of you to s-“ He began, but suddenly froze cold at a voice.

“(Y/N)? Bryan? What the hell are you doing?!” It was the fastest you’d ever heard him speak.

Bryan, you guessed, turned, his mouth agape, “A trespasser.”

“That’s my friend, you idiot! And any man who treats anyone like that shouldn’t be here in the first place!” Harry was now in his face, not even noticing your bump, “You’re fired!”

He looked over to you and his eyes widened in a second, “Oh my god. (Y/N)…you’re pregnant.”

“Really?” You chuckled sarcastically, a bit annoyed at the man as Harry helped you up, “I almost wasn’t when he kept rag-dolling me everywhere.

“Fucking leave,” He turned to the man, venom seething through his words, and when he did so, escorted by other guards, Harry turned back to you.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’ll make sure he’ll never be near us again,” He looked down at the bump, a bittersweet smile on his face, “Was it Luke?”

You felt safe with him, like usual, and you felt butterflies begin to swarm your insides.

“God, no,” You paused, looking down before meeting his eyes, “It’s yours.”

He froze completely, and you panicked, “But…I don’t mind raising it on my own, Harry. You’re a pop star and I knew what I was getting into, plus you’ll be busy. We can keep it a secret a-“

“No,” He spoke sternly yet softly, his hands holding yours as he smiled down at you, “No.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else I’d want to have my kid,” He chuckled, “I would tell you you have pregnancy glow, but you always look that good.”

He was practically beaming, “God, I’m going to be a father! I can’t believe it! Thank you, thank you,” He hugged you tightly before pulling away, looking as if he realized something grim, “But, erm…if you want to raise it separately and as friends, that’s okay.”

You smiled solemnly, admiring just how stupid this boy was, quickly pulling him by his collar and smashing your lips on his.

When you pulled away, he blinked for a few seconds, “Did I get my point across?”

He nodded, smiling like an idiot.

“Then go out there and focus on your fans, okay? I’ll be in the private booths.”

The night, you thought, couldn’t have ended more wonderfully, but that’s when you were proven wrong. He stood on stage, finishing the previous song, Grapejuice, when he abruptly paused the show.

“Before I continue, I want everyone to know something,” Your heart skipped a beat, “I would like to dedicate this next song, Matilda, to everyone.”

The sentence brought your anxieties back down, “But most of all, (Y/N).”

And the tears began to fall for you, a hand over your mouth in surprise.

“She’s a wonderful girl, a long-time friend of mine who was never treated how she deserved to be treated. The kindest person I know, and the strongest,” He continued on, “And I’m honored to be the father of our baby.”

The crowd erupted into screams and cheers, and tears began to fall from him as well. Shifting his weight on his other leg, he gave his signature air kisses before the music began to play.

“You were riding your bike to the sound of ‘It’s No Big Deal.’”

-

When she, (D/N), finally arrived, it was the best thing to ever happen to either of you. Harry would have sworn by it, despite his very fortunate life, and even as she grew to a toddler, she looked just like him.

It made you smile as you held onto your husband of two years, “God, she looks just like you. From her eyes to her nose to her jaw.”

She was playing with the Golden Retriever puppy you’d gotten to grow up with her. She giggled even as she fell onto her bottom and was covered in kisses.

“She reminds me of you, most of all, love,” He looked at her lovingly, “I’m just worried she’ll be lonely growing up. I can’t imagine not having Gemma with me. I know we rushed into it a bit for her sake, but it’s the best thing we’ve ever done. Well, aside from (D/N).”

You bit your lip slyly, “Don’t worry, H. She won’t have that problem in about seven months.”

His heart stopped, and he practically leaped up in joy, pulling you in by the waist and spinning you.

“You could have destroyed me and refused to be with me. You could have never told me she was mine or worse. When I met you, I knew you were going to be in my life forever. Thank you for taking mercy in the stupid pop star who knocked you up,” Harry met your eyes, speaking softly, “You’re my blessing, my strange mercy.”

[spidermaninlove]

Tomdaya Timeline vol. 5

Links to vol. 1, vol. 2, vol. 3, vol. 4, and vol. 6

November 6, 2022

Tom and Z visited Petra.  link link2

December 7, 2022

Tom allegedly spotted at In-N-Out in Northridge.  

December 9 and 11, 2022

Multiple sightings of Tom and Z together in California. 

December 11, 2022

Tom and Z attended RDJ’s Netflix documentary, “Sr”, screening event in LA.  link  Tom and Z spotted at the Sunset Tower Hotel attending RDJ’s after-party.  link2  

Z and Tom got their nails done by her manicurist.  link3

December 14, 2022

Tom with Z at her former school, Oakland School of the Arts (OSA), for an impromptu master class.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8 link9 link10 link11 link12 link13 link14 link15 link16 link17 link18 link19 link20 link21 link22 link23 link24

They were also spotted at Batch & Brine in Lafayette, CA.  link link2 link3

December 15, 2022

Tom and Z at the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco.  link link2 link3 link4 link5

Tom allegedly called Z his butterfly.  link

December 16, 2022

Tom and Z in San Francisco.  link  While there, they visited the Golden Gate Bridge.  link2

They were also spotted eating ice cream in Sausalito.  link

December 18, 2022

Tom and Z allegedly paid for customers in line behind them at Starbucks.  link

December 30, 2022

Tom spotted at Heathrow (below) and arriving at LAX (link).

January 2023 Month-Long Caribbean TomdayaMoon

Alleged Tomdaya Caribbean destinations include Turks and Caicos, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, St Lucia (confirmed -- see photo below), and Antigua and Barbuda.  link

Tom and Z in St. Lucia

January 1 - 2, 2023

Tom and Z were allegedly spotted on a flight from LAX to MIA (Miami).  link

Tom and Z allegedly spotted having brunch on Brickell Key (Miami).  link

January 3, 2023

Tom and Z allegedly spotted at the Amanyara Resort on Turks and Caicos.  link

January 4, 2023

Z posted the story below from the Caribbean.

Somewhere in the Caribbean

January 5, 2023

Tom and Z spotted at the beach in the Caribbean.  link link2

January 11, 2023

Tom and Z allegedly spotted in St. Vincent and the Grenadines.  link

January 22, 2023

According to a credible source, he met Tom and Z on a boat in St. Vincent and the Grenadines.  link

January 23, 2023

Tom and Z were spotted hiking in St. Lucia.  link link2

February 1, 2023

An airport employee allegedly met Tom and Z in Antigua and Barbuda.  link  

February 2-4, 2023

After a month-long baecation, Z returned to LA and Tom returned to London.  link

Monaco

February 2023

Z was papped working in Menton, France on February 14, and photographed with a fan in Monaco on February 15.  Tom and Z were spotted at the airport together in Nice, France on February 15.  link link2  They were both spotted dining together in Monte-Carlo, Monaco.  link3

London

March 2023

Tom and Z out and about in Kingston.  link

March 8, 2023

Tom and Z spotted buying hot beverages while on a “family walk” in Richmond Park.  link  Dom confirmed the “family walk”  link2 , and Tessa and Noon accompanied them.  link3

March 11, 2023

Tom and Z were spotted holding hands while walking in Richmond.  link  They were also spotted having lunch while they were there.  link2

March 11, 2023

Tom and Z were spotted at Chiltern Firehouse in London.  link

March 12, 2023

Tom and Z spotted at Richmond Park again today along with Tom’s parents, and their dogs Tessa and Noon.  link link2 link3 link4

Z spotted watching Tom play padel.  link

March 15, 2023

Tom and Z photographed grocery shopping at Waitrose.  link link2 link3

March 18, 2023

A London-based manicurist made a housecall to do Z’s nails.  In the manicurist’s Instagram stories, Z is wearing a TH, ZH, or T/Z H/C signet ring and the Loewe shirt Tom wore to the Louvre.  link

March 21, 2023

Tom and Z spotted grabbing coffee. link

Tom and Z along with Tuwaine and Noon were photographed taking a walk.  link link2 link3

March 25-26, 2023

Tom and Z spotted shopping at John Lewis & Partners.  link

March 27, 2023

Tom and Z dined at Jamavar, a Michelin Star restaurant link and they were spotted out and about on New Bond Street in London.  link2

March 28, 2023

Tom and Z were shopping for antiques, and then spotted at a play and cuddling at a nearby bar/restaurant.  link link2 link3 link4 link5

Mumbai

Tom and Z in Mumbai.  link

March 31, 2023

Tom and Zendaya arrive in Mumbai for the Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre (NMACC) grand opening.  link link2 link3

April 1, 2023

Tom and Z yachting in Mumbai. link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7

TZ sightseeing in Mumbai.  link

Zendaya and Tom at the NMACC.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8

TZ leaving the NMACC.  link link2

April 2, 2023

Tom and Z spotted arriving at their hotel in Mumbia after brunch with the Ambanis.  link

TZ spotted leaving their hotel in Mumbia.  link

Tom and Z were holding hands while arriving at the NMACC.  link

TZ at the NMACC and out and about in Mumbai.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6

Tom and Z sighting at the Mumbai airport.  link

April 3, 2023

Tom and Z departed Mumbai.  link

Noon stayed with Tom’s parents while TZ were in Mumbai.  link

London

April 7, 2023

Tom and Z spotted walking in Richmond Park.  link

Zendaya and Tom explored Hampton Court Palace after hours today.  link link2 link3

Hampton Court Palace

April 9, 2023

Tom picked up a chocolate hazelnut frappe for Z on his way home from golfing.  link

April 13, 2023

Tom and Z spotted at Windsor Castle.  link

April 14, 2023

TZ spotted by a fan in Kingston.  link

April 15, 2023

Tom and Z were spotted by a fans in Kingston.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6

April 17, 2023

TZ were spotted getting coffee this morning.  link

Las Vegas

Tom and Z in Las Vegas

April 26, 2023

Zendaya and Tom at an Usher concert in Las Vegas.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8 (Tom wraps his arms around Z) link9 link10 link11 link12 link13 link14 link15 (Tom holding Z from behind while dancing together) link16 link17 link18 link19 link20 link21 link22

Z posted a story ft. Tom at the Usher concert in Las Vegas.  link 

May 1, 2023

Tom and Z at a Thai restaurant in Malibu.  link link2 link3 link4 link5

May 4, 2023

Zendaya and Tom in San Francisco at the Golden State Warriors game.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8 link9 link10 (holding hands) link11 link12 link13 (Z shielding Tom from the camera) link14 link15 link16 (Tom caressing Z’s arm) link17 link18 link19 link20 link21 link22 link23 link24

May 5 or 6, 2023

TZ returned to London.  link

May 13, 2023

Tom and Z allegedly saw Guardians of the Galazy Vol. 3 at a Kingston cinema.  link

May 13 or 14, 2023

TZ spotted in Notting Hill.  link

Venice

May 15, 2023

Tom with Z in Venice.  link link2

Tom and Z were spotted hugging and kissing, on a boat, and with Noon in Venice and nearby Murano.  link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8 link9 link10

May 16, 2023

Tom and Z allegedly spotted having lunch in Venice at the Gritti Palace Hotel.  link 

TZ photographed leaving The Gritti Palace Hotel in Venice.  link

TZ out and about in Venice.  link link2 link3 link4

May 17, 2023

Tom and Z departed Venice.  link link2 link3 link4

May 31, 2023

During an interview, Tom called Z a saint for putting up with his hair while he was filming TCR.  link

According to Sunrise, Tom wants to spend a bit more time away from the spotlight with his mate and his girlfriend, Zendaya. link

June 2023

Tom liked a Most Beautiful Woman in the World fan post of Z.  link

June 1, 2023, Tom’s birthday and TCR red carpet premiere

TZ shared some Caribbean vacation (tomdayamoon) memories on Instagram.  link link2 link3

Z liked and commented on a video Nikki shared of baby Tom.  link

Z also posted the poster for TCR to her story.  link

During a TCR interview, the interviewer asked Tom, “What is the most important experience in your life that has shaped you into the person you are today, if you could say one?”  Tom responded, “I think the most important experience I would like to keep private because it has to do with someone very special.”  link

June 4, 2023

While answering BuzzFeed’s 30 questions, Tom said, “I’m locked up, so I’m happy and in love.”  link  During the interview, he also mentioned Z was his childhood crush, and that “they” want to go back to his dream vacation spot -- a beach location they visited this year.  link2

During Tom’s UNILAD interview, he confirmed tomdaya 1.0.  link

June 8, 2023

During a podcast, Tom mentioned he’s lucky he has Z in his life.  link

June 9, 2023

Z reposted Tom’s TCR post to her story.  link

June 14, 2023

Tom and Z attended her Challengers costar’s play in London, and exited the theater holding hands.  link link2

June 16, 2023

Tom and Z photographed on an intimate walk in a London park.  link link2 link3 link4 link5

June 24, 2023

TZ spotted at a local golf resort.  link link2

Z had her nails manicured at Tom’s house.  link

June 27, 2023

Zendaya and Tom at the Beyonce Renaissance World Tour in Warsaw, Poland.  Tom is wearing Z’s leather jacket.  

link link2 link3 link4 link5 link6 link7 link8 link9 link10 link11 link12 link13 link14 link15 link16 link17 link18 link19 link20 link21 link22 link23 link24 link25 link26 link27 link28

TZ serenading each other to Love On Top at Beyonce’s concert.  link link2 link3 link4  

TZ lovingly looking into one another’s eyes and Z caressing Tom’s face during Beyonce’s Love on Top performance.  link

June 28, 2023

TZ returned to London.  link

[mermaidsirennikita]

Considering the way readers reacted to Sebastian having an illegitimate child...I can see why she gave in to fan service. (I mean, sex resulting in a kid? Who would've thought!!!)

Also I TOTALLY agree about the Lillian and St.Vincent scene...I hated it when I read it, it felt so out of place and jarring!!

What's funny is that those readers basically got a "be careful what you wish for" moment. They wanted more St. Vincent. More more more. Well, you got a book that was half about him, and you hated it, because you really can't give a happy romance hero much to do without upsetting his HEA... Which obviously, Keir didn't, because Evie, unlike the super upset readers, was a reasonable human being who realized that it was not at all shocking for her husband to have bastard child before he met her. Honestly, it would've been weird for St. Vincent to not have at least one. He probably has six others. I think I've read two other historical romance novels where the hero had an illegitimate child before he met the heroine, and considering how these guys get around pre-reliable birth control...

I think Sebastian had way too much page time in the Ravenels. I love him. I did not need that much of him in Spring, in Daughter, or in Disguise. Spring probably did it best, probably. (Daughter is one of my bottom tier Kleypas books, whoops.) But the moment with Lillian was unnecessary, kind of condescending, and just... weird. They were going to get along without that--they'd been doing it for decades at that point. Their kids were getting together. They were going to be in-laws. It was fine.

[astromechs]

hey! proud of you for getting back into writing! from one comics nerd (and the creator of the ask game) to another, here's some asks!

1, 6, 13, 18, 23, 31 [you pick], 43, and 47

oh hello!! and thank you so much ❤️ comics nerds unite!

of the ones you've written, which romantic relationship has developed the fastest? how fast is it?

i definitely have had characters fuck in the first chapter more than once LMAO (with, of course, the emotional development taking much longer.) but the answer will probably always be rebelcaptain (jyn erso and cassian andor, for those not entrenched in star wars fandom); their mutual insanity is, like. mutually insane. it's true in canon, it's true in every extension of canon, it's true in all of my aus. they met and were literally instantly obsessed with each other GHFJDSK

6. have you ever started to write a relationship and had it develop differently than you expected? how so?

in terms of a specific story? this au fic i wrote of jyn and cassian having a different first meeting, five years before the events of rogue one, turned out SO incredibly differently than the initial vision i had for it. like they had in canon, i always knew there would be an instant connection and a tension? and yeah, before i wrote this, i knew there would be smut content in it. what i wasn't initially expecting was how gentle and tender this story turned out to be, but — then again, maybe i should have been expecting that! because that's them, really.

13. are there any consistent trends when you write a budding relationship, or does it vary by character? if there are trends, what are they?

i will say, i find myself a fan of what i like to call the "reverse slow burn" — characters in my stories often tend to do something about their sexual tension fairly quickly, but then take a long time to sort out their emotions about it.

18. pick a few characters you've written for (or, for a fun twist, asker chooses). tell me about their relationship in three sentences or less.

for fun, the first character i'll choose is matt murdock, who i've written a lot of different ships with, and here's one sentence that applies to pretty much all of them: it's a trainwreck ghFJDKS

rich rider/gamora/peter quill — sometimes what appears, on the surface, to be years of a messy love triangle is actually polyamory. LOVE WINS.

adrian chase/chris smith (peacemaker) — talk about dicks a lot, but they're actually very sweet? trauma healing.

23. do you think you idealize relationships in fiction, or are your depictions grounded in reality? how often do your characters make mistakes?

at least from what i intend, i do seek to portray both characters and relationships realistically — because character flaws are interesting to me! i also do a lot of work with characters who've experienced heavy trauma and need a lot of healing, and so their relationships are not going to be perfect idealized affairs. a lot of my oneshots may focus on some of the softer moments, but even those i'm really trying to ground in reality.

31. are there any songs that remind you of petermj? Are there any songs that remind them of each other?

ok, i picked one of my oldest otps for this, petermj (peter parker/mary jane watson) — and out of so many songs that remind me of them, i'm going to go with new york by st vincent. "you're the only motherfucker in this city who can handle me" is, like... DEFINITIVELY them.

i've always thought of out of the woods by taylor swift as being from mj's perspective about her relationship with peter. manhattan by sara bareilles has a very early jms run vibe of their relationship, and i feel like it can be from peter's perspective.

43. how do you feel about unhappy endings? unrequited love? major character death?

i think if it fits the story, it's good! i certainly wouldn't have changed the way rogue one ended as a film, for instance. in terms of what i write — generally i tend not to write that stuff because i have other narrative interests? but i wouldn't be opposed to writing it if my story demanded it, and i'm not opposed to reading it!

47. what's the most self-indulgent relationship you've written? are there any particular moments/scenes that you wrote just for you?

out of all the things i've written, probably the wanda maximoff/rich rider ship that i invented wholesale, and wrote this fic about! that was 10k words purely for me lol i also have this ot3 with them and matt murdock that i've invented and... all of that's for me, too.

fan fic couples/relationships ask meme!

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

LATIMES: For St. Vincent, life under COVID has meant recording a soul-baring podcast and binging on Stalin

Annie Clark, who performs as St. Vincent, in her home studio: “I divide my life into albums.” [Leah Lehrer]

By RANDALL ROBERTS

STAFF WRITER

AUG. 26, 2020 2:15 PM

During a recent conversation, Annie Clark, the Grammy-winning musician who performs as St. Vincent, confessed that she had, quite literally, nothing else scheduled for the day. She had awakened, she explained, knowing that her only obligation would occur at precisely 2 p.m.

“The crazy thing is, because there’s nothing to divide a day, having anything on the calendar to do feels almost overwhelming,” she said. “Like, what am I going to do now that I have this one 20-minute thing that must happen at this specific time? It’s very strange. It’ll be interesting to go back, in some way, to all the spinning plates.”

On Monday, Clark’s new audio project, “St. Vincent: Words + Music,” premieres on Audible, the online audiobook and podcast platform. A 90-minute first-person deep dive into her life and music, the program is interspersed with revelatory new versions of some of St. Vincent’s most popular songs. She offers a fresh rendition of 2007’s “Marry Me,” for example, that highlights dizzying string arrangements absent from the original version.

For St. Vincent obsessives, these versions are essential listens, as are her recollections on her early years as part of the Texas music collective the Polyphonic Spree and her decision to embark on a solo career under a pseudonym. For passing fans, Clark’s conversational way of speaking about the evolution of her work across six studio albums (including “Love This Giant,” her 2012 collaboration with David Byrne) provides a glimpse into her creative methods. An artist whose work has evolved from guitar-driven indie rock to increasingly experimental work filled with electronics and vocal effects, St. Vincent’s music has at this point transcended genre.

The project is part of Audible’s “Words + Music” series, which includes “Patti Smith at the Minetta Lane,” James Taylor’s “Break Shot,” Common’s “Bluebird Memories: A Journey Through Lyrics & Life” and Rufus Wainwright’s “Road Trip Elegies: Montreal to New York.”

Clark, 37, recently spoke to The Times from her home in Los Angeles.

“I have this theory,” says St. Vincent, “that people who are creative for a living were really dumbstruck, creatively, by the pandemic.” [Leah Lehrer]

How much podcast and audiobook listening do you typically do?

I’m obsessed with podcasts and audiobooks. I probably listen to more audiobooks than I do music. I mean, I certainly listen to music — for enjoyment, for research, for just making sure I know what is happening. Luckily, maybe because I’m a musician, I can retain a lot of information that comes through on the auditory side. I mean, I’ve really been brushing up on my Stalin.

You’ve brushed up on your Stalin?

It makes me feel much better about where we are today. Because they had it bad.

It’s pretty bad now.

It’s really bad now. But it was worse. I’ll go ahead and say it was worse in Stalin’s Russia. So there we are. That makes me feel bright and sunny. I’ve been on a real saucy Gulag Stalin kick for the past many months. Cold war, espionage — all of it.

You want to recommend any specific podcasts or books?

Oh God, we shouldn’t be talking about Stalin. This is already a disaster. I haven’t done this in a minute, you know what I mean? I don’t have my talking points all figured out.

I hope this isn’t a disaster.

No, but if we lead with Stalin, it’s not going to go well for me. Let’s talk about this Audible thing, because it was a lovely experience. It was fun to take old songs and reinvent them. There’s a version of “Digital Witness” on this that’s really funky and I love it. I’m glad they gave me a reason to look at my back catalog and reinvent some old songs.

Did you enjoy the process of recalling where you were in your life during various points?

I did. I divide my life into albums, instead of the other markers of time that most people have. I can go, “Oh, I was in the middle of this tour, and this is what was going on in my life and this is what I was writing about as a result.” That part of it was kind of an archaeological dig.

You reveal a few experiences in the program about your family and private life. I didn’t know, for example, about your father’s white-collar crimes, which landed him in prison in the early ’00s. Did you have any hesitation about engaging with parts of your life that aren’t related to your music?

I would have a long time ago, and I certainly did while it was all going on. I’ve always wanted people to enjoy and take in my music for what the music was. I don’t want it to be like a piece of art on the wall that needs an explanation in order to enjoy it. I want it to be enjoyed and interpreted on its own merit. I don’t think that it makes art more valid because it came from really horrible circumstances. I don’t necessarily want to mythologize something that’s actually quite normal. Things happen. And the crazy thing is to expect otherwise.

I think that in the past I felt way more protective of my family and my privacy because he was still in there. But since then, he’s been released, and we have a great relationship. It’s been a wonderful story of reconciliation, change, forgiveness, all those things. That’s why I feel fine about throwing it out there, because frankly, it had the happiest possible ending.

Another story you share is about being groped during a performance while you were stage-diving, and reacting by hitting the fan with your microphone. Have you stopped stage-diving since that happened?

Yes, stage-diving in that particular way. During the “Strange Mercy” tour, I was straight up hurling myself into the crowd and getting some pretty sick dives in. But then during the “St. Vincent” tour, I was definitely going into the crowd but more like jumping on the backs of security guards and running through that way. I still love the fan interaction. It’s not necessarily the end of my stage-diving days.

A lot of creative people I know are having a hard time with their muse right now. How are you doing with that?

I’m doing OK. It’s been a really productive time, but in a different way. I have this theory that people who are creative for a living were dumbstruck, creatively, by the pandemic, because we all need an element of chaos in our day to be able to grab inspiration. I know that’s a cheesy word, but we need to be able to be walking down the street, see that strange thing that somebody did and think about it, metabolize it and write about it.

People who are creative for a living have had a very hard time being creative during the pandemic. But a lot of people who aren’t necessarily creative for a living are like, “It’s a great time. I’ve finally learned how to knit and I finally wrote that short story that I‘d been meaning to do.” My informal poll of my fellow writers is that they’re banging their heads against the wall. But other people learned how to crochet or how to play “Sweet Home Alabama,” and that’s awesome.

Have you considered how you might present yourself as a performer going forward if, because of the coronavirus, the concert experience evolves into something unrecognizable?

I think about it every day. I wouldn’t imagine that things will ever be exactly back to normal, in terms of live touring. There’s a whole lot of other ways to get creative about how to reach people. And not just how to reach people but have the actual intimacy and energetic exchange of a show. The need for that kind of communion isn’t going to go away. I don’t think that’ll ever go away. It’s going to change, and it’s changed many times over the course of history. But yes, I think about it every day.

I think things that people love, they’re going to love even more, and they aren’t going to fall for things that they don’t love. Everything’s been put into sharp focus. Everybody’s figured out, more and more, what they actually need and what they don’t in these crazy times. I certainly don’t mean to minimize the actual human condition on the ground. But I think it’s going to be an exciting time for art. And that’s a silver lining.

[heli0s-writes]

where the shivers won’t find you*

Summary: In which Bucky’s Winter Soldier programming turned him from an Omega into an Alpha, and because he hasn’t suffered enough, the universe decides it’s time he gets turned back. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Warnings: trauma, references to hydra sexual abuse, flashbacks, explicit smut, male masturbation, overstimulation, an unholy amount of come, etc. ~8.7k words of hurt/comfort porn in A/B/O-verse.

a/n: Hey anyone ask for an Alpha!Reader and Omega!Bucky? No? Here it is anyway! P.S. I love writing unhinged women. Title from St. Vincent :) xx

Bucky wishes like all hell that he didn’t know what was happening to him. Better yet, he wishes it wasn’t happening at all or that the world wasn’t this.

He’s met plenty of other species who have sneered at human dynamics, clicked their appendages, and blinked their seventeen eyelids at the way humans were structured to exist on Earth. Species with three spines or two heads or were nothing more than a faint effervescent light that commented disdainfully on the base framework of Earth’s hierarchy.

He thinks that Earth couldn’t be the most fucked up planet out there—that their solar system and all its unknown variables could be topped by some other star cluster and its machinations—but unfortunately, he exists in this one.

And this one has the audacity to breathe James Buchanan Barnes to life as a goddamn Omega.

Like, that’s got to be the biggest your life sucks designation anyone could receive. Omegas are hardwired to be subservient for chrissake and he’s got the double-rare gift of being a male Omega at that. Like whatever divinities schemed together during their monthly meetup of assigning genders and preferences to the next batch of birthed kids decided that in 1917, after sprinkling a smattering of identities on a group of souls, pointed directly to Bucky’s and said, “Yeah, fuck this guy in particular.”

So he grows up being the source of his parents’ fear and shame and he’s told no matter what, he can’t let anyone figure him out. Meaning, naturally, he’s been plied with scent blockers and beta boosters since puberty.

As a fuck you right back, you sick little angels when I get up there I’m gonna lay your fluffy cloud hell to waste, Bucky goes and dies.

And, of course, as a bitch, you thought! the gods wake his ass up on an operating table with a bone saw to the scapula and he spends the next 70 years getting throttled in and out of his own body being The Winter Soldier.

He’s got to thank Hydra, though, because despite their forsaken safety procedures, the overall unsanitary practice, and oh yeah, captivity, the serum unpeeled his brain so thoroughly, reworked his DNA exhaustively that by the time Bucky came to for the last time—his metal arm in an industrial clamp with Steve and Sam gazing down at him in a warehouse—he had the vague notion that he’d been living as an Alpha for a while.

Until now, because of course.

His gut is on fire. It sparks deep inside his belly and aches on and off like he’s being repeatedly kissed by a sledgehammer every fifteen minutes. If he shuts his eyes at the exact moment the pain begins, he feels like he’s back on the operating table and instead of a bone saw, scientists are there with a baseball bat and playing whack-a-mole with his organs.

He’d been in militant denial for the past few months, too caught up in trying to keep the final vestiges of that easy-go-lucky Alpha life to truly sit down and come to terms with glaring signs. He was having adverse reactions to the usual suppressants he’d slap on his forearm when he couldn’t be bothered to ride out a rut because he was too busy on a mission or simply didn’t want to deal with it. Other Alphas could bunker down with their lovers or their toys and go at it for the week, but Bucky never found pleasure in having to do that out of sheer animalistic drive.

But then six months ago he smacked on a suppressant patch and noticed that the skin around his forearm swelled up something ugly, dried into an upsetting shade of pale, and when Bucky finally soaked it off, it only took forty-five minutes for his cock to spring up into the angriest, most furious hard-on he ever experienced. And he, blessedly, had just enough sense to deadbolt himself inside his house, text everyone to make themselves scarce for the next three days, and plow through his rut with minimal nerve damage to his poor dick.

It was off.

He hurt afterwards, more than the usual dullness and lethargy of being drained post-rut. His blood felt sludgy in his veins, his breath so sticky and leaden—and even his brain, something was sparkling between the folds, trying to alert him of what, he didn’t know.

He didn’t want to know.

A few months later and one more deeply worrying, exacerbated denial of a rut where he shoved his dick into lubed up, squelching silicone sleeves, coming until he blacked out to no avail later—he knows now.

He’s not in rut, he’s in heat.

And there’s a hair thin line of difference between the two, but the implications of Bucky reverting back to being the bottom of the food chain in his current state is going to either get him killed—or worse—because the world is a whole ass shitshow on fire, and he’s freshly touched down in the city after a tiring mission with little energy to fight his instincts or anyone lucky enough to stumble on him emanating pheromones, and he cannot—he fucking cannot lose control over his body again.

Not again. Not again.

Not ever again.

If he had it in him to scream, he would. But he’s riding at breakneck speed back to his house, his bike roaring through the sleeping streets of the city, every unavoidable bump or pothole impacting his entire quivering body head-on because he hardly has the organizational skills to dodge and steer and breathe at the same time.

He’s two hours away, shoving through a red light, barely missing a sedan that blares a vehement horn at him when his ribs start squeezing inward and air is being strangled out of his throat. He can’t see straight much less have enough sense to successfully cut around another patch of traffic, and when he pauses at the next stop, his heart is well on its way to overclocking.

The intersection is quiet, nothing but the beeping of a crosswalk alerting no one to pass and Bucky is trying to gulp down his breath, smacking up the visor of his helmet to get the night into his lungs, unzipping his jacket to allow his chest to cool. He’s panting with blood in his ears rushing up into his scalp, and it’s dead—it’s so fucking still that he thinks maybe he can do this, he can make it up the service road and streak past the next seventeen exits—until a car pulls up to his left.

The worst part is, they’re kids.

A handful of them with the top of their convertible down, whooping along in conversation about the party they’d just left. Three are in the back, woozy with underage drinking, kicking at the seat of the driver, who swats them in good humor. The one in the passenger side is a bit more alert than his other friends and leaning his head on the crook of his elbow as he laughs, saying, “Shut the fuck up, man.”

The light is stretching longer than any light should, and Bucky’s trying to shake himself lucid, trying to balance the fear of the unknown with the horror of his immediate reality, and when he chances a look over his shoulder, he catches the kid’s eye.

One second, the kid, hair wild and scraggly but ash brown and framing his face in a way that’s placating, is still smiling but then he takes in a lungful of the night—a lungful of Bucky only five feet away—and both his hands are on the metal frame of the door, tension bulging out of his shoulders.

“Hey!” he yells, his pupils blown out wide. His friends startle at his volume, gradually more curious about the waft of scent beginning to float over their heads.

“What the fuck is—”

“Woah—shit is that an Omeg—”

And Bucky can’t listen to it. Can’t chance it. Can’t allow it. He doesn’t even let the whole word into his ear, fuck his faculties, fuck his ability to dodge and steer and breathe at the same time. Fuck the gods and the world. He kicks himself off past the red light, making a sharp bank away from his current path at a speed even more reckless than before, the yelling behind him getting eaten by the wind.

-

Nobody’s here.

He knows this because he delegated the rest of his mission to the owner of this house. It’s a single safehouse in a tiny neighborhood up a hill lit by a yellow porch light because said owner heard that yellow light keeps the bugs away.

It’s a modest place mostly kept as a supply drop and makeshift rest area; the money spent on the purchase mostly for the large perimeter rather than the structure itself. The elderly neighbors are far enough away so that if anyone trudged to the door coughing up blood or towing an unconscious teammate with them, there’d be no questions because any possible witnesses are both too far to notice and retired to bed at sunset.

He swats at a moth as he trudges up, wincing with each step, and tries to find some joy at how the yellow light advert was probably wrong.

You’d hate that. You’d get real pissy about that and it brings a satisfying smirk to Bucky’s grimacing face. You’d yell or something. Pitch a whole fit and either try to search up research articles to prove him wrong or make him take responsibility for ruining your life. It’d be a real dramatic production of Bucky Barnes Needs to Mind His Own Business.

God, he’s looking forward to that bullshit. Something categorically normal to soothe his extremely and suddenly, once more, abnormal existence.

His boots clatter on the tile when he clambers in, shuffling himself against the wall, fumbling to make it to a soft surface. He tears into the bathroom on the way, rummaging around the cabinets for anything to help his pain before the next inevitable round of organ-bashing resurfaces. He squints at labels and rattles a glass of tweezers and exacto blades, knocking over some rubbing alcohol before finding a container of muscle relaxers and rattles at least three into his gullet.

The recent intervals have picked up their pace during the time he started his heat to now, and the waves have begun come every ten or so minutes, trickling down the more time he spends with his hands not on himself.

He swallows, willing the damn pills down his throat, knowing they’ll be out of his stupid Super Soldier metabolism sooner than he’d like, but at least staving off a few rounds of what feels like atomic warfare trying to bust out of his nuts.

It’ll be enough for him to ransack the place and collect his survival tools as if he’s in a zombie apocalypse movie.

-

He’s hauling in two gallons of purified water along with an armful of dried goods when his phone buzzes nonstop in his pocket.

“Hey,” the voice on the other line huffs loudly, “I didn’t ask for this Mickey Mouse bullshit.”

Bucky winces and clicks his volume down.

“The locals are reaming me out about this cleanup job. Do you know the amount of paperwork I’m going to have to file for this? You started a fire.”

“Hello to you too,” he responds, kicking the gallons toward the bedside, dropping the food into the small sofa chair near the window and taking off his shoes.

“A woman’s cat didn’t make it—she says she’s gonna sue the entire United States— my Pashto isn’t good enough to threaten her back."

There’s chatter in the background and echoes of footsteps as if you’re in a lobby, and someone comes by to get your attention. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut because he’s got other things to worry about right now, and he’ll promise he’ll let you ream him out later. Hell, he’ll let you knock his ass back into the paleolithic age if you want; you’d be doing him a favor.

“You owe me so bad,” you grumble, “You owe me a limb for this, sweetheart. The good one. The metal one.”

Bucky sighs deeply, “I’ll give you a free punch, how about that? Listen, I gotta go,” he barely manages to say as a jolt rushes up his side.

“Hell no, you’ve got to suffer at least five more minutes of complaints or else I’ll be calling back until one of our phone dies.”

“Two free punches, and I’m hanging up.”

And then he turns the entire thing off and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, bowing his head. He’s blearily unbuttoning his pants, letting go of the low, pained wail he’s been keeping in in his chest, and shakes his way through it until he’s got no more air left, until his mouth is filled with saliva and his throat is hoarse and crackling.

He pants dryly, clutching his middle. Fuck, it’s going to be this again: the crying and screaming and thrashing because he was never correctly taught on how to be easy through heat. Because suppressants in the early 1900’s were shoddy at best and his parents did what they could with an Omega son, but their best consisted of turning their clammy basement of pickled goods into a provisional dungeon for when the heat was stronger than the medicine. Or when they couldn’t afford it. Or when the local doctor started asking why the Barnes family needed this many blockers.

So he’s gonna hurt physically, emotionally, and he’s going to re-experience his fucked-up Omega life in both memory and reality.

On the bright side of it—a tiny fragment of silver lining—the serum consumes everything like a flashfire. As an Alpha, his (and Steve’s) ruts were a few days shy of a week, which is like the blessing of a lifetime when you loathe the experience, so he tries to find solace in the fact that his heat will go on shorter than he’s previously experienced it.

Bucky stares at the water a few inches away from his face. It’s been about an hour and the muscle relaxant is ebbing out of his system. He pats around the scattered bits of goods on the chair for the rest, grabs a protein bar on the way, and crams it into his mouth along with six more pills. Fuck yeah, he’s gonna be out like a light.

-

His eyes are fluttering when he flops down on the covers, ignoring the dust that bounces off the bed with his weight. He can’t exactly be mad at you for that— this is a last resort kind of dwelling. You come this way maybe three times a year to re-stock, because your loft in Manhattan is your happy place and this one is just—

He looks around through the haze swimming over his vision, shivering lightly as goosebumps rise up his arms.

It’s sterile here. Scant furniture in the living area and dining room. The kitchen houses maybe two pots and a single knife, from what Bucky remembers as he dug around. Mostly canned creamy soups, a lot of protein powder, and an outrageous amount of pudding cups. The bathroom contains an overabundance of medical supplies, which is the norm for these places, but other than that—the only room that seems like it was given some care to is the bedroom.

It’s carpeted with lush fibers, firstly. The bed he’s on, despite the thin covering of dust, is phenomenal, and almost an immediate reprieve on his tortured skin. The sheets are silky and cool and slip right off. Loads of blankets are bundled inside an oversized wicker basket by the dresser, the inviting sofa chair currently holding up Bucky’s trove of necessities, and a single lamp on the end table. The shade is a simple beige covering but there’s a colorful bulb inside, and when Bucky turns it on with trembling fingers, it flushes the room in warm, calming tangerine. There’s even a white noise machine, a small humidifier, a fan, and a portable speaker that he could probably put some music on.

That’s nice, for now, when he’s kind of swaying off into la-la-land because you’ve got horse tranquilizers in capsule form and he’s not gonna look at that proverbial gift horse in the mouth. Bucky supposes that it pays to have a friend who’s fifty shades of questionable.

He picks himself up to reach into the side table, making the lamp wobble. He pats around for what he needs, and when he pulls out a container of what looks like high-quality lube, he mutters fucking thank you and hopes you feel his gratitude across the world.

-

It wakes him with a jolt.

Full-on, unstoppable, un-dampened because the bottle of benzodiazepine is now blissfully empty and mocking him as he shudders to life and begins to rock against the headboard, fist over cock, stroking hard and fast and lewd. Coral pink spreads to his chest and groin and thighs in an embarrassing shade of aroused, but thank god, thank god, he made it here.

Thank god he didn’t crash into someone, didn’t get hauled off somewhere, into an alley or a hospital—to be discovered that the goddamn Winter Soldier was a helpless Omega begging to be fucked.

Bucky moans loudly as he feels the first orgasm approaching, then pouncing, then tearing him in half as he comes, spraying long lines on his abdomen and chest, the smell rising up into his own nose as a heady, desperate aroma.

He whines and arcs back into his hand again and fucking ashamed of it.

He hates this. Hates the way he’s trapped in a fever he can’t dig out of. Trapped in the basement, in the operating room, the chair, the ice, immobilized and taken under by a force that renders him absolutely powerless. That hacks at his humanity until he’s gone—reduced to the lowest form of animal, until he has no agency left, at the mercy of who-fucking-ever who never chooses to have any mercy on him.

He comes again, feeling better temporarily, the quick rush of endorphins hitting him like a summer breeze until the flame returns, licking slowly, as if goading him on, pretending like he has any chance against it. He knows he doesn’t. Done this enough to remember, viscerally, that he doesn’t. Even if he was still in denial, there’s no defiance stubborn enough to ignore how his ass is fucking slick, his balls tight and pulsing, and his cock a graphic hue of erect.

He comes again and it doesn’t help. Course not.

He comes again and slugs down half a gallon of water afterwards, gagging slightly from the effort.

He comes again and wipes himself off with one of your many towels he grabbed from the bathroom. He’s a gross fucking asshole because this towel is periwinkle and fuzzy with an embroidered flower on the corner now nasty with spunk. Oh god, he’s going to deep clean the place after this.

He comes again and passes the fuck out.

-

Time blurs into one long mockery. Minutes pass. Hours pass. Maybe the sun rose and hung and set. The curtains are a thick material, made to block out light, engulfing the window on the other side, and he hasn’t got the mental fortitude to face the outside world like this, not even behind a glass pane. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know anything.

-

Bucky’s up again, much later, finished chewing a miserable protein bar that did not have enough cashews in it, despite advertising as a primarily cashew-y snack. He’s dirtied with sweat and the filmy, lingering layer of come, but he can’t shower yet because there’s no point. His skin is still thrumming with the early onslaught of another wave and if he showers now, he’ll have to shower again in a couple of hours. He doesn’t even know if you have enough soap for more than one or two—so he’s got to ration his washing appropriately.

His legs are stiff from his toes to his upper thighs. He hurts so fucking much and it’s revolting that the only time he doesn’t hurt is right as he’s having an orgasm so hard that he feels half-blind, and it’s the screech of falling over the edge that whites out the rest of the pain. But as soon as that light flickers back to the rich amber of your room, and his cock twitches; he has to restart or else he’ll feel like sobbing.

Is it worse this time around? Was it this god-fucking-awful before? He thought so, but he was also pre-serum, and doesn’t have the kind of pain tolerance he does now.

But, considering his pain tolerance… and the absurd clawing in his belly, he wonders if somehow his body decided that re-writing its DNA back into being an Omega would call forth some horrific primordial heat? Like it’s been vengefully amassing all those years he skipped out on and now lording the compounded weight of nature’s veiny, throbbing fuckstick over him and oh god, if the first ten times were any indication to the rest of this cycle, Bucky can’t say it’s humanly possible to survive.

Next thing he knows, he’s shooting off with a high, keening noise. He wheezes out curses under his breath as it splatters up like the rest, before moving to grab at another poor towel, thinking thank you and I’m so sorry as he pathetically wipes himself off, shuddering through the aftershocks.

He’s weak and dehydrated, so he chugs another ten gulps of water and pops open a pudding cup for quick calories, gagging down the cloying chocolate aftertaste.

Why do you have so much fucking pudding? Why is this unquestionably cozy bed starting to piss him off? Why is this room so small and huge at the same time?

Why can’t he breathe.

Why can’t he fucking live.

He’s got to—got to fix this. Got to immediately pass go and collect his 200 dollars and get the hell up out of here. Gotta find something that’ll knock him into next week. Put him in a coma, for all he cares, if that means he’ll wake up feeling at least 45% back to normal, sans heat, pending drug withdrawal. He’s gonna make the worst cocktail out of your stash anyone’s ever seen.

This is your fuck around and find out safehouse. This is your I’m on my last leg and maybe I got stabbed but give me seven minutes and I’ll be ready to stab back safehouse.

This is the place he swung by to check in on you once after a FUBAR mission and found you on the floor, sucking and spitting poison out of one arm’s wound while simultaneously stitching up a gash on the other arm. And yes, exactly seven minutes later you were out the door, blood casually smeared up to your forehead like warpaint, and yes, you did, indeed, stab back.

There’s a hell lot more than a single tube of muscle relaxants in this place; he’s just got to sniff it out.

Bucky rolls himself off the edge of the bed, landing with a muffled grunt when he hits the floor and scrambles to feel around beneath the mattress. Nothing. He groans as his clammy body shivers and has enough decency to wrap himself up in a knitted blanket from the wicker basket.

He’s pilfering the drawers of the repurposed dresser, scattering knick knacks on top. The dimmer to the lamp goes flying, a box of tissues gets tossed elsewhere. The drawers squeak in protest as he shoves his fingers inside, feeling for things that he knows in his right mind he should not be finding.

But he’s not in his right mind. And he’ll clean up, he swears. He’ll apologize for taking advantage of the spare key you gave him, replace the pantry of food and water and lube, he won’t mention that he ejaculated all over the place, or that he’s discovering that beneath your extra tac gear and change of clothes, there’s a trove of toys.

Bucky gawks at the assortment. The shapes and sizes and—he thinks he’s blushing even though he’s been the one desecrating this property for the last 32 unholy hours. Some of them are nearly luxurious—in subtle shapes and colors—while others are garishly vulgar. He’s starting to spiral as he palms them, vaguely debating on their efficacy before he catches a scent.

It’s beneath the middle drawer.

He yanks it open.

What the hell…

What the hell.

He pillages through the stack of clothes. Why didn’t he notice it before? He yanks them out and tosses them onto the bed, frantic, staring at his open hands like they’re not his own, then pressing his fingers to his nose where the smell wouldn’t have register to anyone else if they weren’t Bucky. If they weren’t a serum recipient. If they weren’t an Omega.

Oh, it’s strong. It’s musky and delicious and there’s been an attempt by an overload of detergent to scrub it out, but it’s still there. Sweet, bitter, making him deliriously angry that he can’t seem to sniff out any more of it—that it’s not actively coating his fingers and his face.

He mindlessly returns to the bed and burrows into the sheets, seeking more. He’s been drowned out by his own need and panic but now that he’s on the trail, he can taste it everywhere. The pillowcases were clean, and now soaked with his perspiration, but the scent is inside between the fibers stuffing. The sheets, the comforter, the mattress itself, washed and lined—spotless bordering on clinical—but he’s got it in his lungs, on his tastebuds.

He knows he’s being crazy as he twists into the covers, letting the cool fabric loop around his thigh and calf, bunching it up in his fists and shoving it over his face. The shirts and sweatpants he tossed over are twined up in the mass of cotton, falling on him, covering him up.

And it smells—so. fucking. good.

Like sweat. Like spit. Like come.

Like the shadow of an Alpha’s rut.

Bizarrely, like you.

You.

You. You? Alpha?

That can’t be right; he must be hallucinating. He’s so far in the deep end of his heat that he’s making it up because for as long as he’s known you, as long as he’s been your friend, you’ve been a no-nonsense Beta. Sure, you were more troublesome than most he’s met, but personalities are valid despite hierarchy. And your personality happened to be more… hostile toward most of the Alphas on the team.

Steve, Thor, T’Challa, Sam, and Bucky. The lineup was stacked with them.

No one could help how they presented, but also no one complained that it was extremely beneficial to have the advantage of being one in their line of work.

Alphas were dominant. Strong and powerful and their presence alone asserted control. Get caught in a hysterical mob as a Beta and no one will give a flying fuck about whether or not you’re trying to corral them to safety; you simply don’t have the authority to herd anyone. Alphas are mostly men, and it’s not as bad for a woman to be an Alpha as a man to be an Omega, but that doesn’t mean you’re not both holding onto adjacent split ends of a short stick.

Listen, he’s got some choice words for the universe that he’ll shout himself hoarse about later, but right now he’s angrily trying to suffocate himself with your clothes. His erection is back, unchecked, raring to go and harder than before because now he’s caught a whiff of you, and now he’s spellbound and keening for more of this specific drug.

Bucky’s head is so dizzy, so enamored, so enraptured with wanting to come, with fantasizing about coming for you that he folds himself in half, face buried into your clothes, buried some more into the covers, both hands between his legs and pumping forcefully. He’s abandoned his senses now, crying out as he rolls his hips forward for any more friction from himself or the bed, so lost that when he orgasms again, he lets go of a string of expletives and pleads and dry sobs that he hardly registers as his own voice.

It hurts so fucking much, everywhere.

The pleasure of your scent isn’t strong enough to overpower the confusion or the shame or the exhaustion that’s eating at his soul. He’s not only defiled your space, but your bed, and your clothes, and your… trust? If you never find out, he would still know. He would know that he wasn’t strong enough to stop anything. That he was going to forever be subject to existing as the cruelest display of humiliation from the powers that be.

He can’t breathe again, feeling crushed in every way. He muffles another howl, curses and bites at his hands and fingers and lips and feels the fibers of his muscles scream as he clenches his entire body up in self-punishment.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the syllable bouncing back at him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

And on the last curse, he hears an echo of the noise not reverberating from his hand, or the blanket, but from behind him.

Bucky whips up, startled.

You’re mirroring his surprise, standing in the doorway with your tac suit still on, a tender welt striped across your nose and cheek, expression wide open and petrified.

In his mind, he’s roaring for it to stop. Screaming for the moment to somehow rewind, take him all the way back to last year and put him out of his misery there. Take him back to last month, even. Or last week, or hell, he’ll take 48 hours ago, when he was on the phone with you, and he could kick his past self for not realizing that as slim of a possibility as this would be the one out of three times you’d check in here—that he could at least tell you to stay away.

Hey, I didn’t sign up for this Mickey Mouse bullshit.

I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, I don’t tell you enough, but you’re the best friend a fella can have—now do me a real solid, champ, do me the favor of a lifetime, and don’t go to your drug-den-safehouse. I’m starting my heat and I’ll explain everything later but you’re the best. Don’t forget it.

He’s still stark naked in the middle of the mattress, bent over the comforter and sheets, the array of bedclothes knotted chaotically around his thighs and waist and clutched between his hands as he lowers them numbly. The muscles in his back flex as he breathes, and the words fall out of his desolate head as soft, useless gasps.

You swallow thickly, taking a step back, nostrils slightly flared, leaning out of the room for as clean of air as you can get.

Neither of you know what to do. The shock of the situation is beginning to dissipate, but it leaves behind an oppressive awkwardness where both of you try to not be so obvious as you dissect the possible options and take stock of each other.

Scent, temperature, shallowness of breath. Injuries. Expression. Body language. How long are your eyes going to stay on his face? When will they move—oh, they’re moving now—down his spine, his waist, his elbows. His shoulders, red and clawed; his cheeks, puffy and swollen with crying; his lips, bitten at and parted.

Your brows tilt in pained ways and he’s never seen you so torn about anything. After a couple of tries at engaging the moment, you finally make an attempt, and it comes out jilted as if you’re reading a prompter.

“What do you need? I—have— things.”

His sweat-slick, burning, numbed face crumples inward. He chokes back a distressed noise, ransacks his muzzy brain for a remedy.

All that comes up is, stupidly, “I can’t eat any more pudding. There’s so much goddamn pudding.”

You snort a laugh, blindsided, and your shoulders relax.

“It’s an easy, high-calorie food.” You shrug, “Long shelf life and you don’t have to worry about chewing if you’re too tired. Goes down simple. Won’t make your belly too full like protein shakes or soup.”

He frowns, “Personal experience?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this… your rut safehouse?”

You shrug distantly by way of reply.

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” you nod faintly his way, “looks like we don’t know a few things about each other.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize his nails are digging into his thigh until the indents are prickling blood. He doesn’t realize that he’s been holding his breath until he exhales shakily—and upon an inhale, the quick rush of air oxygenates his lungs and sends waves of shock to his senses. He’s burning. He can smell you. He can smell you, aroused by him, trying to hold your own instincts back.

He winces and doesn’t speak because if he does, he’ll betray himself.

He needs control. He needs to remain intact. If he lets go now, he’ll never stop.

He changes course.

“Why do you hide it?”

“It’s not useful to me,” you say, only a tiny bitten back exhale sounding out, “There are too many preconceived notions about gender and label.” You tick them off on your fingers with a wry grin, “Whether or not I can keep my head every season, where I am in the pecking order… if I’m subconsciously trying to usurp power from the men.”

Then you shove your hands in your pockets and work your jaw like you’re chewing the dynamics to cinders. “I dislike many aspects of being Alpha—”

And there it is.

Bucky tries to corral it, but he breaks out into a groan, and then clamps his jaw shut, gasping hard and fast.

Your eyes widen at him before they flick away. After a moment, you continue, “—I dislike how I act as one, and I don’t want to become a self-fulfilling prophecy as one. So I take blockers and boosters and I have more of a grip on it.” Then, you look up with a forced smile, “Besides, can you imagine me, full force, going head-to-head with Rogers on a bad day?”

Bucky attempts, “You have different personalities,” which is a lie and a half because the problem between you and Steve is that you are eerily similar, except one of you is more eager to inflict grievous bodily harm than the other.

“Sure,” you deadpan, “Now take the Beta boosters out of the equation and I know myself enough to acknowledge that I’m on the wrong end of the Big Bad A variety. You don’t want this au naturel, Barnes, trust me. Rogers thinks I’m half to unhinged now— but I miss my dose and there won’t be a hinge left for me to hang on.”

The sincere grin you give him is disarming, but it’s the sobering way you’ve said it that splinters something in his chest. Wrecks and pulverizes it to a fine dust like gunpowder, and the confetti of its aftermath is clinging to his capillaries. Feels on the cusp of ignition.

Bucky’s seen you lunge the length of three cars after a running start and dive knife-first into someone’s rib cage. He’s seen you slip into the fine opening between the third and fourth rib like the spot was made to catch your blade. You’ve always inhabited your body effortlessly and he’d always said you were the craziest fucking thing he’d ever met, glad you were on their side than the others’, glad you were his friend and not his enemy.

Jesus, you’ve been operating under boosters this whole time—the magnitude of raw ability intentionally tamped down.

He knows it’s his heat raring. He knows its that reptilian brain of his, overzealous with its primitive desire to witness the animal. The crux of being an Omega—the core of his marker—that is beginning to salivate at the idea that you could, very much, and especially right now, tear him to pieces—and easily.

And, please.

He can’t help that he wants to hear it again. He wants you to admit it, on a base level, to assert the truth, tell him what you are, tell him what he is, and make him surrender to you. Take the agony from him and… take him.

Then, belatedly, he realizes, “This is your rut safehouse.” As in, you are here, because you are in rut. Right now. Didn’t he already say that earlier? Is his brain only now catching up?

“Ding ding ding.” Your tone is flat and joyless, “Only here twice a year. Even my obstinate ass can’t stand the pressure of suppressed heat— you know that it builds up? I go meds-free half a week before bunkering down but you are in more of an emergency situation at the moment, so give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get out of your hair.”

His stomach lurches because he suddenly doesn’t want you to go. Doesn’t want you to move anywhere but closer because the air is flexing around you in currents, rippling out and out and out and over him like a heatwave and it smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good. Like mercy or compassion.  The taste of rainwater during a summer heatwave. The breaking of a fever, the parting of an impenetrable fog. The first breath of a new life.

He’s starting to become agitated again, and hell, what would those disdainful extraterrestrials that clicked their pincers at how Earth was little more than a blue rock populated by insatiable little animals think of him now? Fuck them for having the privilege of fucking off a trillion light years back to their own whatever-color rock and perhaps reproduce via unproblematic sporing. Lucky bastards, but Bucky doesn’t know any other life; he’s just got the one that’s trying to repeatedly kill him for simply existing.

And he’s really, really tired of that.

So he demands, much too loud, “Bite me,” before you can turn around. And in case you needed further clarification, he goes ahead and tacks on, “Mark me up. Control me,” he pleads, the words hemorrhaging out now, “Give me my control back, I’m fucking begging you.”

“What—"

“I think,” he says, terrified. “I think before the serum changed me all the way… when I was captured…"

He trails off, unfocused as linoleum flooring sparks at the edges of his memory. Big, calloused, cruel hands grabbing him everywhere despite the way he screams in his mind, can’t make his mouth move any way except how they tell him to.

His fingers fist the sheets as he figures out the aversion his entire body’s having to this is more than flesh memories from a damp basement and an unlucky childhood. It’s Hydra, too. When they broke him down into little pieces before they put him back together wrong.

A blink later and he realizes his cheeks are wet.

You’re the closest to being in shock he’s ever seen you, looking like you could throw up or level the building. The muscles of your neck move jerky, your limbs stiff and angry and unsure. Bucky’s not, though; he’s very sure. This is the surest he’s been about anything in a long time.

“You mark me, and we stop worrying about our cycles for the rest of our sorry natural lives. We hole up here and—whatever with each other. I stop being a free-for-all fuck signal for every Alpha within a five-mile radius, and you—”

Your eyes skitter over him, his flesh wet with perspiration, his lips trembling, jaw bulging from grinding his molars together. There’s only the sound of his ragged wheezing, and your own shallow ones following in a ferocious tempo.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes in defeat. “I actually don’t know what you get. How fucked is this?”

“It’s… pretty fucked.”

His heart plummets down to his belly, which is beginning to squeeze again, twisting and hurting until he re-folds into the sheets, clutching them between the webbing of his fingers. The agony feels different this time. Feels vindictive, feels personal.

“But to answer your question,” you suggest, a little choked, a little kind, “maybe I get you. How do you feel about that?”

“What?” Signals are backfiring now. He’s overloading, he thinks, impacted with the buildup of about 70 years of heat, bone tired and off the rails—he must have not heard you right.

“Yes,” you say.

“Y-yes? Just like that?”

“Yes,” you confirm, “just like that.” You step forward, shoulders in a hard line, focused on him. “Maybe we’re both— maybe heat’s not a good time to make these decisions, but I could fuck you senseless and then go kill every Hydra agent still alive if you asked me.” You bare your teeth in a show of dominance, of fury, and Bucky’s heart slams up to his throat at the sight of your canines—so sharp and pretty. “How do you feel about that?”

“Holy shit,” he says, refusing to question himself anymore. He feels everything. He feels… relieved, excited, grateful. Fuck, he feels ready. “Holy shit, come here, please. You gotta—you gotta get your hands on me.”

You rub the back of your neck, grin, and move to sit at the edge of the mattress.

“Bucky,” you say, reaching for the hollows of his cheek. His face is puffy and raw, and he must look like shit run over twice and suddenly wants to hide because up close, you’re gorgeous. You’ve always been—he’s got two fucking eyes, regardless of how swollen they are right now—but here, tender and waiting for him, letting him know that you see him, that you’ll care for him, it takes everything for Bucky not to promptly curl up like a lost child in your lap.

“It must have hurt, huh? I’m sorry about that.”

Bucky whimpers, feels himself quivery from pain or anticipation or embarrassment. But in the good way, like receiving attention on your birthday, like knowing the whole world might congratulate you for simply being born. And he’s never once felt like that before. And it’s making him light all the way up.

Your rub up and down his arms, his waist, his chest, then rest loosely at his hips and he shuffles to prop himself against the headboard, waiting for direction. He’d do anything you wanted him to.

“Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

He parts his lips by way of reply and you’re on him before he has the chance to do anything else. The bed dips with your weight, Bucky leaned back against the headboard, recoiling as you take charge and lead.

Your mouth is sweet and coppery with blood from an earlier split lip, he estimates. It doesn’t bother him whatsoever. He only wants more of it, more of that flavor that’s pulling him in, holding him down and safe. You kiss him slow, but firmly, his face in your hands, reconfiguring until your thighs are spread over his and caging him.

You’re bowed like a cat, forehead against his for a second, tips of your noses touching. Your pupils are so big and dark, teeth coming together in a faint click.

“Tell me you’ve changed your mind and I’ll go. Nothing’s gonna be different between us.”

The oddity of being asked—the very option to say no—makes him shake his head, “I want you. Do you want me?”

The way you move next astonishes him. It’s a barely noticeable tremor that starts at the base of your spine, rustling itself up until you crane yourself toward the ceiling, lids closing in pleasure, a puff of hot, heady air slipping from between your teeth.

“Jesus, do I want you?”

And then you’re maneuvering him like he’s not over 200 pounds of assassin. You grab him by his waist and hoist him up higher on the bed, make him arch his chest into yours, settle atop his thighs and lick into his mouth like both of you might die without it.

“Do I want you,” you huff, hunger breaking the surface, “on a regular day I want you. Right now, I could— what I don’t want is to scare you.”

It softens something inside him, making his breath hitch. You keep advancing, kissing his top and then bottom lip, sliding your tongue in, tasting every corner of him, murmuring all the ways you’ve wanted him since you met him, all the ways you want him happy and safe and fucked out.

“I didn’t know,” he gets out between breaths.

“Yeah, we have jobs; I have to behave.”

Another astonishment. Bucky snorts loudly in disbelief. “Putting Steve in a chokehold your idea of behaving?”

You laugh, nipping at his ear and neck, “It was a friendly chokehold, to help him with his afternoon naptime. I can put you in one too if you’re jealous about it.”

The softness in him is spreading everywhere. The stupid banter, the kindness of the entire gesture, the ease of finally being able to let go and not have to worry about being lost to a traumatic heat either alone or with someone who doesn’t care about him—someone he doesn’t trust—someone who’ll hurt him.

He’d forgotten about his oversensitive body until now, but the rubbing of your suit against his groin pulls out a sharp gasp. You begin moving again, taking the sheet off him until he’s exposed, naked and stretched out beneath you, flecked by his own nails.

You mouth at him, tracing each scratch and bruise like rubbing in a salve. Further and further down until he’s squirming, hips rolling in erratic circles, his cock heavy and slapping against his lower abs. Bucky curses incoherently when you wrap your fingers around him, begging his body to manage itself, but it feels so fucking good.

Each stroke ends with your thumb grazing the sensitive spot beneath his cockhead, flicking upward to make him spasm. Your hot kisses are at his inner thigh, lapping up the excessive precum he keeps leaking out. You breathe in his scent, growling faintly on impulse.

When you swallow him down and he hits the back of your throat, Bucky’s gone for it.

“Oh, fuck,” he rasps out, thrusting automatically, “Oh fuck, I’m s-sorry,” but you only lace your fingers through his and let him keep on. He’s dizzy again, breaking down and coming right then and there, shooting into your throat, almost howling.

He can’t believe there’s so much of it, is the craziest thing about heat. The human body utterly goes haywire and temporarily reprograms itself to fuck for about a week without any care for the rest of its natural processes.

He lets out a hysterical noise, unsure if he’s completely on Earth or what. The timeline of his life abruptly feels condensed to two phases: before you and after you. There were orgasms alone and orgasms with other people, and then there was this—this otherworldly tow of desire and pleasure that feels like the hand of God wrenching him out of his body. Wringing him bone-dry and it’d only been a matter of minutes.

You’re grinning at him, drawing circles at the sensitive dip of skin between his thigh and groin, lips lazy and doting. “I’ll take care of you, Bucky Barnes. You’re mine now. I’m gonna mark you—mark you all over.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t catch fire at that, the idea of your teeth on the nape of his neck, biting down and branding him another catalyst in his imminent combustion. He says, “Yeah?” stupidly, like it’s the only word he’s been taught to remember.

You take off your suit with ease, peeling it away and sit naked on top of him, the dirtied gear flung off into a corner of the room. You’re wet, slicked up and gushing in preparation to take him, and this is what thoroughly losing your fucking mind feels like. When the urgency of heat builds up and up and up and jerking off is only a hint at the beginning of true pleasure.

The mere sight of you— the scent of hot, exposed skin, pheromones filling up his nose and lungs and blood. His sore cock fattens up immediately, erect and at the ready—the greedy fucking thing—and you’re stroking up the underside, licking your lips and panting like he’s doing something to you.

It’s embarrassing how he doesn’t last whatsoever. No chance in fucking hell it was going to happen, but he’s horrifically depressed that it’s this bad. You’re still sitting on top of him, gorgeous and naked, with his cock between your legs , one thumb brushing at his nipple, then tugging, then twisting until it’s just this side of painful— pink and sore and you slide your cunt right along his shaft and that’s it.

He’s covered in his own come again, hardly able to cobble his mind back into one piece before you’re rolling him over, arm reaching around his waist to grip him. You’re on his neck, fangs scraping with intent, and Bucky’s trying to plead that he needs to be inside you but he can’t get anything out.

“You’ll do what I say,” you growl, still on his neck, “You’re my mate now, and I’m your Alpha, you got that?” He thrusts weakly into your fist. “Say it, Bucky.”

“You’re my Alpha. I’m yours.” It’s a miracle he’s making any sense.

“I own you, got it? Nobody’s ever gonna touch you again but me. I’m gonna make this so good for you, Buck. Make it so you’ll forget the rest.”

He comes in long, heavy lines, crying out in amazement, wrecked with pleasure and overstimulation as you proceed to jerk him off again. His mind is freewheeling, unfastened by pleasure, aching beautifully like he never thought possible. He hardly registers it when you bite down, let his blood flow in your mouth, seal it off, and his heartbeat trips up, feels like it’s re-writing itself, falling into a new pulse that howls like your name.

It’s all instinct now. He’s yours now and yours tomorrow and yours forever. And yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. Nobody will ever touch him again except you.

Bucky’s had over a century long lifespan of shame and suffering and the type of contact that’s left scars all over. He’s been hidden and captured and buried—taken to pieces until he was little more than scattered fragments of a mangled body. Called a weapon and a slave and then absolutely nothing.

And now he’s being called someone’s lover—someone’s mate.

“You’re mine,” you repeat, gently like sensing the emotion welling up in his chest, “don’t you forget.”

He only nods when joy drips out of his eyes. You roll him back over, smiling and kissing them away, lick at his cheeks and lips and makes him taste copper and salt and then what strangely feels like freedom.

“I’m here, baby,” you assure, lining yourself up with him, taking him deep like he was made exclusively to fit your body. “I’ll take care of you, alright? It’s only for a few more days but I’m here now. Are you ready?”

For once, he’s given a choice.

For once, he knows he is.

[path-of-my-childhood]

CABIN FEVER - Aaron Dessner: Producing folklore and evermore

Sound On Sound Magazine // March 2021 issue // By Tom Doyle

The pandemic gave Taylor Swift a chance to explore new musical paths, with two lockdown albums co-written and produced by the National's Aaron Dessner.

Few artists during the pandemic have been as prolific as Taylor Swift. In July 2020, she surprise-released folklore, a double-length album recorded entirely remotely and in isolation. It went on to become the biggest global seller of the year, with four million sales and counting. Then, in December, she repeated the trick with the 15-song evermore, which quickly became Swift's eighth consecutive US number one.

In contrast to her country-music roots and the shiny synth-pop that made her a superstar, both folklore and evermore showcased a very different Taylor Swift sound: one veering more towards atmospheric indie and folk. The former album was part-produced by Swift and her regular co-producer Jack Antonoff (St Vincent, Lana Del Rey), while the other half of the tracks were overseen by a new studio collaborator, Aaron Dessner of the National. For evermore, aside from one Antonoff-assisted song, Dessner took full control of production.

Good Timing

Although his band are hugely popular and even won a Grammy for their 2017 album Sleep Well Beast, Aaron Dessner admits that it initially felt strange for an indie-rock guitarist and keyboard player to be pulled into such a mainstream project. Swift had already declared herself a fan of the National, and first met the band back in 2014. Nonetheless, Dessner was still surprised when the singer sent him a text "out of the blue" last spring. "I mean, I didn't think it was a hoax," he laughs. "But it was very exciting and a moment where you think it's like serendipity or something, especially in the middle of the pandemic. When she asked if I would ever consider writing with her, I just happened to have a lot of music that I had worked really hard on. So, the timing was sort of lucky. It opened up this crazy period of collaboration. It was a pretty wild ride."

Since 2016, Aaron Dessner has been based at his self-built rural facility, Long Pond Studio, in the Hudson Valley, upstate New York. The only major change to the studio since SOS last spoke to Dessner in October 2017 has been the addition of a vintage WSW Siemens console built in 1965. "It had been refurbished by someone," he says, "and I think there's only three of them in the United States. I heard it was for sale from our friend [and the National producer/mixer] Peter Katis. That's a huge improvement here."

Although the National made Sleep Well Beast and its 2019 successor I Am Easy To Find at Long Pond, the band members are scattered around the US and Europe, meaning Dessner is no stranger to remote working and file sharing. This proved to be invaluable for his work with Swift. Dessner spent the first six weeks of lockdown writing music that he believed to be for Big Red Machine, his project with Bon Iver's Justin Vernon. Instead, many of these work-in-progress tracks would end up on folklore. Their first collaboration (and the album's first single), 'cardigan', for instance, emerged from an idea Dessner had been working on backstage during the National's European arena tour of Winter 2019.

"I sent her a folder and in the middle of the night she sent me that song," Dessner explains. "So, the next morning I was just listening to it, like, `Woah, OK, this is crazy."

On The Move

As work progressed, it quickly became apparent that Swift and Dessner were very much in tune as a songwriting and producing unit. There was very little Dessner had to do, he says, in terms of chopping vocals around to shape the top lines. "I think it's because I'm so used to structuring things like a song, with verses and choruses and bridges," he reckons. "In most cases, she sort of kept the form. If she had a different idea, she would tell me when she was writing and I would chop it up for her and send it to her. But, mostly, things kind of stayed in the form that we had."

Dessner and Swift were working intensively and at high speed throughout 2020, so much so that on one occasion the producer sent the singer a track and went out for a run in the countryside around Long Pond. By the time he got back, Swift had already written 'the last great american dynasty' and it was waiting for him in his inbox. "That was a crazy moment," he laughs. "One of the astonishing things about Taylor is what a brilliant songwriter she is and the clarity of her ideas and, when she has a story to tell, the way she can tell it. I think she's just been doing it for so long, she has a facility that makes you feel like you could never do what she's capable of. But we were a good pair because I think the music was inspiring to her in such a way that the stories were coming."

Swift's contributions to folklore were recorded in a makeshift studio in her Los Angeles home. Laura Sisk engineered the sessions as the singer recorded her vocals, using a Neumann U47, in a neighbouring bedroom. Live contact between Swift, Sisk, Dessner and Long Pond engineer Jonathan Low was done through real-time online collaboration platform Audiomovers.

"We would listen in remotely and kind of go back and forth," says Dessner. "We used Audiomovers and then we would have Zoom as a backup. But mainly we were just using Audiomovers, so we could actually be in her headphones. It's powerful, it's great. I've used it a lot with people during this time. Then, later on, when we recorded evermore, a lot of the vocals were done here at the studio actually when Taylor was visiting when we did the [Disney+ documentary] Long Pond Sessions. But Taylor's vocals for folklore were all done remotely."

Keeping Secrets

Given the huge international interest in Swift, the team had to work with an elaborate file-sharing arrangement to ensure that the tracks didn't leak online. Understandably, Dessner won't be drawn on the specifics. "Yeah, I mean we had to be very careful, so everything was very secretive," he says. "There were passwords on both ends and we communicated in a specific way when sharing mixes and everything. There was a high level of confidentiality and data encryption. It was sort of a learning curve.

"I'm not used to that," he adds, "'cause usually we're just letting files kind of fly all over the Internet [laughs]. But I think with someone like her, there's just so many people that are paying attention to every move that she makes, which can be a little, I think, oppressive for her. We tried to make it as comfortable as possible and we got used to how to get things to her and back to us. It worked pretty well."

Drums & Guitars

For the generally minimalist beat programming on the records, Dessner would sometimes turn to his more expensive new analogue drum generators - Vermona's DRM1 and Dave Smith's Tempest - but more often used the Synthetic Bits iOS app FunkBox. "There's just a lot of great vintage drum machine sounds in there, and they sound pretty cool, especially if you overdrive it," he says. "Often I send that through an amplifier, or through effects into an amplifier. Then I have a [Roland) TR-8 and a TR-8S that I use a lot. I also use the drum machine in the [Teenage Engineering] OP-1. So, a song like 'willow', that's just me tapping the OP-1."

Elsewhere, Dessner's guitar work appears on the tracks, with the intricate melodic layering on 'the last great american dynasty' from folklore having been inspired by Radiohead's In Rainbows. "Almost all of the electric guitar on Taylor's records is played direct through a REDDI DI into the Siemens board," he says. "It's usually just my 1971 Telecaster played direct and it just sounds great. Oftentimes I just put a little spring reverb on it and sometimes I'll overdrive the board like it's an amplifier, 'cause it breaks up really beautifully.

"I have a 1965 [Gibson] Firebird that I play usually through this 1965 Fender Deluxe Reverb. So, if I am playing into an amp, that's what it is. But on 'the last great american dynasty', those little pointillistic guitars, that's just played direct with the Telecaster through the board."

Elsewhere, Aaron Dessner took Taylor Swift even further out of her sonic comfort zone. A key track on folklore, the Cocteau Twins-styled 'epiphany', features her voice amid a wash of ambient textures, created by Dessner slowing down and reversing various instrumental parts in Pro Tools. "I created a drone using the Mellotron [MD4000D] and the Prophet and the OP-1 and all kinds of synth pads," he says. "Then I duplicated all the tracks, and some of them I reversed and some of them I dropped an octave. All manner of using varispeed and Polyphonic Elastic Audio and changing where they were sitting. Just to create like this Icelandic glacier of sounds was my idea. Then I wrote the chord progression against that.

"The [Pro Tools] session was not happy," he adds with a chuckle. "It kept crashing. Eventually I had to print the drone but I printed it by myself and there was some crackle in it. It was distorting. And then I couldn't recreate it so Jon Low, who was helping me, was kind of mad at me 'cause he was like, 'You can't do that.' And I was like, 'Well, I was working quickly. I didn't know it'd become a song."

Orchestra Of Nowhere

Meanwhile, the orchestrations that appear on several of the tracks were scored by Aaron's twin brother and National bandmate, Bryce Dessner, who is located in France. "I would just make him chord charts of the songs and send them to him in France," Aaron says. "Then he would orchestrate things in Sibelius and send the parts to me. I would send the parts and the instrumental tracks to different players remotely and they would record them literally in their bedrooms or in their attics. None of it was done as a group, it was all done separately. But that's how we've always worked in the National so it's quite natural."

On folklore standout track 'exile', Justin Vernon of Bon Iver delivered his stirring vocal for the duet remotely from his home in Eaux Claires, Wisconsin. "He's renovating his studio, so he has a little home studio in his garage," says Dessner. "It was Taylor's idea to approach him. I sent him Taylor's voice memo of her singing both parts, and he got really excited and loved the song and then he wrote the extra part in the bridge.

"I do a lot of work remotely with Justin also, so it was easy to send him tracks and he would track to it and send back his vocals. I was sending him stems, so usually it's just a vocal stem of Taylor and an instrumental stem and then if he wants something deeper, I'll give him more stems. But generally, he's just working with the vocal layers and an instrumental."

Vernon also provided the grainy beat that kicks off 'closure', one of two tracks on evermore that started life as a sketch for the second Big Red Machine album. "It was this little loop that Justin had given me in this folder of 'Starters', he calls them. I had heard that and been playing the piano to it. But I was hearing it in 5/4, although it's not in 5/4. 'Closure' really opened everything up further. There were no real limits to where we were gonna try to write songs."

Given the number of remote players, Dessner says there were surprisingly few problems with the file swapping and that it was a fairly painless technical process. "It was pretty smooth, but there were issues," he admits. "Sometimes sample-rate issues, or if I happened to give someone an instrumental that was an MP3, that sometimes lines up differently than if you send them an actual WAV that's bounced on the grid. So, sometimes I'd have to kinda eyeball things.

"If there was trouble it started to be because of track counts. I probably only used 20 percent of what was actually recorded, 'cause we would try a lot of things, y'know. So, eventually the sessions got kinda crazy and you'd have to deactivate a lot of things and print things. But we got used to that."

Soft Piano

Aaron Dessner's characteristic dampened upright piano sound, familiar from the National's albums, is much in evidence throughout both folklore and evermore. "The upright is a Yamaha U1 that I've had for more than a decade. Usually, I play it with the soft pedal down and that's the sound of 'hoax' or 'seven' or 'cardigan', y'know, that felted sound. It kind of almost sounds like an electric piano.

"I always mic it the same way, just with two [AKG] 414s, and they're always the same distance off the wall. I had a studio in Brooklyn for 10 years and then when I moved here, I copied the same [wooden] pattern on the wall. And the reason I did that is 'cause of how much I love how this piano sounds bouncing off that wall. It just does something really special for the harmonics."

When on other folklore songs, such as 'exile' or 'the 1', where the piano was the main sonic feature of the track, Dessner played his Steinway grand. "A lot of times we use a pair of Coles [4038s] on the Steinway, just cause it's darker. But sometimes we'll have the 414s there as well and choose."

Keeping Warm

On both folklore and evermore, Taylor Swift's voice is very much front and center and high in the mix, and generally sounds fairly dry. "I think the main thing was I wanted her vocals to have a more full range than maybe you typically hear," Dessner explains. "'Cause I think a lot of the more pop-oriented records are mixed a certain way and they take some of the warmth out of the vocal, so that it's very bright and it kinda cuts really well on the radio. But she has this wonderful lower warmth frequency in her voice which is particularly important on a song like `seven'. If you carved out that mud, y'know, it wouldn't hit you the same way. Or, like, `cardigan', I think it needs that warmth, the kind of fuller feeling to it. It makes it darker, but to me that's where a lot of emotion is."

Effects-wise, almost all of the treatments were done in the box. "There's no outboard reverbs printed," says Dessner. "The only things that we did print would be like an [Eventide] H3000 or sometimes the [WEM] CopiCat tape delay for just a really subtle slap. But generally, it's just different reverbs in the box that Jon was using. He uses the Valhalla stuff quite a bit and some other UAD reverbs, like the [Capitol] Chambers. I often just use Valhalla VintageVerb and the [Avid] Black Spring and simple things."

In some instances, the final mix ended up being the never-bettered rough mix, while other songs took far more work. "'cardigan' is basically the rough, as is `seven'. So, like the early, early mixes, when we didn't even know we were mixing, we never were able to make it better. Like if you make it sound 'good', it might not be as good 'cause it loses some of its weird magic, y'know. But songs like `the last great american dynasty' or 'mad woman', those songs were a little harder to create the dynamics the way you want them, and the pay-off without going too far, and with also just keeping in the kind of aesthetic that we were in. Those were harder, I would say.

"On evermore, I would say 'willow' was probably the hardest one to finish just because there were so many ways it could've gone. Eventually we settled back almost to the point where it began. So, there's a lot of stuff that was left out of 'willow', just because the simplicity of the idea I think was in a way the strongest."

The subject of this month's Inside Track article, 'willow' was the first song written for evermore, immediately following the release of folklore. "It almost felt like a dare or something," Dessner laughs. "We were writing, recording and mixing all in one kind of work stream and we went from one record to the other almost immediately. We were just sort off to the races. We didn't really ever stop since April."

Rubber & Vinyl

Sometimes, Dessner and Swift drew inspiration from unlikely sources; `no body, no crime', for instance, started when he gave her a 'rubber bridge' guitar made by Reuben Cox of the Old Style Guitar Shop in LA. "He's my very old friend," says Dessner of Cox. "He buys undervalued vintage guitars. Stuff that was made in the '50s and '60s as sort of learner guitars, like old Silvertones and Kays and Harmonys. These kinds of guitars which now are quite special, but they're still not valued the same way that vintage Fenders or Gibsons are valued. Then, he customizes them.

"Recently he started retrofitting these guitars with a rubber bridge and flatwound strings. He'll take, like, an acoustic Silvertone from 1958 and put a bridge on it that's covered in this kind of rubber that deadens the strings, so it really has this kind of dead thrum to it. And he puts two pickups in there, one that's more distorted and one that's cleaner. They're just incredible guitars. I thought Taylor would enjoy having one 'cause she loves the sound. So, I had Reuben make one for her and she used it to write `no body, no crime'."

Another friend of Dessner's, Ryan Olsen, has developed a piece of software called the Allovers Hi-Hat Generator which helped create the unusual harmonic loops that feature on `marjorie'. "It's not available on the market," Dessner says of the software. "It's just something that he uses personally, but I think hopefully eventually it'll come out. I wouldn't say it's artificial intelligence software but there's something very intelligent about it [laughs]. It basically analyses audio information and is able to separate audio into identifiable samples and then put them into a database. You then can design parameters for it to spit out sequences that are incredibly musical.

"When Ryan comes here, he'll just take all kinds of things that I give him and run it through there and then it'll spit out, like, three hours of stuff. Then I go through it and find the layers that I love, then I loop them. You can hear it also on the song 'happiness', the drumming in the background. It's not actually played. That's drums that have been sampled and then re-analyzed and re-sequenced out of this Allovers Hi-Hat Generator."

The song `marjorie' is named after Swift's opera-singer grandmother and so, fittingly, her voice can be heard flitting in and out of the mix at the end of the track. "Taylor's family gave us a bunch of recordings of her grandmother," Dessner explains. "But they were from old, very scratchy, noisy vinyl. So, we had to denoise it all using [iZotope's] RX and then I went in and I found some parts that I thought might work. I pitch-shifted them into the key and then placed them. It took a while to find the right ones, but it's really beautiful to be able to hear her. It's just an incredibly special thing, I think."

Meet At The Pond

Taylor Swift finally managed to get together with Aaron Dessner and Jack Antonoff in September 2020 for the filming of folklore: the long pond studio sessions, featuring the trio live-performing the album. It also provided an opportunity for Swift to add her vocals to some of the evermore tracks.

"It did allow us to have more fun, I think," says Dessner. "Y'know, drink more wine and just kinda be in the same place and have the feeling of blasting the music here and dancing around and just enjoying ourselves. She's really a lovely person to hang out with, so in that sense I'm glad that we had that chance to work together in person.

"We were using a [Telefunken] U47 to record Taylor here," he adds. "Either we were using one of the Siemens preamps on the board, which are amazing. Or I have Neve 1064s [preamps/EQs] and we use a Lisson Grove [AR-i] tube compressor generally."

One entirely new song, `tis the damn season', came out of this face-to-face approach, which Swift wrote in the middle of the night after the team had stayed up late drinking. "We had a bunch of wine actually," Dessner laughs, "and then everybody went to sleep, I thought. But I think she must have had this idea swimming around in her head, 'cause the next morning when she arrived, she sang 'Us the damn season' for me in my kitchen. It's maybe my favourite song we've written together. Then she sang it at dinner for me and my wife Stine and we were all crying. It’s just that kind of a song, so it was quite special.”

National Unity

One key track on evermore, 'coney island', features all of the members of the National and sees Swift duetting with their singer Matt Berninger. "My brother [Bryce] actually originated that song," says Aaron Dessner. "I sent him a reference at one point - I can't remember what it was - and then he was sort of inspired to write that chord progression. Then we worked together to sort of develop it and I wrote a bunch of parts and we structured it.

"Taylor and William Bowery [the songwriting pseudonym of Swift's boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn] wrote 'coney island' and she sang a beautiful version. It felt kind of done, actually. But then I think we all collectively thought, Taylor and myself and Bryce, like this was the closest to a National song."

Dessner then asked the brothers who make up the National's rhythm section, drummer Bryan and bassist Scott Devendorf, to play on 'coney island'. Matt Berninger, as he often does with the band's own tracks, recorded his vocal at home in Los Angeles. "It was never in the same place, it was done remotely," says Dessner, "except Bryan was here at Long Pond when he played. It was great to collaborate as a band with Taylor."

No Compromise

folklore and evermore have been both enormous critical and commercial successes for Taylor Swift. Aaron Dessner reckons that making these anti-pop records has freed the singer up for the future. "I think it was very liberating for her," he says. "I think that's the thing that's been probably the biggest change for her has just been being able to make songs without compromise and then release them without the promotional requirements that she's used to from the past. Obviously, it comes at this time when we're all in lockdown and nobody can tour or go on talk shows or anything. But I think for her probably it will impact what she does in the future.

"But I also think she can shapeshift again," he concludes. "Who knows where she'll go? She's had many celebrated albums from the past, but to release two albums of this quality in such a short time, it really did shine a light on her songwriting talent and her storytelling ability and also just her willingness to experiment and collaborate. Somehow, I ended up in the middle of all that and I'm very grateful."

INSIDE TRACK - Jonathan Low: Secrets of the Mix Engineers

Sound On Sound Magazine // March 2021 issue // By Paul Tingen

From sketches to final mixes, engineer Jonathan Low spent 2020 overseeing Taylor Swift’s hit lockdown albums folklore and evermore.

“I think the theme of a lot of my work nowadays, and especially with these two records, is that everything is getting mixed all the time. I always try to get the songs to sound as finalised as they can be. Obviously that’s hard when you’re not sure yet what all the elements will be. Tracks morph all the time, and yet everything is always moving forwards towards completion in some way. Everything should sound fun and inspiring to listen to all the time.”

Speaking is Jonathan Low, and the two records he refers to are, of course, Taylor Swift’s 2020 albums folklore and evermore, both of which reached number one in the UK and the US. Swift’s main producer and co‑writer on the two albums was the National’s Aaron Dessner, also interviewed in this issue. Low is the engineer, mixer and general right‑hand man at Long Pond Studios in upstate New York, where he and Dessner spent most of 2020 working on folklore and evermore, with Swift in Los Angeles for much of the time.

“In the beginning it did not feel real,” recalls Low. “There was this brand‑new collaboration, and it was amazing how quickly Aaron made these instrumental sketches and Taylor wrote lyrics and melodies to them, which she initially sent to us as iPhone voice memos. During our nightly family dinners in lockdown, Aaron would regularly pull up his phone and say, ‘Listen to this!’ and there would be another voice memo from Taylor with this beautiful song that she had written over a sketch of Aaron’s in a matter of hours. The rate at which it was happening was mind‑blowing. There was constant elevation, inspiration and just wanting to continue the momentum.

“We put her voice memos straight into Pro Tools. They had tons of character, because of the weird phone compression and cutting midrange quality you just would not get when you put someone in front of a pristine recording chain. Plus there was all this bleed. It’s interesting how that dictates the attitude of the vocal and of the song. Even though none of the original voice memos ended up on the albums, they often gave us unexpected hints. These voice memos were such on‑a‑whim things, they were really telling. Taylor had certain phrasings and inflections that we often returned to later on. They became our reference points.”

Pond Life

The making of the National’s 2017 album Sleep Well Beast and the setup at Long Pond were covered in SOS October 2017; today the studio remains pretty much the same, with the exception of a new desk. “The main space is really big, and the console sits in the middle,” says Low. “In 2019, I installed a 1965 WSW/Siemens, which has 24 line‑in and microphone channels and another 24 line channels. WSW is the Austrian branch of Siemens usually built for broadcast. It’s loaded with 811510B channels. The build quality is insane, the switches and pots feel like they were made yesterday. To me it hints at the warm haze of a Class‑A Neve channel but sits further forward in the speakers. The midrange band on the passive EQ is a huge part of its charm, it really does feel like you’re changing the tone of the actual source rather than the recording. Most microphones go through the desk on their way into Pro Tools, though we sometimes use outboard Neve 1064 mic pres. Occasionally I use the Siemens to sum a mix.

“We have a pair of ATC SCM45 monitors, which sound very clear in the large room. The ceiling is very high, and the front wall is about 25 feet behind the monitors. There are diffusers on the sidewalls and the back walls are absorbing, so there are very few reflections. Aaron and I will be listening in tons of different ways. I’ll listen in my home studio with similar ATC SCM20 monitors or on my ‘70s Marantz hi‑fi setup. Aaron is always checking things in his car, and if there’s something that is bugging him, I’ll join him in his car to find out what he hears.”

Low works at Long Pond and with Dessner most of the time, though he does find time to do other projects, among hem this last year the War On Drugs, Waxahatchee and Nap Eyes. When lockdown started in Spring 2020, Low tacked up on supplies and "had a bunch f mixes lined up". Meanwhile, on the Eest Coast, Swift had seen her Lover Fest our cancelled. With help from engineer aura Sisk, she set up a makeshift studio which she dubbed Kitty Committee in bedroom in her Los Angeles home, and began working with long-term producer nd co-writer Jack Antonoff. At the end of April, however, Swift also started working with Dessner, which took the project in different direction. The impressionistic, atmospheric, electro-folk instrumentals Dessner sent her were mostly composed nd recorded by him at Long Pond, assisted by Low.

Sketching Sessions

The instrumental sketches Aaron makes come into being in different ways," elaborates Low. "Sometimes they are more fleshed-out ideas, sometimes they are less formed. But normally Aaron will set himself up in the studio, surrounded by instruments and synths, and he'll construct a track. Once he feels it makes some kind of sense I'll come in and take a listen and then we together develop what's there.

"I don't call his sketches demos, because while many instruments are added and replaced later on, most of the original parts end up in the final version of the song. We end up in the final version of the song. We try to get the sketches to a place where they are already very engaging as instrumental are already very engaging as instrumental tracks. Aaron and I are always obsessively listening, because we constantly want to hear things that feel inspiring and musical, not just a bed of music in the background. It takes longer to create, but in this case also gave Taylor more to latch onto, both emotionally and in terms of musical inspiration. Hearing melodies woven in the music triggered new melodies."

Not long after Dessner and Low sent each sketch to Swift, they would receive her voice memos in return, and they'd load them into the Pro Tools session of the sketch in question. Dessner and Low then continued to develop the songs, in close collaboration with Swift. "Taylor's voice memos often came with suggestions for how to edit the sketches: maybe throw in a bridge somewhere, shorten a section, change the chords or arrangement somewhere, and so on. Aaron would have similar ideas, and he then developed the arrangements, often with his brother Bryce, adding or replacing instruments. This happened fast, and became very interactive between us and Taylor, even though we were working remotely. When we added instruments, we were reacting to the way my rough mixes felt at the very beginning. Of course, it was also dictated by how Taylor wrote and sang to the tracks."

Dessner supplied sketches for nine and produced 10 of folklore's 16 songs, playing many different types of guitars, keyboards and synths as well as percussion and programmed drums. Instruments that were added later include live strings, drums, trombone, accordion, clarinet, harpsichord and more, with his brother Bryce doing many of the orchestrations. Most overdubs by other musicians were done remotely as well. Throughout, Low was keeping an overview of everything that was going on and mixing the material, so it was as presentable and inspiring as possible.

Mixing folklore

Although Dessner has called folklore an "anti-pop album", the world's number-one pop mixer Serban Ghenea was drafted in to mix seven tracks, while Low did the remainder.

"It was exciting to have Serban involved," explains Low, "because he did things I'd never do or be able to do. The way the vocal sits always at the forefront, along with the clarity he gets in his mixes, is remarkable. A great example of this is on the song 'epiphany'. There is so much beautiful space and the vocal feels effortlessly placed. It was really interesting to hear where he took things, because we were so close to the entire process in every way. Hearing a totally new perspective was eye-opening and refreshing.

"Throughout the entire process we were trying to maintain the original feel. Sometimes this was hard, because that initial rawness would get lost in large arrangements and additional layering. With revisions of folklore in particular we sometimes were losing the emotional weight from earlier more casual mixes. Because I was always mixing, there was also always the danger of over-mixing.

"We were trying to get the best of each mix version, and sometimes that meant stepping backwards, and grabbing a piano chain from an earlier mix, or going three versions back to before we added orchestration. There were definitely moments of thinking, 'Is this going to compete sonically? Is this loud enough?' We knew we loved the way the songs sounded as we were building them, so we stuck with what we knew. There were times where I tried to keep pushing a mix forward but it didn't improve the song — 'cardigan' is an example of a song where we ended up choosing a very early mix."

The Low Down

"I'm originally from Philadelphia," says Jonathan Low, "and played piano, alto saxophone and guitar when growing up. My dad is an electrical engineer and audiophile hobbyist, and I learned a lot about circuit design and how to repair things. I then started building guitar pedals and guitar amps, and recorded bands at my high school using a minidisc player and some binaural microphones. After that I did a music industry programme at Drexel University, and spent a lot of time working at the recording facilities there.

"This led to me meeting Brian McTear, a producer and owner of Miner Street Studios, which became my home base from 2009 to 2014. I learned a lot from him, from developing an interest in creating sounds in untraditional ways, to how to see a record through to completion. The studio has a two-inch 16-track Ampex MM1200 tape machine and a beautiful MCI 400 console which very quickly shaped the way I think about routing and signal flow. I'm lucky to have learned this way, because a computer environment is like the Wild West: there are no rules in terms of how to get from point A to point B. This flexibility is incredible, but sometimes there are simply too many options.

"l met Aaron [Dessned] because singer-songwriter Sharon van Etten recorded her second album, Epic [2010] at Miner Street, with Brian producing. Her third album, Tramp [2012] was produced by Aaron. They came to Philly to record drums and I ended up mixing a bunch of that record. After that I would occasionally go to work in Aaron's garage studio in Brooklyn, and this became more and more a regular collaboration. I then moved from Philly up to the Hudson Valley to help Aaron build Long Pond. We first used the studio in the spring of 2016, when beginning to record the National's album Sleep Well Beast."

Onward & Upward

folklore was finished and released in July 2020. In a normal world everyone might have gone on to do other things, but without the option of touring, they simply continued writing songs, with Low holding the fort. In September, many of the musicians who played on the album gathered at Long Pond for the shooting of a making-of documentary, folklore: the long pond studio sessions, which is streamed on Disney+.

The temporary presence of Swift at Long Pond changed the working methods somewhat, as she could work with Dessner in the room, and Low was able record her vocals. After Swift left again, sessions continued until December, when evermore was released, with Dessner producing or co-producing all tracks, apart from 'gold rush' which was co-written and co-produced by Swift and Antonoff. Low recorded many of Swift's vocals for evermore, and mixed the entire album. The lead single 'willow' became the biggest hit from the album, reaching number one in the US and number three in the UK.

"Before Taylor came to Long Pond," remembers Low, "she had always recorded her vocals for folklore remotely in Los Angeles or Nashville. When I recorded, I used a modern Telefunken U47, which is our go-to vocal mic — we record all the National stuff with that — going straight into the Siemens desk, and then into a Lisson Grove AR-1 tube compressor, and via a Burl A-D converter into Pro Tools. Taylor creates and lays down her vocal arrangements very quickly, and it sounds like a finished record in very few takes."

Devils In The Detail

In his mixes, Low wanted listeners to share his own initial response to these vocal performances. "The element that draws me in is always Taylor's vocals. The first time I received files with her properly recorded but premixed vocals I was just floored. They sounded great, even with minimal EQ and compression. They were not the way I'm used to hearing her voice in her pop songs, with the vocal soaring and sitting at the very front edge of the soundscape. In these raw performances, I heard so much more intimacy and interaction with the music. It was wonderful to hear her voice with tons of detail and nuances in place: her phrasing, her tonality, her pitch, all very deliberate. We wanted to maintain that. It's more emotional, and it sounds so much more personal to me. Then there was the music..."

The arrangements on evermore are even more 'chamber pop' than on folklore, with instruments like glockenspiel, crotales, flute, French horn, celeste and harmonium in evidence. "As listeners of the National may know, Aaron's and Bryce's arrangements can be quite dense. They love lush orchestration, all sorts of percussion, synths and other electronic sounds. The challenge was trying to get them to speak, without getting in the way of the vocals. I want a casual listener to be drawn in by the vocal, but sense that something special is happening in the music as well. At the same time, someone who really is digging in can fully immerse themselves and take in all the beauty deeper in the details of the sound and arrangement. Finding the balance between presenting all the musical elements that were happening in the arrangement and this really beautiful, upfront, real-sounding vocal was the ticket."

A particular challenge is that a lot of the detail that Aaron gravitates towards happens in the low mids, which is a very warm part of our hearing spectrum that can quickly become too muddy or too woolly. A lot of the tonal and musical information lives in the low mids, and then the vocal sits more in the midrange and high mids. There's not too much in the higher frequency range, except the top of the guitars, and some elements like a shaker and the higher buzzy parts of the synths. Maintaining clarity and separation in those often complex arrangements was a major challenge."

In & Out The Box

According to Low, the final mix stage for evermore was "very short. There was a moment in the final week or so leading up to the release where the songs were developed far enough for me to sit down and try to make something very cohesive and final, finalising vocal volume, overall volume, and the vibe. There's a point in every mix where the moves get really small. When a volume ride of 0.1dB makes a difference, you're really close to being done. Earlier on, those little adjustments don't really matter.

"I often try to mix at the console, with some outboard on the two-bus, but folklore was mixed all in the box, because we were working so fast, plus initially the plan was for the mixes to be done elsewhere. I ran a couple of mixes for evermore through the console, and `closure' was the only one that stuck. It was summed through the Siemens, with an API 2500 compressor and a Thermionic Culture Phoenix and then back into Pro Tools via the Burl A-D. I will use hardware when mixing in the box, though mainly just two units: the Eventide H3000, because I have not found any plug-ins that do the same thing, and the [Thermionic] Culture Vulture, for its very broad tone shaping and distortion properties.

"The writing and the production happened closely in conjunction with the engineering and mixing, and the arrangements were dense, making many of the sessions super hefty and actually quite messy. Sounds would constantly change roles in the arrangement and sometimes plug-ins would just stack up. So final mixing involved cleaning up the sessions and stemming large groups down."

Across The Rubber Bridge

The Pro Tools mix session of 'willow' has close to 100 tracks, though there's none of the elaborate bussing that's the hallmark of some modern sessions. At the top are six drum machine tracks in green from the Teenage Engineering OP-1, an instrument that was used extensively on the album. Below that are five live percussion tracks (blue), three bass tracks (pink), and an `AUX Drums' programming track. There's a 'rubber bridge' guitar folder and aux, OP-1 synth tracks, piano tracks, 'Dream Machine' (Josh Kaufman's guitar) and E-bow tracks, Yamaha, Sequential Prophet X, Moog and Roland Juno synth tracks, and Strings and Horns aux stem tracks.

"Most of the drum tracks were performed on the OP-1 by Aaron. These are not programmed tracks. Bryan Devendorf, drummer of the National, programmed some beats on a Roland TR-8S. I ran those though the Fender Rumble bass amp, which adds some woofiness, like an acoustic kit room mic. There's an acoustic shaker, and there's an OP-1 backbeat that's subtle in the beginning, and then gets stronger towards the end of the song. I grouped all the drum elements and the bass, and sent those out to a hardware insert with the Culture Vulture, for saturation, so it got louder and more and more harmonically rich. There is this subtle growing and crescendo of intensity of the rhythm section by the end.

"The 'rubber bridge' guitars were the main anchor in the instruments. These guitars have a wooden bridge wrapped in rubber, and sound a bit like a nylon-string guitar, or a light palm mute. They're very percussive and sound best when recorded on our Neumann U47 and a DI. On many of those DI tracks I have a [SPL] Transient Designer to lower the sustain and keep them punchy, especially in the low end. There's a folder with five takes of 'rubber bridge' guitar in this session, creating this wall of unique guitar sound.

"I treated the 'rubber bridge' guitars quite extensively. There's a FabFilter Pro-Q3 cutting some midrange frequencies and some air around 10kHz. These guitars can splash out in the high end and have a boominess that's in the same range as the low end of Taylor's vocal, so I had to keep these things under control. Then I used a SoundToys Tremolator, with a quarter-note tremolo that makes the accents in the playing a bit more apparent. I like to get the acoustic guitars a little bit out of the way for the less important beats, so I have the Massey CT5 compressor side-chained to the kick drum. I also used the UAD Precision K-Stereo to make the guitars a bit wider. The iZotope Ozone Exciter adds some high mids and high-end harmonic saturation sparkly stuff, and the SoundToys EchoBoy delay is automated, with it only coming on in the bridge, where I wanted more ambience."

Growing Pains

"Once we had figured out how to sit the 'rubber bridge' guitars in the mix, the next challenge was to work out the end of the song, after the bridge. Taylor actually goes down an octave with her voice in the last chorus, and at the same time the music continues to push and grow. That meant using a lot of automation and Clip Gain adjustment to make sure the vocal always stayed on top. There also are ambient pianos playing counter-melodies, and balancing the vocals, guitars and pianos was the main focus on this song. We spent a lot of time balancing this, particularly as the track grows towards the end.

"The vocal tracks share many of the same plug-ins and settings. On the main lead vocal track I added the UAD Pultec EQP-1A, with a little bit of a cut in the low end at 30Hz, and a boost at 8kHz, which adds some modern air. The second plug-in is the Oeksound Soothe, which is just touching the vocal, and it helps with any harsh resonance stuff in the high mids, and a little in the lower mids. Next is the UAD 1176AE, and then the FabFilter Pro-Q3, doing some notches at 200Hz, 1kHz, 4kHz and close to 10kHz. I tend to do subtractive EQ on the Q3, and use more analogue-sounding plug-ins, like the Pultec or the Maag, to boost. After that is the FabFilter Pro-DS [de-esser], taking off a couple of decibels, followed by the FabFilter Saturn 2 [saturation processor], on a warm tape setting.

"Below the vocal tracks are three aux effects tracks, for the vocals. 'Long Delay' has a stereo EchoBoy going into an Altiverb with a spring reverb, for effect throws in the choruses. 'Chamber' is the UAD Capitol Chamber, which gives the vocal a nice density and size, without it being a long reverb. The 'Plate' aux is the UAD EMT140, for the longer tail. These two reverbs work in conjunction, with the chamber for the upfront space, determining where the vocal sits in the mix, and the plate more for the depth behind that.

"At the bottom of the session is a two-bus aux, which mimics the way I do the two-bus on the desk. The plug-ins are the UAD Massive Passive EQ, UAD API 2500 compressor, and the UAD Ampex ATR102. Depending on the song, I will choose 15ips or 30ips. In this case it was set to 15ips, half-inch GP9. That has a nice, aggressive, midrange push, and the GP9 bottom end goes that little bit lower. There's also a PSP Vintage Warmer, a Sonnox Oxford Inflator, plus a FabFilter Pro-L2 [limiter]. None of these things are doing very much on their own, but in conjunction give me the interaction I expect from an analogue mix chain."

[amarimaryllis]

I Do Not Think I Would (Bokuto x Reader)

Pairing: Bokuto/Reader

Prompt/Summary: The rational side of you tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou, you choose to stay. Alternatively, Bokuto Koutarou’s fangirls are ruthless.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Haikyuu Timeskip Spoilers

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, Bold Italicized sentences are excerpts from the poem “Love is Not All” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Warnings: Mild Swearing, Mentions of self-hate, Mentions of insecurity, Bokuto has toxic fans

Part of A Sensitivity to Ephemera

You met Bokuto Koutarou in your 3rd year at Fukurodani, but you had known of his existence for longer. It was hard to not know of Bokuto Koutarou if you studied in Fukurodani. Hell, it was hard to not know of him if you studied in Tokyo in general. Aside from the fact that he was the embodiment of solar energy, Bokuto Koutarou also had a ton of admirers.

Fangirls

Fanboys.

And everything in between and beyond.

However, the first time you ever interacted with him was in Honda-sensei’s room. It was quick, a brief encounter that promised longer ones. Bokuto’s grades had been slipping, and you were his assigned tutor.

“Bokuto-san, this is L/N-san from Class 6.” Honda-sensei introduces you two briefly. “She’ll be tutoring you until your grades are back to… Satisfactory. I trust you to not give her a hard time.”

“Nice to meet you, L/N-san!” Bokuto bows briefly, the grin plastered on his face, unfading. However, there’s a sense of urgency in his stance, vibrating, itching to run off. Probably because he had volleyball training, and nothing in this world could keep Bokuto Koutarou from his beloved sport.

You didn’t know why, but your heart was beating a little bit faster than normal.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;

After a few weeks of tutoring, Bokuto’s grades were slowly getting better. It wasn’t “satisfactory” yet, according to Honda-sensei, but you guys were getting there. As a celebration, right after volleyball practice, Bokuto drags you to the closest cafe and tells you to choose anything you want because it was “on him” as he enthusiastically stated.

“Bokuto-san, you didn’t have to.” You mumble bashfully as Bokuto sets a tray down and seats across from you.

“Don’t worry about it!” Bokuto grins as he slides the food over to you. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve been such a great tutor.”

A small smile makes its way to your face. “I guess I’ll take it then. Thank you for the food!”

As you eat, you can see Bokuto’s eyes continuously flitting back and forth between a spot on your face and away from it. He looked hesitant, but your sudden speaking urges him to reply.

“Is there anything on my face?” You furrow your brows, raising a hand to wipe at your cheek.

“Ah yeah, wait, not there.” Bokuto reaches over the table, a large hand cupping your cheek before he presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipes to remove whatever it was on your face. “You had sauce on your face.”

Fire and ice could co-exist at once, you concluded. Because if it didn’t, then you would like to present yourself as evidence. You were frozen, but inside you, there was an inferno of different emotions swirling, sparked by a single touch on your skin.

That night, after Bokuto had walked you home and you had settled in for the night, you dreamt of black and white streaks paired with the brightest golden eyes. You let yourself dream. You knew that this was the closest you could get to him. The real world wasn’t as kind to you after all.

While you slept soundly, Bokuto walked home. It was raining, but it didn’t matter to him because as the rain drops onto his skin, he wished that it was your touch that fell upon him instead. And for a second as he imagines, it almost felt like it was.

And though he so desperately wished for it as he lied in bed, slumber never came. Instead, in its place, were a hundred different stories, a hundred different futures, a hundred different lifetimes, and they all ended with the sight of a bashful smile, and the prettiest eyes.

Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;

You gripped at your skirt tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. Fear gripped your chest as you watched Bokuto’s sleeping figure from your place on the chair beside the bed. There had been a small accident during Fukurodani’s practice match, a small collision, but it was enough to send him to the infirmary and you running after him.

It was stupid, you think to yourself. You had rushed to the clinic the moment your break started, and by the time you reached the room, you were a mess. The nurse only gave you a cheeky smile before she patted your back and said, “Don’t worry about your boyfriend. It’s a minor injury and it was probably just an ant bite for someone like him.”

Ant bites didn’t usually require sleep for recovery.

Also, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you’d be the biggest liar on earth if you said that you didn’t want him to be. You were just his tutor. Sure you’d been tutoring him for a long time, and that was enough to form a friendship of sorts, but that was all you’ll ever be: a friend. So why were you acting like you were something more? Friends get concerned, they’ll drop by, check on you, go off once they realize it’s minor and you’re in good hands, and then wait for you to recover. They don’t stay, fussing, practically crying, and worrying over something so small.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that the sudden placement of a heavy palm on your head startles you.

Bokuto chuckles as he takes in your disheveled state. Your eyes are damp, your hair is slightly messed up, and your skirt is still tight in your grip, but even then, he still couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way you looked. “Hey hey hey, did I make you worry that much?”

You can’t help it. He’s recovering, you know that, but you couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at him and enveloping him in a hug. “I hate you so much. Promise me you’ll never make me worry like that ever again.”

Bokuto chuckles and you could feel the vibrations since you two were practically chest-to-chest. “If making you worry means you’ll hug me like this, then I don’t think I can make any promises.”

“Bokuto-san…” You attempt to pull away, but find yourself unable.

Sturdy arms wrap around your waist, and your frozen figure is pulled tighter against Bokuto’s body as he engulfs you with his larger frame. “Do you like me, Y/N-chan?”

You freeze.

Oh hell no.

Out of all the conversations in this world, this one was the one you did not want to have, especially not when you were emotionally vulnerable. You didn’t know if you had enough control over yourself to give the proper answers.

“What? No! I mean yes? You’re my friend, of course I like you.” Your fight or flight response to this conversation seems to have given you ample strength to pull away. You attempt to stand straight and face this problem head on, but your feet are pointing you towards the exit.

Ready to run. From this conversation. From your feelings. From rejection.

Bokuto raises a brow, a teasing grin on his face. “Oh, really?”

Contrary to popular belief (see: Honda-sensei), Bokuto Koutarou was not stupid. Very far from it. While he’s not academically gifted, he’s definitely smart on the people side of things.

You were an open book, and Bokuto was taking his time rereading every page.

“I…” You’re unable to answer, unable to find the words that would make the impending rejection hurt less.

“Well, if it helps—“ Bokuto sits up and sets his feet on the ground, lightly grabbing you to make you stand between his legs. “—I like you a lot.”

Your heart stops. Your world stops. Everything just stops. You’re gaping at Bokuto, mouth closing and opening as you try to find the proper words. You want to reply, eloquently, confidently, to save what’s left of your dignity, but you can only blink back at him.

You weren’t expecting this. Bokuto wasn’t expecting this.

A wave of uncertainty flashes through Bokuto’s eyes, and for a second, he wonders if he misread the situation. “Hey, it’s ok if you don’t feel the same—“

“Wait, no! That’s—“ You take in a deep breath, attempting to calm your racing heart as you try to find your next words. For someone who usually kept a level head, you sure weren’t acting like it. “That’s not it at all. I just… Are you sure?”

Bokuto is confused. He could understand the words individually. He could understand the sentence too, but he couldn’t understand its relevance in this context. What did you mean by ‘are you sure?’. Would he tell you if he wasn’t? Why wouldn’t anyone be sure about you? I mean, it’s you.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Bokuto grabs your hand, and he laces his fingers through yours.

You don’t answer as you attempt to arrange your whirlwind of insecurity into one coherent sentence that could sum it all up. You didn’t want to burden him with an entire monologue of self-deprecation, but you couldn’t find a way to express the years of insecurity into one sentence that could do that feeling justice.

Bokuto sees this, and his heart breaks for a second. He was familiar with it. He knew those feelings all too well.

Uncertainty.

Doubt.

Self-Hatred.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto blurts out, and as he watches you get flustered, he thinks that this is a much better look on you compared to the one you were previously wearing.

You don’t speak. You just nod.

With that, Bokuto grabs you by the waist and reaches up to press his lips against yours.

It was Bokuto who broke the kiss, breathless as he pressed his forehead to yours. It was almost as if you had taken his breath away to breathe a new life into him with a simple kiss. You can feel his warm breath against your lips, his calloused hands gripping at your waist, and at the same time, you feel nothing. Maybe this is what it felt like to know of everything and nothing all at once. Hyperaware of every feeling, every part of your body that was connected to his, but at the same time you felt weightless, floating on a plane that didn’t seem to exist on earth.

“Can I do that again?” Bokut asks with a grin.

You don’t answer, simply grabbing at his collar and smashing your lips against his.

That was how your love story with Bokuto Koutarou started.

And you wish it ended there.

It well may be that in a difficult hour,

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,

Bokuto’s fans were ruthless.

Bokuto’s fans are ruthless.

The toxic fangirls? Even more so.

Not all of them are terrible to you, some are kind, but there are enough bad apples that you start wanting to run away the moment you see the tree. His fangirls during highschool only ever went as far as gossipping and making snide remarks, but now that you were older and Bokuto was part of the MSBY Black Jackals, they had gotten worse.

Facebook? You don’t spend time there anyway.

Instagram? You’ve always avoided that place.

Twitter? Ah, good luck.

People are ruthless when they hide behind a screen and a fake name. Anonymity has a way of sparking bravery in even the most sheltered souls. There wasn’t a single tweet on your account that had no comment telling you how you’re not good enough, how Bokuto probably only stayed out of pity, how he’d probably break up with you soon, how they could make him happier than someone like you ever could.

Bokuto doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to know. You don’t want to tell him.

You’re never going to tell him.

It’s pathetic, you think to yourself. You’re afraid that if Bokuto saw these comments, the rose-colored glasses he wore would shatter. You were afraid that these tweets would tip him off the edge and plunge him into the sea of realization. The realization that he could do so much better than someone like you.

You were tired. So tired that you just want to give in to the comments and leave. It’s logical, after all. Bokuto would find someone much better than you. He’d go off, marry a girl deserving of him, and she’ll give him a family, a future, and a life worthy of someone like him. And you? You’d be free. Alone, heart destroyed beyond repair, but free. You could move on, move away, move as far as you could: out of sight, out of mind. It was so easy.

Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,

But you couldn’t.

The only thing you could do was stare at the tweets that dissected each and every single one of your insecurities and laid it bare, waved it around freely for the world to see and judge. You could only let the tears fall as the laptop screen glared back at your face. Everything is numb and you don’t feel like yourself as you scroll through every single comment and find yourself agreeing with each and every single one.

Sobs wrack throughout your body as it all becomes too much.

You’re too weak to stay, too weak to leave. So where do you go? Where the hell are you supposed to place yourself in this world when it feels like everything is going against you? Why was the world doing this to you? Why did it have to be you? You weren’t strong enough for this. You weren’t good enough for this, you never were, never are, and never will be--

“Love?”

You immediately slam the laptop shut and throw the covers over your body as if you had been there the whole time instead of sitting at the edge of the bed and crying over comments.

“Hey…” The side of the bed sinks. “Bad day?”

The fucking worst. You thought to yourself, but you only shook your head before burying your head deeper into the covers of your shared bed.

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” You can hear the worry in Bokuto’s voice as he places his hand on your waist over the blanket, rubbing up and down to soothe you.

Some part of you finds the courage to speak, and the words tumble out of your mouth faster than your brain can process them. “Why are you still with me?”

“Because I love you.” Bokuto doesn’t hesitate as he looks at your still-covered figure.

“What if you stop?” You mumble, but it was loud enough for Bokuto to hear,

“Not possible.” Bokuto gently pries the blankets away from you, uncovering your form that was curled up into a fetal position.

“But— Just—“ You turn the other way, unable to look at him. “What if you do?”

“Like I said—” You can feel the mattress behind you dip lower, sturdy arms moving to wrap around your waist as Bokuto nuzzles his face into your nape. “—not possible.”

With that, the tears start flowing once more.

You bury your face into the pillow, not wanting to show Bokuto because you knew that the sight of you crying wasn’t something he liked. He hated seeing you in distress, and he hated that the only thing he could do was talk you through it and comfort you.

“Hey hey hey…” Bokuto pulls away and makes you sit up straight before he sits against the headboard and pulls you to sob into his chest. “Where’s this coming from? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.” You spat angrily, your grip on his shirt tightening. Anger at yourself, anger at the universe, all summed up in a single sentence. “Nothing ever goes right anymore, and I’m just—“

Your speaking is interrupted as another wave of sobs. “I’m so tired.”

You can feel Bokuto freeze, his hand that was rubbing your back stopping as he takes in your words. “Of what?”

“Everything.” You murmur, your grip on Bokuto’s shirt loosening as you press your forehead against his neck. “Just everything.”

“Does that include me?” You can hear Bokuto’s voice waver as his grip around you gets weaker. “Are you… Are you breaking up with me?”

You’re silent for a while. Was this it? Was the universe making the choice for you?

Whatever it was, you take it.

You pull away and look down, unable to stare into Bokuto’s eyes. You didn’t know if you could pull through if you could see the look on his face as you say your next words. “If it means that it will all stop, then maybe I should.”

Bokuto’s heart shatters, and his world follows in its footsteps. He can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He knew you had been acting off the past few days, but he gave you some space so that you could sort it out until you were ready to finally approach him. But this? He wasn’t prepared for this.

“Why?” There’s a painful tug at your chest as you hear Bokuto speak in such a broken tone. “Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” You cringe inwardly at your statement. Of all the things you could’ve said, you just had to say the most overused line in all of break-up history. “Bokuto, you—“

“It’s Kou.” You can hear Bokuto’s voice crack at the end. “It’s not Bokuto to you, Y/N. It’s Kou. Whatever it is just tell me, please I can fix it—“

“I’m the problem, okay?!” You couldn’t stop yourself from raising your tone, standing up from the bed to distance yourself from Bokuto. “I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you. They’re right when they say that you could do so much better than me—“

You’re cut off as a sob pulls itself from your chest. Your chest is tight, your head is throbbing. Your legs are shaky and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling to your knees as you continue to cry. “I-I just… I know I don’t, but I-I’m so tired of b-being constantly r-reminded that I’m never g-going to be enough.”

“Y/N, none of that is true. Who told you that?” Bokuto’s tone gives away the pain he was feeling, but there was a hint of anger underneath it all.

You don’t answer, shaking your head, continuing to sob as Bokuto moves from the bed to kneel in front of you.

“Love, who told you that?” Bokuto places a comforting hand on your thigh as his other hand lightly grabs you by the chin to make you look at him.

“Everyone.” You wondered how pathetic you looked in his eyes right now. “Not a single day passes by where I’m not reminded by your fans. It’s stupid to keep listening to them, but they’re right—“

Bokuto cuts you off with a brief kiss, just enough to shut you up to give him a chance to speak as he moves to cup your cheek in his palm. “No, they’re not. They never will be.”

You don’t reply. You don’t argue, but you don’t agree either.

“Don’t break up with me, please.” Bokuto cups your face with both of his hands, occasionally brushing his thumb over your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours. “You mean the world to me. You’re absolutely perfect the way you are, and I know you don't believe that.”

You sob at that, and Bokuto is quick to press a kiss against your forehead and pull you into his chest. “If I have to spend my entire life reminding you of that then I will.”

I might be driven to sell your love for peace,

Or trade the memory of this night for food.

Bokuto hovers over you, his arms on either side of your holding him up as he looks at you with the most lovestruck look you’ve ever seen on someone.

“You’re perfect.” Bokuto whispers against your lips before he presses a searing kiss against your lips. “Absolutely perfect.”

Bokuto presses his weight against yours, pulling your bodies closer to each other as he continues to kiss you breathless. You wrap your arms around his neck, an attempt to blur the boundaries of skin, muscle, and bone that separate your soul and his. He pulls you closer against him, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips as he trails his kisses down your neck and every expanse of skin that was laid bare for him.

“I love you so much.” Bokuto whispers repeatedly against your skin between every kiss he puts on you. “So much.”

As you laid beside Bokuto, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face nuzzling into his bare chest, the thoughts of ever leaving slowly become more distant and fade away into oblivion. His chest rises and falls, and you find your breathing slowly matching his as you observe his sleeping face, peaceful, unbothered by all the troubles of the world beyond your bedroom.

You smile to yourself. All rational thought tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou...

It well may be. I do not think I would.

A/N: That’s two parts of the collection down, and three more to go! This one was supposed to be the lightest out of the five, but my finger slipped so... Whoops? HAHAHAGDHDHSJHS Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! 💖

[greenbriar-j]

Muscle Memory, full wip, unedited 4.7k, scroll at ur own risk; tagging some people who showed previous interest @halleiswriting @chazzawrites @pe-ersona @druidx and also @pens-swords-stuff this is what I’ve been up to lately

Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church bustles with activity. It’s peculiar, for it being a weekday. More peculiar still that the bustling is being done by young men and women who could very well be engaging in… more satisfying summer indulgences.

The Youth Group’s power couple sweeps in an hour late, ever put together even when, by all rights, they ought to be melting right out of their fancy outfits. Cheers rise from the crowd when they appear, each splitting off in their own directions to their own stations.

Y Nhi beelines for the painters, flicking her sleek ponytail to make sure it’s out of the way. The girls hand her a brush while detailing what’s left to be done. Vinny bustles for the sound technicians - who, really, are already done for the day, but are staying for the social factor.

Two things to note about St. Joseph’s power couple:

Y Nhi isn’t sure she believes in God very much anymore.

They are not a couple, but it’s easier to let everyone think so than to correct it.

“Jude,” Mary says (everyone calls her Jude because she and Vinny made a big deal of it years ago), “Are you sure you can’t help out during the week?”

Y Nhi shrugs. She’s not busy or anything, but it feels wrong to shepherd children into a religion she’s falling out of - even if Vacation Bible School had been one of her favorite summer memories for her entire life. That’s where she met Vinny, after all.

Vinny, laughing with the guys at the sound booth. To be more accurate, Vinny himself is only smirking, but that’s as close to a laugh as he gets around here. Stupid smirk. Stupid boy.

“I have work. Unfortunately,” Y Nhi mutters, dragging her brush across a cardboard cutout. “Vinny’s taking the week off, so I’m picking up his slack.”

Mary grins widely at that. “I swear it’s like you’re married.”

For whatever reason, Y Nhi’s heart clenches at that. Picturing herself and Vinny in wedding attire on the altar sickens her, but putting a faceless someone in her place makes her feel worse. But it’s not like she likes him. She’s sworn to herself that she’d become a cat lady in her old age - her army has already begun with a fluffy black kitten. It’s not looking too good for her future; Toothless likes Vinny more than her. She’s already failed as a parent.

Belatedly, Y Nhi realizes she’s supposed to be engaging in a conversation, not thinking about Vinny and their co-parenting of a cat. If it can be called that.

“Don’t hold your breath. The wedding is a long way off,” she says tightly. Like. Never. Never is a long, long way off.

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

This time, Y Nhi lets the comment slide. She paints while singing under her breath, as she always does. A long time ago, she had no qualms about belting it out, but time has weathered away her volume, reducing it to only this. No one’s noticed the change or found it strange.

The conversation turns to something - anything - else. Degrees, internships, other boys who don’t dress in all black and aren’t named Vincent Truong. Y Nhi listens, but doesn’t contribute.

By the time the call goes out for a lunch break, Y Nhi is finishing three tasks at once. One of the other girls brings her a burger, slathered with ketchup and mayo and tomatoes. Y Nhi thanks her and continues wrapping one of the white pillars in cardboard paper to simulate a palm tree.

Not long after, someone nudges her. Eyes flickering upward, she’s met with the bored eyes of her very best friend. “Bite.”

She doesn’t, not yet.

Vinny wiggles the burger he’s holding in front of her mouth. “Only half a slice of cheese. No tomatoes. Freshest patty of the batch. Eat.”

She still doesn’t take the bait, even though he’s tailored this burger to her weirdly specific tastes.

Vinny sighs. “Jude. No one’s watching you. I promise all they can see is my back.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” It’s true she had a complex about eating in public for a while, for reasons she’s never told anyone including him. “Just not hungry.”

“Not very Gucci of you to lie in the house of God.”

“Not very Gucci of you to breathe.”

“Jude! The fuck, man.” But he’s grinning. Not the half-assed grin he gives everyone else, but an honest, mirthful grin reserved for Toothless and Y Nhi only (usually Toothless. Damn cat).“Just eat this, okay? I’ll eat the other one.” His whole demeanor softens as he picks up the burger she had ignored - the one that is surely cold by now.

She is hungry. After all, the reason they were late is because Vinny had to coax her to every step of getting ready this morning. He even applied her eyeliner with the even strokes of a practiced hand - so practiced that even Y Nhi admits it looks like her own work. If she had a choice, she would waste away in bed for the day, but Vinny has never been much of a fan of that plan.

According to her own plan, Y Nhi had been wasting away since before yesterday’s dinner. Famished might be a better word to describe her present state.

But today is one of those days that she feels guilty cementing the married couple narrative any more than it needs to be. They’re not getting any younger, Vinny and Y Nhi, and just because she’s sworn off marriage doesn’t mean he has. How’s he supposed to get a nice girlfriend if she keeps hanging around?

Objectively, it’s a stupid reason to risk passing out in a church of all places, but something about him just makes her stupid. Always has.

The longer she ignores his peace offering, the twitcher he gets. He finishes his own burger in ten massive bites. When Y Nhi still doesn’t eat hers, he eats that whole thing too. “We’re leaving early. Say an hour? Think about what you want to eat.”

With that, he’s gone. Y Nhi is not hyper aware of his presence as it moves through the open space. She does not miss having him next to her. Not even a little.

-

Y Nhi writes, appetite??? in her journal when she gets home. It’s the third time something of this nature has appeared on its list which isn’t titled - but if it was it would be something like “Things About Vinny T. that Don’t Make Sense.”

Even after inhaling two burgers, he took her out for pho and Thai tea, and he ate so slow that his noodles expanded in the broth. Still, he finished a medium bowl with relative ease, and Y Nhi was content after she’d finished a small.

How does someone who eats like that look like that? It has to be some sort of stupid freaky metabolism. Genetic polymorphism, she thinks, then adds that she might be incorrectly using the term she’d heard in class about two semesters ago.

She writes freeloading on the list. It’s not technically true, but he spends enough time at her place to make it feel like it. Right this minute, he’s setting up the living room to sleep in, awaiting her delivery of the overnight bag he always leaves stocked in her apartment for emergencies.

That goes on the list too. Definition of ‘emergency.’

According to recent months, an alarming amount of things fit under this category of Vinny’s mind. It might be nearing time to stage an intervention, but who’s Y Nhi to tell him to relax when she’s the one bordering on anxiety attacks all the time? Only god knows how many times he’s clutched her shaking hands until they stopped.

Y Nhi closes the journal. Snaps the band over the cover. Shoves it under her pillow. Vinny wouldn’t dare read it to begin with, but for some reason, she doesn’t even want him to know of its existence.

Quickly divesting herself of the impeccable outfit she’d worn for the day, she slips easily into one of Vinny’s large, large shirts and the shorts she affectionately calls game day shorts. Ever since high school, she’s worn them for events that require equal amounts of comfort and courage - or just for comfort, to be honest.

“Hey, loser,” she greets Vinny, emerging from her room. He’s got her guitar in hand, and is humming some tune that she recognizes but can’t place. “Your stuff is on my bed. Have you seen Toothless?”

He nods, and keeps playing. It’s in experience, being stared at with such intense eyes while trying not to stare at the other party’s stupid pretty hands playing her guitar. Fuck him, honestly, she thinks angrily.

Leaving him there, she pours each of them a glass of water in the kitchen. A shadow looms on top of the fridge, and she jumps. “Toothless, baby. Please stop napping on the fridge.”

Toothless is not napping. He stands up, shakes his tiny body and hops to the counter, then to the floor, twining around Y Nhi’s feet before scuttling off.

Vinny is singing now. It’s a new song, she supposes, and it sounds like a love song.

Slowly, Y Nhi moves around the kitchen, making as little noise as possible while doing absolutely nothing. She just wants to listen to Vinny and his new love song without him watching her reaction.

Once she gets past the lyrics about gentle touches and midnight escapades, she realizes something. Re-entering the living room, she deposits his water on the table. “Is that my melody? Why would you steal it?”

The guitar is placed awkwardly on the floor, the neck of it leaning on the couch. “Oh, is that where it’s from? Thought it was familiar,” he says with mild disinterest. “Well, I wasn’t that attached to it anyway.”

“Are you saying it sucks?” Y Nhi settles on the floor on the other side of the table, pulling her knees into her chest. Glancing through her lashes, Y Nhi watches Vinny’s expressions.

“I’m saying I’m not taking your work, you brat.” Then he hesitates. “I mean. Can I, just for one person?”

“What the fuck.”

Vinny twitches, finally. “I… Wrote the song for someone… So I’d like to sing it for her, just once.”

Something vile rises in her throat, and she wishes Toothless would notice her distress. Hugging the cat might make her feel a little better about the fact that Vinny’s written a song about a girl using her melody - and it’s not about herself and for some odd reason, that bothers her.

“Can- Can I hear it?” Y Nhi asks in a tiny voice. It’s easier than No, you cannot take my song to sing to some other girl who will take you away from me.

“Haven’t you been hearing it?”

“Vincent.” Because that’s easier than You colossal idiot, what shit are you pulling after two years?

“Jude-”

She stands suddenly, fleeing to her room. Shutting the door, locking it, she tries to breathe. Of all people, Vinny should be the last person to push her to this reaction. She doesn’t know what to think.

Vinny knows.

Vinny knows where her hard limits are. Technically, he hasn’t passed them. But he’s pretty damn close.

Y Nhi slips into the shower, leaving it on the hottest setting to boil the emotions out.

-

For the next two days, Y Nhi doesn’t emerge from her room. Her phone dies, and she lets it. Her body self-destructs in hunger and dehydration from crying, and she lets it. She stays in bed for most of it. Whether Vinny continues to sleep on the other side of the wall for those nights, she doesn’t know. Nor care.

It’s punishment for believing she might be ready to give love another chance.

-

The third day, a letter slips under her door.

She almost flushes it down the toilet without reading it. Everything is in position to do so, paper fluttering in unsteady hands above the toilet bowl. But she wants to know. What can Vinny possibly say for himself?

Jude. I wrote the song for you. I didn’t mean to steal your tune - honest to god, I didn’t. But when I found out, I thought it was fitting that we’d worked on it together. (“Together”)

Jude, the song is up to your interpretation, but it’s yours. I wrote it from my core, and it’s yours. Charge your fucking phone and check the lyrics I sent you.

Take a shower, and call me when you’re ready. You have a few days’ worth of takeout in the fridge. Please take care of your health; I know you’re not right now. I mean it in the best way.

It cuts off there. Unceremonious and blunt, and so very him. She hates it very much.

Y Nhi charges her phone while she showers. Working quickly because she’s so unsteady on her feet, she does the bare minimum before stumbling into the kitchen for food.

While she nibbles on the stir fried noodles he left, she pens her own note.

Vinny,

I will not read the lyrics. I don’t want to know, and you don’t have to pretend it’s about me.

Your joke took two years to reach completion. Congratulations. I hope I was amusing and that my downfall wall be the stunning conclusion you wanted.

She tapes it on her front door so he’ll see it the next time he comes over. Soon, probably.

Momentarily, she wonders if she’s being rash. Is it so impossible to think that he could find romantic attraction to her?

Then she remembers. Y Nhi is not built to be loved, if her history is anything to go by. Even if she’s wrong, even if Vinny loves her for real, she will resist. Losing him this way is better than the alternative: watching him dissolve to some monstrosity while loving her.

-

Nothing changes after that. Apart from Vinny’s absence from her apartment, they interact in exactly the same way.

Vinny says something borderline rude.

Y Nhi retorts with something blatantly rude.

They laugh about it and move along.

There are no gentle touches to avoid because Vinny rarely touched her to begin with - despite the way he slings his arm around everyone else, he wasn’t like that with her. No arm around her shoulder, no hugs, not even extended contact with her hair.

Y Nhi pretends not to notice when he goes through a full dinner with an arm draped over the back of his friend Justin’s chair. He leans on it, adding the tiniest space between himself and Y Nhi. He still passes her the condiments and spices she likes before she asks for them. He takes her home at the end of it.

This should be enough. Up until now, it always had been. These tiny acts were his long distance hugs. It had always been enough, but now it isn’t, and Y Nhi doesn’t know what to do.

Isn’t this what you wanted? For him to get a life away from you?

“How’s that girl?” She asks on the way home, just because the silence is killing her and perhaps because she’s a masochist. “The one you wrote the song for?”

Vinny looks at her for a brief moment, something like grief in his eyes. It’s a confusing expression. “She hasn’t really talked to me since.”

Y Nhi tries not to sit straighter at this revelation. “Oh, really? Hm. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Something about the word is profoundly heartbroken. She can almost feel the emotions hurtling off him in waves, but he doesn’t lash out at her. All it does is enclose each passenger of the car in a separate bubble. This is the closest they’ve been in a long time, but Y Nhi has never felt so isolated.

Her throat constricts, and her hands start to shake. “Do you… Know why?”

Vinny thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I think she doesn’t believe me. But I don’t really think it’s me, I think she thinks that love is meant for everyone except herself. She’s pretty bent on self-destruction now, as far as I can tell - No, don’t say anything yet.”

Every girl Vinny’s talked to in the last week pops up in her mind. Which of them seems most self-destructive? If she can’t keep herself by his side, he should at least have someone who can care for him. She could talk to them, probably, if she knew who it was.

“I… She thinks this is sudden, but I’ve been in love with her since I was fifteen. Or something. Like it kind of just happened over time, and I thought she knew.”

Fifteen means Vinny’s been futilely in love with someone else while she fell for the guy who ended up cheating on her.

They were happy in high school. It was college that broke them. Distance. The communications became less frequent in an inverse relationship to Y Nhi’s alcohol intake. Her grades suffered, and she convinced herself that she was too stupid for higher education. On his birthday, she drove for hours to his dorm to surprise him, only to find him making out with another girl. Sober.

Not that any level of inebriation could excuse him, but perhaps it would’ve hurt a little less.

Vinny isn’t done. “I fucking cut fruit for her every time we hung out. I did her dishes sometimes. I don’t know, I- I thought I did everything right. My mom thought I was doing everything right.”

“You tell your mom about your love life?”

Y Nhi doesn’t. Her parents don’t care enough to know anything about it beyond that she let go of a future doctor and that she’ll never find another because she’s past her prime. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

She’s literally twenty four. She has time.

“Not really. But they’ve met.” Vinny parks the car in front of her apartment, but he makes no move to get out or to let Y Nhi get out. “Jude, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” she says. Training her eyes on her kitchen window, she thinks about the dishes she hasn’t done yet, the fruit she hasn’t cut yet, and how she hates thinking about it because it reminds her Vinny is fading.

Human adaptability is a remarkable thing. One more week, and this new normalcy will cement itself.

“The girl I love is you. Okay? I’ve walked around the topic for years, and I understand if you’re still not ready for it. But I know you’re getting the wrong idea in that head of yours. It’s you, and it’s always been you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if you let me. I’ll also bow out forever if that’s what you need from me. But I need you to talk to me. I-”

Holy shit, is he about to cry? With wild eyes, she glances at him. If she’s made him cry, he’ll return the favor five-fold. No, she backtracks. That’s not Vinny. That’s the behavior of her second ex, the one that reduced her to a stiff puppet of a girl.

“Come back to me,” he says in a small, strangled voice. “I don’t even care if you break me in the process, but please come back to me. You can do whatever you want, as long as you do it by my side.”

For the longest moment, they say nothing. Then Y Nhi opens the car door. “Can you cut my strawberries for me? They taste better when you cut them.”

-

Vinny washes her dishes and her strawberries and quarters the already small fruit for her. He deposits the snacks in front of her and watches her eat - slowly, since they’ve just come back from dinner, after all.

“So it’s me?”

“Always has been.”

“And you never said anything.”

“I did. You ignored it on purpose.”

“No, I’m just a stupid hoe.”

“You’re not stupid. Or a hoe.”

“You’re always calling me stupid.”

“Not like that, stupid.”

“You’re going to have to undo a lot of damage if we date.”

“I know. I’ve been working on it already, didn’t you notice?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna get worse if we date.”

“Have you considered therapy?”

“Vinny, I’ll be a pariah.”

“A happy one, maybe.” Hesitantly, he reaches for one of her hands. Halfway, he flips the palm up and waits for her to complete the gesture on her own. “You don’t have to decide right away. It’s just a thought.”

She puts her hand in his a little too eagerly, then pulls back a little too harshly. It feels like touching the flame of a candle.

A defeated look momentarily crosses Vinny’s eyes, but Y Nhi barely has the time to look at it before she steels her nerves and takes hold of his hand again. The coldness of his rings grounds her somehow. “We need a list,” Y Nhi says, “of things. First, you’re going to Google touch starvation.”

Her best friend jerks in a little victorious motion, jamming his knee unceremoniously on the table leg as he does. “Fuck, that hurt.”

“What was that about?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually touch starved or if you didn’t like men touching you.”

“And you didn’t ask?” Y Nhi is incredulous.

“How am I supposed to ask? ‘Jude, when I touch you, does it remind you of your sleazy ex boyfriends?’ You’d say no. Like a liar. Or so I thought.” He pauses. “Anyway, this means I can hug you now, right? 24/7.”

“If you ease into it.”

“And you’ll stop wearing those gigantic shirts that literally drown you.”

“...No. What?”

“Okay, never mind, nothing. What else? What other boundaries do we have?”

Of all questions she’s been asked today, this one is probably the most confusing. Her previous relationships are no help; she hasn’t exactly had the best exposure to “healthy relationships.” She’s aware that the bare minimum counts as decadence for her, so the question has her a little frozen.

After watching her face flicker through whatever emotions it’s displaying, Vinny rubs a thumb over her knuckles. “How about this: I have a specific thing I want your help with, and when things come up, we can talk about it.”

Y Nhi nods, though they both know she won’t talk about shit. But perhaps watching Vinny sort out whatever issue he needs sorted will give her inspiration on how to approach this. “Can we-?” She starts and stops abruptly.

Vinny blinks, then feeds her a strawberry slice. “Go ahead.” It’s a tactful move. Putting food in her mouth means she has to chew, meaning she has a few more seconds to gather herself and her thoughts, or at the very least, the desire to continue speaking.

“Can we not label this?” She finishes. “Whatever is between us.”

To her surprise, Vinny nods and acts like she hasn’t asked the bitchiest question of the night. “Sure.” You can do whatever you want, he’d said, as long as you do it by my side.

“And… Get rid of Jude.”

“What?”

“Jude. You remember why I picked that name?”

“Because of some fictional fairy queen that had the same name? You thought she was a conniving boss ass bitch and-”

“Shut up. Saint Jude. Patron saint of?”

Technically speaking, he hasn’t been wrong about the fairy queen bit. Unlike the suckers who fell for Cardan Greenbriar, Y Nhi’s wimpy ass was all in for Jude Duarte, mortal queen of the fae. And it was easier to admit that than to admit the truth that was dawning on Vinny’s face in 3… 2...

“Hopeless causes,” Vinny answers easily. Then his expression sobers. “Oh.”

Y Nhi nods. “But the me with you isn’t a hopeless cause. I don’t want her to be, anyway.”

There’s a lot that goes unsaid, but she’s certain Vinny hears it. Logically, she can’t keep relying on whatever instinct says, He’ll understand because he’s Vinny, but up to this point, it should work out okay.

Gently, he says, “Y Nhi,” reacquainting himself with the syllables of her given name. “Y Nhi.”

“Yes, Vinny?” She says just as gently.

He lowers his voice to a husky whisper, “You’ve never been a hopeless cause. You were a cause for hope.”

-

Vinny’s request is this: that Y Nhi teach him to be soft again.

The request makes her question if she and Vinny exist in the same dimension because who the hell convinced him he wasn’t soft? Hardened, prickly souls don’t master winged eyeliner for the sake of their loved ones. They don’t volunteer extra hours at Vacation Bible School while working graveyard shifts at the hospital. Don’t do the dishes because as much as they hate them, their roommate hates them more.

Vinny is soft, and Y Nhi is out for blood. “I need names, Vincent. And addresses if you have them.”

“My ex,” he says.

An awkward sound emerges from Y Nhi’s throat.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What? I dated around. Didn’t think I should be hung up on you, but nothing ever went as planned. Anyway, my one ex did a really good job making me become someone I wasn’t. I didn’t like the person she made me, but it was kind of too late to turn around.”

Again, Y Nhi is confused. The narrative is promising, though, so she lets him continue in hopes that it’ll clear something up.

“If you don’t know me, how would you describe me?”

“Vinny.” She doesn’t have an answer, she just doesn’t want to say it. It’s not all good, and they just came back from an awkward fight. Was it a fight?

They’ve slipped back into their normal existence so easily. Nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has.

“Just- The rings and the black and the tattoos. You’d think I drove a motorcycle or something, right?”

“You drive a Lexus. It’s the same in terms of your fuck boy vibes.”

“Y Nhi!”

“BMW would’ve sealed the deal. How many Hennessys do you drink a night, again?”

A pout settles on his face. She likes this version of him. “I see you get my point. I look like a baddie.”

“Yeah. Bad at life.”

“I swear to god.”

“Don’t do that, that’s a sin. Don’t use the lord’s name in vain and all.”

“Anyway. You of all people know I am soft, actually. She didn’t like that. And so I gained a second personality and-”

It’s rude, the way Y Nhi interrupts, but Vinny doesn’t seem to mind at all. “So if you’re always soft, what’s left for me to help you with?”

“You’ll see,” he says. “Actually. No, I’m going to tell you. I get embarrassed about my relationships. So if it ever looks like I’m pushing you away… I’m just really fucking embarrassed, at least for this first stage. Do what you will with that.”

- bonus/epilogue -

They return home for Y Nhi’s mom’s birthday. They’ve always rode home together, since they are neighbors no matter where they are. No one finds it odd that they hold hands more than before, that Y Nhi is still averse to touching everyone but him.

They appear at social events hanging on each other’s arms. Commentary about their status as a “married couple” breeze over their heads, but they never confirm nor deny anything. In public, they remain aloof to each other. They show tenderness in only the smallest of gestures.

In private, they are as they ever were. Vinny still does her eyeliner on her bad days, but now she cuddles him on the couch on his bad days. Between the two of them, there are a lot of bad days, days when they almost threw in the towel.

But they didn’t. Instead, they’ve introduced all manner of pet names (Vinny’s favorites to use are love, darling, and lately, em. Y Nhi’s favorites are Vinny and anh). They write songs to each other, for each other, with each other. Every morning, they make the choice to keep loving each other the way they have since they were fifteen - and while they joke that they wasted so much time, it was a necessary time for them to spend apart to learn how to exist together and how to choose each other even when it’s the harder choice than letting go.

Even I get lonely too

It’s not hard

Every question’s got an answer

And mine is you

Where you go then I will follow

All my life

You’re the name that I will whisper to the night

[hoochy-coo]

I don't want to speak with her but sometimes I feel even WS anon is tired of talking about holivia.

Kinda yeah. I mean to me they're not doing anything that makes me double think they're mostly pr. And I don't think I need to do a whole analysis in their every move cause again, nothing they're doing is making me double think. It certainly makes them tiring to talk about if we talk about it everyday for every expected thing they do. Everyone's allowed their opinion though so even if you believe different than I do it's ok, I just don't feel like debating about it. I guess while I did follow a Harry blog, I didn't expect just how overly invested his fans are in proving/disproving this relationship, even going so far to be threatening about it. I guess it's why I enjoy bennifer or zoe/channing more. Not only are they serving but even if a lot of people think they're pr I don't see this level of harassment or analysis of if it's real or not with their every move. I personally don't care if a relationship is pr or not, I just either enjoy them or clown them, that's all.

WS anon which ones are your favorite artists? Does being in the industry kind of make you dislike certain artists that maybe otherwise you would’ve liked their songs?

Also no need to name names (but if you don’t I don’t mind lol) but ever happened of an artist that you liked at first but then when you met them you decided you didn’t like them to the point you don’t want to listen to their songs anymore?

I can't say I've ever had a turnaround like that cause I have low expectations of celebs anyway.

I say I definitely enjoy Kanye, Kendrick, Taylor, St. Vincent, Rina Sawayama, the Weeknd, Lana, Jay Z, Kid Cudi, Beyonce, Ariana, Rihanna, Grimes, Frank Ocean, Tyler the Creator, Carly, Bruno, Janelle, FKA Twigs

I'm just listing more contemporary artist

No! I only know that we share a mutual and that she’s followed this blog for a while now, and that’s it. I’d like to think we’d be friends and get to chat in private one day when all this H/O drama blow over though.

I would love to! But I'm still so shy initiating a convo online. Usually I start dming people when I feel like asking something a bit more personal.

Is it ok if I ask if WS anon is white? I think it's safe to say she's American at least

I guess I'm white passing but I'm actually half Arab.

- Worcestershire Sauce Anon

!!!

I’m sure we’ll get to speak privately one day ❤️

Ooh, have you met any of those artists you listed? And if you have, wha was your experience with them? X

[snowonthebeachmp3]

July 2016

Jul 3rd - Taylor's 4th of July festivities kick off at her Rhode Island house. Guests include Tom Hiddleston, Abigail Anderson, Matt Lucier, Claire Winter, Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively, Karlie Kloss, Josh Kushner, Austin Swift, Ruby Rose, Harley Gusman, Halston Sage, Gigi Hadid, Cara Delevingne, Britany Maack, Ben LaManna, Martha Hunt, Jason McDonald, Uzo Aduba, Chioma Aduba, Jordan Masterson, Kesha, St Vincent, Ed Sheeran, Cherry Seaborn, Rachel Platten, Kennedy Rayé and the Haim sisters. (x) (x) (x) (x)

This is the day Tom wears the infamous 'I <3 TS' tank top while they're all at the beach. (x)

Jul 4th - The online mockery for the 'I <3 TS' shirt is quick to pour in. Daily Mail commenters are yet to shut up about it in 2021.

The party continues with a giant inflatable waterslide, body painting, karaoke, charades and fireworks. (x) And also Kesha and Haim getting tricked by Cara, Uzo and Ruby into thinking they heard scary noises in the night, and trying to call the police but not knowing their own location. (x) (x)

Jul 5th - The day after the party, when all the guests post their photos online.

Britany posts a photo of her & Ben, Blake & Ryan, and Taylor & Tom. (x) The internet has a field day with Ryan's unimpressed facial expression. (x) (Ryan later says that it's just his resting bitch face as he wasn't aware a photo was being taken. (x))

Taylor posts several photos to Instagram of her celebrating the 4th July with friends, but doesn't post any pictures with Tom. (x)

Claire Winter posts a bunch of Polaroids, including one of Taylor and Tom kissing. (x)

Abigail posts a photo to Instagram showing the banners Taylor put up to celebrate her engagement to Matt and the anniversaries of Cara & St Vincent (real name Annie Clark) and Ed & Cherry. (x)

Jul 6th - Taylor and Tom fly out of Rhode Island (x) and arrive at LAX that evening. (x) They then get on a plane to Australia.

Joe attends the Warner Music Group summer party in London. (x)

Rumours are swirling that Tom is no longer in consideration to be the next Bond, due to his relationship with Taylor. (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Jul 8th - Taylor and Tom are flying on a commercial Quantas flight so someone is able to take a pic of them on the plane. (x)

According to another passenger on the plane, Taylor plays Scrabble during the flight (presumably on her phone because nobody takes big physical board games on commercial flights and the creepshot of Hiddleswift on the plane suggests she wouldn't have had anywhere to put the board anyway). In hindsight, knowing how Taylor and Joe play lots of Scrabble together including online Scrabble aka Words With Friends, and how they stayed in touch largely via texting that summer, it’s very possible she was playing against Joe.

Taylor and Tom arrive in Sydney, where Tom is about to start filming for Thor: Ragnarok. (x) Aussie media, including daytime TV, goes nuts over Hiddleswift's arrival in the country. (x)

Flying from LA to Australia involves crossing the international dateline, so they would have left the US on the 6th July local time and arrived in Sydney approx 15 hours later on the 8th July local time.

Calvin's new song Olé, written for John Newman, is released. There is speculation that it's a Hiddleswift song, written from Tom's perspective and containing lyrics implying that Taylor cheated on Calvin with Tom. However, sources also told multiple outlets that the song was written and recorded months earlier, and its supposed links to Hiddleswift were just for publicity. (x) (x)

Jul 9th - Tom goes out for a run (x) and avoids answering questions about Taylor. (x)

Jul 10th - Taylor and Tom go out for dinner to Gemelli Italian restaurant in Broadbeach on Australia's Gold Coast. (x)

Jul 11th - Taylor is named as the highest earning celebrity on the 2016 Forbes Celebrity 100 list, with earnings of $170m mostly due to the 1989 World Tour. If she and Calvin had not split up, they would have been the top-earning celebrity couple. (x)

Jul 12th - Taylor visits Lady Cilento Children’s Hospital in South Brisbane. (x)

Jul 13th - Us Weekly makes a wild claim that Tom is planning to propose soon, and Taylor is going to say yes. The magazine cover also claims they're already talking about babies. (x)

TMZ claims that Taylor wrote TIWYCF, and that Calvin disrespecting Taylor following its release was the reason for their breakup. (x)

Taylor Swift really is the creative brains behind Calvin Harris' monster hit "This is What You Came For," and their relationship fell apart because he disrespected her when the song was released ... this according to sources connected with Taylor.

It's a fascinating story. We've learned an early fan rumor about the song is true, but to a deeper extent than anyone suspected. During their relationship, Taylor wrote the song, sat down at a piano and did a demo into her iPhone. She sent it to Calvin, who loved it. They both went into a studio and did a full demo with Taylor on vocals and Calvin doing the beat.

They both knew the song would be a hit, but Taylor wrote it for Calvin and both agreed it was a bad idea to let the world know they collaborated as a couple ... it would overshadow the song.

So Taylor, who kept the publishing rights, used the pseudonym Nils Sjoberg on the credits.

//

The problem in the relationship came the day the song was released. Calvin appeared on Ryan Seacrest's radio show and Ryan asked, "Will you do a collaboration with your girlfriend?" Calvin responded, "You know we haven't even spoken about it. I can't see it happening though."

We're told Taylor was hurt and felt Calvin took it too far.

It was a quick downward spiral from that point. One source called it "the breaking point in the relationship." The Met Gala was several days later, when Taylor danced with Tom Hiddleston.

Tree confirms to People magazine that Taylor did write TIWYCF under the pseudonym Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Calvin also confirms that Taylor wrote TIWYCF and goes on a Twitter rant:

Katy Perry tweets a gif of Hillary Clinton with a smug/'told you so' expression. (x) She also retweets an older tweet from May 2015 which reads, 'Time, the ultimate truth teller.' (x)

#TaylorSwiftIsOverParty trends on Twitter (x) (x) and Taylor's Instagram comments are spammed with the snake emoji. (x)

Following Calvin's tweets, TMZ publishes another article claiming he is downplaying Taylor's involvement in the song as she wrote the melody in addition to the lyrics. (x)

Jul 14th - Taylor goes out shopping in Gold Coast. (x)

Tom mentions Taylor in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter: (x)

You're in the middle of a cultural frenzy right now because you're dating Taylor Swift. How would you respond to people who claim that you're involved in some sort of publicity stunt?

(Laughs.) Well, um. How best to put this? That notion is — look, the truth is that Taylor Swift and I are together, and we're very happy. Thanks for asking. That's the truth. It's not a publicity stunt.

Martha says at a Pepsi/World Emoji Day event that Taylor and Tom are 'both happy and free together. It's amazing, I'm all about people being happy in love.' (x)

Kim talks about Taylor and the Famous controversy in a clip from an upcoming episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. (x)

“I never talk shit about anyone publicly, especially in interviews. But I was just like I had so had it,” Kim says in the clip to her sister Kourtney. “I wanted to defend him in it. She legitimately quote says, ‘As soon as I get on that Grammy red carpet I’m gonna tell all the press. Like I was in on it.’”

“And then she just didn’t like the reaction?” Kourtney says in response.

“Yeah, and you know just another way to play the victim,” Kim replies. She then brings the infamous VMAs moment from 2009 by saying, “It definitely got her a lot of attention the first time… I just don’t think he should be punished for it still to this day.”

Jul 17th - Kim posts an edited recording of Kanye and Taylor's phone call. In it, they discuss the 'I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex' line and Taylor says, 'Go with whatever line you think is better. It’s obviously very tongue in cheek either way. And I really appreciate you telling me about it. That’s really nice.' However, nowhere in the Snapchat video does Kanye consult her about the line, 'I made that bitch famous,' which is the line Taylor insisted she had never approved. (x) The other Kardashian sisters retweet and support Kim. (x)

(The full recording of the call, leaked in 2020, confirms that Kanye never told Taylor he was going to call her a bitch. It also shows her reminding him that she sold 7 million albums before he had even heard of her, in response to him suggesting the lyric, 'I made her famous.')

Kim takes to Twitter to call Taylor a snake.

Taylor posts a statement on Instagram responding to Kim's Snapchat video. (x)

Selena tweets, 'There are more important things to talk about… Why can’t people use their voice for something that fucking matters? This industry is so disappointing yet the most influential smh' (x)

Katy Perry tweets, '#RISE above it all' and links to her new single. People interpret it as a dig at Taylor. (x)

Martha Hunt tweets, 'It's pathetic how quick our culture is to sensationalize a fabricated story...' (x)

Jul 18th - #KimExposedTaylorParty spends the day trending at number one worldwide on Twitter. (x) To the point where 0.8% of all tweets posted in the entire week from the 18th-24th use the hashtag. (x) (Assuming that 1/7th of the week's total tweets were posted on each day, that means more than 1 in every 20 tweets on the 18th used the hashtag.) #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty also returns.

TMZ claims to have a copy of a letter from Taylor's lawyer, dating back to February, demanding that Kanye destroy the recording of their phone conversation and reminding him that it is a felony to secretly record a phone conversation in California. (x)

Taylor changes the name on her writing credits for TIWYCF on the BMI songwriters database. She is now listed as Taylor Swift instead of Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Camilla Belle, the subject of Taylor's 2010 song Better Than Revenge, posts a quote to Instagram which reads, 'No need for revenge. Just sit back & wait. Those who hurt you will eventually screw up themselves & if you’re lucky, God will let you watch.' (x)

Abigail tweets against Kim and Kanye, saying, 'May God forgive you & your wife for doing to others the very things you pray are NEVER done to your daughter.' She deletes the tweets after receiving death threats but leaves a tweet which reads, 'Guys…I will always stand by my best friend. There's no point in fighting over that.' (x)

Joseph Kahn (director of many of Taylor's music videos) defends Taylor on Twitter. (x)

The aunt of Dinah Jane from Fifth Harmony tweets, 'I always knew @/taylorswift13 was a SNAKE! Trying 2 break up my girls & use @/camilacabello97 as her protégé bitch bye you’ve been exposed!’ (x) The tweet is soon deleted and she claims her account was hacked. (x) (Camila quit the band at the end of 2016 and has since said that Taylor had nothing to do with her decision to leave.) (x)

Paula Erickson, Taylor’s former publicist from 2007 until 2014, likes a two-and-a-half-week-old tweet dragging Hiddleswift for being a badly executed bit of PR by Taylor and Tree. (x)

James Corden spoofs the recorded phone call on the Late Late Show. (x)

Calvin is rumoured to be dating Tinashe. (x)

Jul 20th - Todrick Hall defends Taylor, saying, 'She's one of the most genuine people I've ever met in my entire life.' (x)

Uzo Aduba says Taylor is 'a beautiful person and strong' and that she will overcome the Kimye drama. (x)

Paula likes another tweet shading Taylor and Tree. (x)

A graffiti artist creates a mural in Melbourne 'in loving memory of Taylor Swift' (misspelled as Smith). According to the artist, they are then contacted by Taylor's lawyers and threatened with legal action. (x)

Jul 21st - Taylor's Wikipedia page is vandalised with insults. (x)

Taylor and Tom fly back from Australia into a private airport in LA, and are seen out and about. (x) (x)

Jul 22nd - Fergie, who had Kim appear in her M.I.L.F. $ music video, says she thinks the Kimye-Taylor feud was planned and 'they’ll probably all come together at the MTV Awards or something.' (x)

Taylor goes to the gym in LA. It is the first time she has appeared in public since Kim posted the edited video, and her phone screen is now shattered. (x)

She also returns to Instagram to wish Selena a happy birthday. (x)

Jul 23rd - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Tom is at Comic Con in San Diego. (x)

Calvin lip-syncs to Kanye's song That Part in a video posted on his Snapchat. (x) He also attends J-Lo's birthday party and is photographed with Kim. Apparently they have a friendly chat. (x) A source claims to E!, 'When Kim walked in Calvin saw her and stood up. He was clearly excited to see her and said 'hi' to Kim backstage.' (x)

Jul 24th - Taylor blocks the snake emoji from her Instagram comments section using a new Instagram feature. (x)

Tom is seen at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills with members of Taylor's security team. (x)

Jul 26th - Tom flies back to LA from NYC, where he has just spent a couple of days. On the same day, Taylor's plane arrives back in LA from Nashville, where she has spent a couple of days. (x)

VMA nominations are announced. Taylor is not nominated in any category, despite Out Of The Woods and Wildest Dreams being eligible, leading some people to think she has been snubbed. Gossip Cop, an outlet widely used by celebrity publicists to quietly squash rumours, says that Taylor did not submit any videos for consideration this year. (x)

Jul 27th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

John Newman, singer of Calvin's song Olé, jokes, 'Supposedly we had a holiday where he was movin’ on from his ex-missus,' referring to the trip to Mexico to film the music video, which involved girls and a yacht. He also says he doesn't think it's his place to say what inspired Calvin to write the song. (x)

Taylor and Tom go for dinner at Hillstone restaurant in Santa Monica. One source claims they 'seemed to really be enjoying each others’ company.' (x) It is the last time they are papped together.

Kanye makes a surprise appearance at Drake's concert in Chicago where he responds to Kim's Snapchat video for the first time, saying, 'All I gotta say is, I am so glad my wife has Snapchat. Because now y’all can know the truth. And can’t nobody talk shit about ‘Ye no more.' (x)

Cara appears on James Corden's show and talks about how she, Uzo and Ruby pranked Kesha and Haim at Taylor's 4th of July party. She mentions consulting Taylor and Tom first so that security knew what they were up to. She also says that Taylor and Tom got woken up at one point by all the noise they were making, and came upstairs together to find Cara and Uzo still making ghost noises. (x)

Jul 28th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Jul 29th - Sources close to Calvin deny rumours that he is planning to collaborate on music with Kanye. (x)

Abigail likes E! News' Instagram photo of Tom and Taylor going out for dinner on the 27th, which has a gushing caption about them. (x)

Jul 31st - Taylor is seen entering her gym in LA through the back door. (x)

A fan sees Tom and Taylor at The Church Key restaurant in LA. (x) The outing is not papped.

Intro // February // March // April // May // June // July // August // September // October // November

[newmusickarl]

Album & EP Recommendations

My word, the music world has well and truly spoiled us this week!

The past seven days has seen a colossal avalanche of new releases, so much so I’ve barely had chance to keep up with it all. Although this is not the full list of everything from the past seven days, here are the 16 (yes, 16!) new releases I’ve enjoyed the most this week.

As there is so much to get through the rundowns are (mostly) a bit shorter than normal and there is no single Album of the Week, instead I simply recommend checking out whichever album or track sounds most appealing depending on your preferred taste.

So without further ado then, here’s what’s good:

Californian Soil by London Grammar

It’s been four years since the release of London Grammar’s last record Truth Is A Beautiful Thing - an album that I enjoyed, but I’ll admit also left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed coming off the back of their incredible breakout debut, If You Wait. As it turns out, the band themselves were also having a tough time around that period, with front woman Hannah Reid in particular battling relentless industry sexism, as well as the persistent physical pain caused by her fibromyalgia condition. With this being the case, it is amazing that the young indie-pop trio have made it to their third album at all, let alone delivering what is their best work to date.

Opening on a grand, string-drenched Intro, the record soon morphs into the sun-soaked guitars and soaring orchestration of the album’s glorious title track. It marks an early highlight as Reid catches the audience up with the tribulations of the last few years – “I left my soul on Californian soil.” From there the album doesn’t really let up as the band move through a series of career-defining tracks – the gorgeous contemporary groove of Missing, the dance-influenced How Does It Feel, the chilled-out ambience of the dreamy Baby, It’s You and the sublime, stripped-back closer America.

However, the album’s strongest moment comes when Reid confronts music industry sexism head on with defiant anthem Lord It’s A Feeling. Beginning with some twinkly xylophone, before evolving into an atmospheric synth-laced backdrop where Reid pulls no punches:

“I saw the way you made her feel, like she should be somebody else,

I know you think the stars align for you and not for her as well,

I undеrstand, I can admit that I have felt those things mysеlf”

The cutting lyrics against some blinding quiet rave instrumentation leaves quite the impression, as does this sterling record in general. After a slight misstep, London Grammar have well and truly rediscovered themselves and they have honestly never sounded better – a truly incredible album.

If You Could Have It All Again by Low Island

Oxford electo-pop outfit Low Island are another band that have defied expectations to get to this point. This, their debut album, was not recorded in a professional music studio – in fact, the vocals were recorded in a bedroom cupboard of all places. The band themselves don’t even have a manager or a record label. In every sense of the word, they are a truly independent band. For a self-financed, self-produced effort, If You Could Have It All Again is a quite remarkable first outing.

From melodic, uplifting opener Hey Man, the record quickly jumps into spoken word electro punk banger What Do You Stand For, featuring acid-drenched synths and a dancefloor-ready groove. Fans of FIFA 21 will recall Don’t Let the Light In, with the glitchy pulse of recent single Who’s Having the Greatest Time also standing out. That said, it’s the smooth, infectious sway of I Do It For You that still pulls me in the most.

Having followed the band since their early EPs, I’ve been rooting for Low Island for a while now and this is one debut album I was highly anticipating this year. Safe to say, my expectations have been met – this is a fantastic, accomplished record, which leaves me eager to see where they go next.

The Greatest Mistake Of My Life by Holding Absence

There was a time when the difficult second album used to be a thing, but listening to the sophomore effort from Welsh rock band Holding Absence this week, I’m really not sure that exists anymore. After a dramatic and impressive self-titled debut two years ago, the band have wasted little time taking things up a notch, with this new album cinematic and masterfully produced from beginning to end.

From standout singalong anthems like Afterlife and In Circles, to the album’s epic seven-minute penultimate track Mourning Song, The Greatest Mistake of My Life shows a band pushing themselves and driving forward with ambition at every opportunity. In a year packed with outstanding rock and metal albums already, this is most definitely another one you can add onto that list. Soaring, impressive and demanding of repeat listens.

We Forgot We Were Dreaming by Saint Raymond

It’s been six long years since Nottingham-born singer-songwriter Callum Burrows, AKA Saint Raymond, released his debut album. However it seems the time away has been well spent as this long-awaited follow-up finds Burrows in fine form, with this album packed to the brim with catchy, glossily produced indie-pop anthems.

From the brilliant title track that opens the record, to the bouncy riffs of Right Way Round, Talk and Solid Gold, to more subdued and heartfelt moments like Only You, this album will have you smiling, singing your heart out and dancing your troubles away.

Flu Game by AJ Tracey

AJ Tracey may have only been three years old when Michael Jordan was winning NBA championships with the Chicago Bulls, but that hasn’t stopped him making a record influenced by the legendary icon and his famous 1997 Flu Game. Like many others including myself, grime superstar AJ Tracey spent lockdown watching the brilliant The Last Dance documentary, and this record weirdly works as a fantastic unofficial companion, but also just a great summer rap record.

McCartney III Imagined by Paul McCartney

Even if like me you completely missed Sir Paul McCartney’s 2020 album McCartney III, it’s well worth checking out this reimagining, where he has called on the help of some of his famous musician pals. This is a real who’s who line up of guest features including Beck, Khurangbin, St. Vincent, Blood Orange, Phoebe Bridgers, Damon Albarn, Josh Homme, Anderson .Paak and more, making for quite a fascinating mix of sounds and styles.

Moratorium (Broadcasts from The Interruption) by Enter Shikari

And finally on the albums front this week, genre-benders Enter Shikari have released a brilliant compilation of all their lockdown live performances, headlined by an incredible string-tinged acoustic version of The Dreamer’s Hotel and a beautifully stripped-back “At Home” rendition of Live Outside.

Tracks of the Week

Introvert by Little Simz

Wow, wow and wow again. Still fairly fresh off the back of her masterful, Mercury Prize nominated third album Grey Area, this week British rapper Little Simz released the first taste of her next record in the form of this epic and triumphant opening track. At six minutes in length, this majestic and operatic political anthem aims to grab the listener by the collar and shake them awake. Without a doubt, one of the best songs of the year so far, the powerful video for which you can view above.

Smile by Wolf Alice

The second taste of their forthcoming album Blue Weekend, Smile continues Wolf Alice’s pattern for alternating Loud/Soft releases, with this one featuring buzzy guitars, punky vocals and a hypnotic chorus melody.

Beautiful Beaches by James

Although written off the back of the California wildfires that impacted front man Tim Booth’s local community, the lyrics on the band’s latest anthem purposefully offer a dual meaning, giving hope to those dreaming of a post-lockdown getaway and fresh start.

He Said She Said by CHVRCHES

The Scottish trio made their much-anticipated return this week, with Lauren Mayberry also sharing her experiences of sexism on this arena-ready synth-pop banger.

Matty Healy by Georgia Twinn

Georgia Twinn delivers an infectiously catchy break-up anthem, inspired by an ex-boyfriend, who’s most interesting feature was supposedly looking like the 1975 frontman.

Kill It by Vukovi

Underground Scottish rock outfit Vukovi’s new single is so good, they even managed to get KILL IT trending over the weekend of its release. Masterfully produced with big bold riffs and trancey synths, this one just sounds huge.

Can’t Carry On by Gruff Rhys

The latest solo single from the former Super Furry Animals frontman is a stunning, super-melodic tune with an instant chorus you’ll be singing before the track has even finished its first play.

Ceremony by Deftones

One of the highlights off their last album Ohms, the nu-metal rockers have now delivered a cinematic new video directed by horror legend Leigh Whannell. Check it out!

Chasing Birds by Foo Fighters

And finally this week, Dave Grohl and company released a trippy new animated video for this Medicine At Midnight cut to help celebrate 420 in their own unique way. Again, well worth a watch!

[lovejustforaday]

Cocteau Twins Ranked - Introduction, Garlands, Milk & Kisses, and Four-Calendar Café

How do you even begin to describe a talent such as these guys?

Cocteau Twins were a Scottish band who came out of the U.K. alternative scene in the early 1980s.

Beginning as progeny of the original goth rock movement and being clear fans of bands like Joy Division and Siouxsie and the Banshees, Cocteau Twins would later go on to become a band that was arguably as equally important to the future of alternative music as the entire rock movement that had originally spawned them.

Cocteau Twins were the architects of the ethereal wave sound, a more soothing and mesmerizing niche of darkwave music enhanced by the usage of pedals and studio effects. The band was also one of several, and arguably the very most important pioneers of dream pop, the dreamy, reverb-drenched approach to melodic rock music that remains one indie rock’s most enduring and popular subgenres.

But beyond the band’s two main genres, Cocteau Twins’ influence and importance can be felt in a multitude of scenes. You essentially can’t have a full conversation about the history of shoegaze, post-punk, or goth rock without mentioning this band at some point.

Other bands and artists like My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Beach House, Grimes, Lush, Curve, Hatchie, Catherine Wheel, Garbage, and even their contemporaries The Cure are all at least partially indebted to Cocteau Twins for their gorgeous and sometimes eerie soundscapes that forever changed the worlds of indie and alternative music.

The famous band was comprised of a trio of eccentric artists who found each other in the aforementioned goth scene.

There’s Elizabeth Fraser, possessor of simply one of the most immaculate voices in all of music ever. Her angelic, buoyant, and fluttering soprano vocals are unlike anything recorded before or since. This is combined with her phonoaesthetic approach to lyrics, most often characterized by vocables and abstract, whimsical wordplay instead of conventional poetry or sentences. Fraser is easily one of the most unmistakable, non-traditional, and unlikely rock vocalists to ever exist. She is both a true original and, to say without any pretentiousness, an acquired taste.

Then there’s Robin Guthrie, the lead guitarist of the band, as well as the lead producer and drum machine programmer (Cocteau Twins did not have a proper rock drummer). While not an incredibly technically skilled guitarist compared to the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Prince, St. Vincent, or Lee Renaldo and Thurston Moore, his creativity with the textures of his instrument puts him in a league of his own. He could create sounds with his guitar for any sonic colour, employing the use of effects pedals which helped him to create his distinctly hazy, viscous guitar style. His masterwork with pedals effectively spawned the original shoegaze movement in the United Kingdom.

Finally, there’s Simon Raymonde, the rhythm guitarist, bassist, and sometimes keyboardist of the band. Raymonde joined the other two members after their first bassist Will Heggie left, having met the band through the legendary 4AD label whom Cocteau Twins helped gain notoriety for in the 80s. Raymonde is the often forgotten member of the band - he was the third wheel when Guthrie and Fraser were dating (a messy relationship that eventually split the band), and he isn’t as widely regarded for fascinating qualities such as Fraser’s voice or Guthrie’s production style. Nevertheless, he was an equal contributor to the band’s songwriting, and an essential component to complement Guthrie’s guitar work. Raymonde was also the best ambassador for a band who infamously hated doing interviews.

But I digress. Today, I have chosen to take on the task of figuring out bro WHAT THE FUCK are Cocteau Twins saying? ranking the Cocteau Twin’s eight full-length studio albums of original material (EPs, compilations, and collaboration The Moon and the Melodies excluded). I have one or two hot takes about this band that’ll hopefully help make this list a little more interesting.

Also, you can probably guess just by going off the name of this music blog that shoegaze and dream pop are my favourite subgenres of music, so naturally I’ve been really wanting to write a full series about these guys for a while now.

So without further ado, here’s my definitive ranking (in ascending order) of the Cocteau Twins LPs:

8. Four-Calendar Café (1993)

Main Genres: Dream Pop

A decent sampling of: Jangle Pop, Shoegaze

My BIGGEST bone to pick with this LP is for how it completely breaks the consistency of having surreal, misty artworks used as cover art, which was otherwise a defining feature of the Cocteau Twins discography. Even their last record, which came after this one, has a similar aesthetic to their previous LPs. I mean, I like “I Spy” books as much as the next kid born in the 90s, but it just feels sooooo completely out of place in a collection of the band’s records.

Okay, but in all seriousness, this one basically just so happened to be the weakest of the bunch. Four-Calendar Café is a good record. It’s not some massive failure of the band’s career, nor is it even that far behind the next two records on this list. But there had to be a last place, and this made the most sense because it’s the record that I find myself revisiting the very least.

Four-Calendar Café feels somewhat like a logical progression for the band after Heaven or Las Vegas, which had been their most accessible and poppiest album up to that point. But while that album had retained a lot of the band’s whimsy, this album was more in the vein of more laidback 90s dream pop bands like Mazzy Star; a lovely sound in its own right, but not exactly a sound that the Cocteaus really excel at.

The production here is very tame and safe for Cocteau Twins. Moreover, Elizabeth Fraser begins to sing with more actual ‘proper’ sentence-based lyrics on this record. Essentially, Fraser and Guthrie both minimized on this record the very features that make them so unique as artists.

There are, however, occasional moments on the record where this normalization of the band’s sound is at least somewhat of a welcome change. “Evangeline” is the band’s most straightforward lullaby and it is truly heavenly, if not in their usual esoteric way, and despite the darker undertones of its lyrics. There’s also album closer “Pur”, a lovely finish that gives me the distinct feeling of falling in love again for the first time.

But the record is also not without one of the most prominent “band’s worst album” clichés: internal band conflict. The whole record creation process was mired by the tumultuous breakup of Fraser and Guthrie. You certainly wouldn’t know about the breakup, however, if you were only paying attention to the melodies and instrumentation, which are some of the band’s most easygoing.

Mind you, the topic is subtly present in the lyrics, but only to a mild extent, as if Fraser is unsure whether she wants to let it all out or keep things under wraps for the sake of the record. “Bluebeard” is the only song that puts the subject on full display; ironically, this would be the most easily decipherable lyrics Fraser had ever penned for the band, and it’s also some of her most blunt thoughts ever put to record as she does all but name the person she’s singing about.

It’s unfortunate and sad for the members under any circumstances, but especially unfortunate considering their own musical offspring Slowdive had suffered a similar internal conflict over a breakup that very same year, and that ended up having a decidedly opposite effect on the unrivaled masterpiece of a record that would be created in the process.

Whereas, for the Cocteau Twins, it was the beginning of the end. Guthrie and Frasers’ breakup eventually lead to a permanent split for the band after pumping out one more record three years later, as the former couple found it simply too emotionally taxing to work and tour with each other. Of course, I’m glad they were able to make that decision for their own well-being and move on, rather than forcing themselves to continue in misery. Besides, no band can last forever.

All this culminates in a record that’s...still pretty good actually. Sure, it’s not some entirely vivid supernatural dream world like their other records, but Cocteau Twins can still write some pretty melodies even without the luxury of their more otherworldly attributes. This is more like a Cocteau Twins album for a relaxing autumn evening, tea cup in hand with some nice scented candles. Pleasant, relaxing, and somewhat forgettable.

7/10

Highlights: “Pur”, “Evangeline”

7. Milk & Kisses (1996)

Main Genres: Dream Pop

A decent sampling of: Ethereal Wave, Jangle Pop, Ambient Pop, Shoegaze

Speaking of the band’s split, Cocteau Twins’ eighth and final LP Milk & Kisses takes seventh place on this list by a rather small margin.

This record’s biggest crime is that it somewhat lacks in having its own identity. Milk & Kisses is essentially an amalgamation of the sounds from their previous records; a Cocteau Twins album that is still feeling the effects of the more normalized sound design on Four-Calendar Café, but feels like it wants to be as strange of a record as Treasure or Victorialand.

Elizabeth Fraser’s vocals are mostly back to their more esoteric nature. But on the other hand, most of the arrangements here are similarly mild to the ones on Four-Calendar Café, although slightly more uptempo.

It’s essentially a very middle-of-the-road Cocteau Twins album. What you get out of it largely depends on how equally you enjoyed Four-Calendar Café compared to their other previous records. Besides that, Milk & Kisses’ most defining feature is that it’s probably the warmest sounding of any full-length Cocteau Twins LP (Though Tiny Dynamine would definitely be their most thermal project if you include the EPs).

I’d argue that side B is quite easily the stronger half, where the record starts to emulate the more vibrant sounds of Cocteau Twins during their peak years, particularly the surrealism of their ethereal wave roots.

“Eperdu” is easily the best post-1990 Cocteau Twins track. The song’s basis is a sampled recording of breezy ocean waves, with a nomadic, back-and-forth jangly guitar riff that fades in and out with the flow of its tides. The song has a sort of end-of-chapter resolution, like sending off a sea-faring body as it disappears off into the sunset horizon. Knowing the Cocteau Twins, it’d probably be a dazzling sea serpent with multi-coloured scales. Could have been a pretty great swan song if the band had chosen this to be their closing track.

This is followed by “Treasure Hiding”. Much like “Pur” on the previous album, this is a very quaint and pleasing climax that happens towards the end of the record, satisfying mostly for its magnanimous melody which is made all the more touching by Fraser’s vocals. This song itself would’ve been a fine closing track for the record as well.

But instead, “Seekers Who Are Lovers” is the real closer, which honestly makes sense. This three song trinity comes together to form a sort of last victory lap for Cocteau Twins. Where “Eperdu” felt conclusive and “Treasure Hiding“ more tender and sentimental, there is mystery in “Seekers Who Are Lovers”, with its warbling vocal climbs and descents, leaving the band’s discography on a more fantastical note. This is perhaps the most fitting move for a band that always sounded like they came from somewhere through the looking glass.

All of this is of course speculation in terms of whether the band actually knew at the time of recording that this would be their final release. Either way, I’m wholly content with the finale that we got.

With all of this praise, you might be left wondering how this ended up so low on my personal ranking of the band’s records. Let me explain.

While the last stretch is indeed a varied and satisfying send off for the band, frankly I find the first two thirds of songs on Milk & Kisses to be some of the band’s most unmemorable work, on par with some of the duller moments on Four-Calendar Café. The last 3 tracks could’ve made an excellent EP by themselves. But as part of a larger whole, I find that it’s a bit of a slog to get through the rest the album when the songs that I so strongly prefer over the others are all sandwiched at the end of the LP.

Regardless, I still enjoy this record. In case it isn’t already apparent, I don’t think the Cocteau Twins ever made a bad or even a mediocre record. This is a very solid effort from a band that had already done more than enough for their fans by dropping classic after classic LPs and EPs throughout most of their career. Plus, as I said before, there’s a real treat waiting for the patient listener at the end of Milk & Kisses.

7/10

Highlights: “Eperdu”, “Seekers Who Are Lovers”, “Treasure Hiding”

6. Garlands (1982)

Main Genres: Goth Rock, Post-Punk, Ethereal Wave

A decent sampling of: Minimal Wave, Experimental Rock

Compared to the bold soundscapes of nearly every Cocteau Twins record that would follow, the band’s debut LP Garlands is a much more minimalist undertaking. The atmosphere on this record is a barren and somewhat hostile environment.

Indeed, the album is a far cry from the lavish dream pop that the band would later become known for on records like Blue Bell Knoll and Heaven or Las Vegas. ‘Nightmarish’ is a far more apt description of this record than ‘dreamy’, something I wouldn’t say about any of the band’s other records.

Some tracks, most notably “The Hollow Men” and “Shallow Then Halo”, arguably have more in common with the harsher sound of their traditional darkwave counterparts at the time, than with the ethereal wave sound palette that the band would conjure up more expertly on future records. Still, there are enough otherworldly and glittering moments like “Blind Dumb Deaf” and “Wax And Wane” to declare this being the first ethereal wave record, though Head Over Heels and Treasure are both more accurate introductions to the subgenre.

Fraser’s delivery on Garlands is also much more hoarse than on later releases. But rather than being a setback, I think her delivery is actually quite fitting as a complement to the record’s more hollow sound. The softer side of her extraordinary voice is another aspect of the Cocteau Twin’s sound that would manifest itself more fully on their next few records.

I have to admit that Garlands is the one Cocteau Twins album that I really want to love more than I actually do. On the one hand, the skeletal atmosphere of the record is really eerie and super cool; not unlike Joy Division and other post-punk bands from around the time it was released, but with Fraser’s distinctive vocals, bizarre and twinkly production elements, and a forever haunting reverberated drum machine.

However, it’s also very apparent that the band is still in their infancy as songwriters on this record. A lot of these tracks are examples of well-crafted atmosphere and fascinating experimentation, but their execution as songs is a bit mixed, sometimes quite lacking in terms of engagement and replayability. There’s also a severe lack of variety, which isn’t necessarily a setback, but the particular sound of this record wears a bit thin fairly quickly when there’s not enough songwriting chops to back it up.

Furthermore, I would say that Garlands peaks pretty damn hard with its first two tracks, both demonstrating the promising talent on this record that future Cocteau Twins albums would deliver in spades.

The first of these highlights is the opener “Blood Bitch”, a murky goth rock omen that provides an early example of the band’s capabilities with layering sound in a very surreal and aqueous manner. It’s also an exquisitely dark track of such a menacing caliber that the band would rarely revisit after their first two records.

But frankly, what follows is easily the biggest standout track and the biggest indicator of what was to come. “Wax And Wane” is a hauntingly infectious earworm that stays with you long after the song is over, not only because the chorus is so hysterically catchy, but because it leaves you with a deep feeling of apparitional possession. The record’s minimal production actually works quite nicely for this piece; that piercing, rusty guitar sound deserves to be heard with full intensity in order for the song to have the off-kilter effect that it does.

Sadly, as I previously mentioned, not much else on the album benefits from the production style. “Wax And Wane” has an incredible hook to breathe life into it, but the majority of the record doesn’t leave much of an impression on me beyond the novelty of its ghostly sound design.

Of course, most bands don’t write their best work on their first full-length LP. All things considered, I still do honestly enjoy this one more than their last two records if only for the brilliant atmosphere. Garlands is definitely original in its sound design as a post-punk album, and it shows that Cocteau Twins were already on to something fundamentally different from the rest of their peers from the very beginning.

7/10

Highlights: “Wax And Wane”, “Blood Bitch”

TO BE CONTINUED...

[formeandmyfics]

Jugenea Fan Fiction ‘LOCKED IN’

Because Judy & Gene are having ‘marriage on the rocks’, Sinatra & Bacall decide to do something about it. But, will their plan work out? 

Spring 1956

Gene stood at the end of the Bogart's driveway, next door to his home, as he took one last drag of his cigarette. He could hear the sounds of steel drum and ukulele music echoing from the back yard, along with sounds of his rowdy friends, and many familiar cars lined the Beverly Hills street in front of their houses. Exhaling the smoke into the night sky, he then dropped the cigarette the the ground, and stepped on it before heading up the driveway.

When he walked through the gate, he saw that the Luau was in full swing. With strings of yard bulbs lit up over the party, he could see everyone was dressed in Caribbean attire, with women wearing flowered lei's, as they hung around the tiki bar or the large buffet table.

Gene's eyes scanned the crowd for one particular person, but didn't see her. There were many people, and being so short, sometimes it was hard to find her. It was, however, never hard to hear her, but right now that voice of hers was non-existent over the music and chatter.

"Hey, bud, you made it," Van said walking up next to him in a bright yellow shirt with palm trees all over it.

"Hey, hey," Gene said smiling wide as they gave a hug and pat on the back.

"Here," Van said reaching for one of the sea-shell lei's on the welcome table, "Lazar said entry into his birthday party is that everyone has to wear one."

"That's fine," Gene said as he bent so Van could place it around his neck, "I haven't been laid in a while."

"That's 'cause you were on the other side of the pond for 5 weeks."

Yeah, add three weeks on top of that five, Gene thought a little irritated, as they joined the crowd.

"His birthday was last month. Why are we having it 3 weeks late? Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to be here."

"He was over in Australia, I think. Bogie wanted to throw him a party with all of us."

"Where is Swifty?"

Van motioned, pointing back and forth behind Gene. Gene turned around and saw the familiar 5'2 bald man in glasses in a serious conversation with Moss Hart, another client of Paul's, or 'Swifty' as they called him. 90% of everyone here was, or had been, a client of Swifty's at one time or another, including himself.

"Look at him," Van said, "He's at his Luau and he's still over there discussing work."

"And with Moss, too. They're probably closing some business deal."

"And it's probably regarding your wife," Van teased as Swifty was Judy's current agent and Moss was her last film director.

Gene took the cold beer that Van offered and scanned the crowd again when Lauren walked up in a halter top and grass skirt.

"How ya doin' suga," she said in her best Mae West accent.

"Hi, doll," he chuckled giving her a friendly peck on the lips, "How are you?"

"I'm good. We've missed you."

"Oh, I've missed you all, too. It's good to be home."

"How good," she asked cautiously raising her eyebrow.

"Haven't made it that far yet," he said taking a swig of his beer.

"I'm glad your back. My husband's been taking me on the boat in your absence. He's says I'm not as good of a skipper as you are."

"Oh, being on the boat again sounds amazing. The weather over in England is shit."

"Cloudy?"

"Rainy and cloudy. Imagine spending over a month in that."

"Well, it definitely hasn't been like that here. It's actually been quite warm for this time of the year."

"Good. Maybe I can take a dip in your pool tomorrow if it's warm enough."

"Oh, yeah, anytime."

"Where is your other half, by the way," Gene asked.

"Over there at the Tiki Bar," she said, and in perfect timing the group of men there burst out in a roar of laughter, "They've just started doing the Jack Daniels."

"Oh, it's about to get fun then," Gene laughed.

"You know it. Oh, and your other half is in the house with Junie if you're wondering. I'll be right back."

Gene looked at the back patio door, as if he expected Judy to come walking out at that moment. When she didn't he started walking to go in, but he suddenly heard his best friend's unmistakable, but slightly intoxicated, voice.

"Gene!"

The other men joined in seeing him, as it'd been over a month, and he couldn't help but get pulled into their welcome circle.

Judy sat at the island in the large kitchen as June made them both another Mai Tai and discussed 'You Can't Run Away From It', a movie she was almost done filming at Columbia.

"As much as I love my husband, I gotta tell ya, it's been a little annoying working with him like this, as the producer and director, and then coming home together. I don't know how you did it with Vincente."

"During The Pirate, it was hard. It was really hard. I wasn't in the best shape, mentally, but I think working together like that put a lot of strain on our marriage. That's why I wanted him replaced on Easter Parade. I didn't want it to make our marriage worse, but it didn't matter in the end, anyways. I didn't understand it because I loved working with him on St. Louis and The Clock."

"That's because you two weren't married then. You didn't have to come home together afterwards."

Judy giggled, "That's true."

"Do you think if Gene directed you in something right now, you'd be as annoyed with him as I am with Richie?"

Judy put on a smile. She heard her friend's frustrated tone, and knew it was a hypothetical question, but it hit pretty good.  

"Well, I don't have to work with him to get 'annoyed' at him, but actually, it's the opposite with us. We work so well together, you know? He knows the way I work. He directed me in all the dance choreography for the last two films we shot together, and we weren't married then, but it always brings us closer together when we work. It's been hard going in two different directions, professionally. Working together is all we've known, it's how we met. And even after I left Metro, he was there helping me when I started my concert career and he was there to help me when I went over to Warner Bros for A Star is Born."

"And now you're away doing concert tours and he's making films."

"Yep."

"Or, he's away making films and you're here doing albums."

Judy sighed, resting her cheek in her hand, "Yes, June."

"But you always come back to each other. You're back from that small tour up north and he's finally back from London. Didn't he get back yesterday?"

"Yeah. Yesterday morning. He spent the afternoon with the kids when I was at the recording studio."

"I spoke to Pete on the phone this morning. He said he is subletting his Wilshire Terrace condo to Gene for a little while."

"That's what I've been told," Judy said licking her lips before taking a sip of her fresh cocktail.

"It's convenient, as it's literally right down the road, but...what the hell, Judy?"

Judy nudged her shoulders, "It's his decision."

"I know you, my friend, and I know Gene, which means I also know that you have a lot to do with that decision of his," June said in a motherly voice as she waved a skewer of sliced oranges and grapes at Judy.

Judy huffed and grabbed the skewer before June poked her in the eye, "Give it."

"Have you seen him yet since he got back?"

"Not yet. Frank said he was going to stop over here tonight, though.”

Just then there was a roar from a bunch of men followed by laughing. Junie turned to look out the window behind her.

“What’s going on out there,” Judy asked.

“I don’t know. Looks like the guys are up to something.”

“My gosh, they’re making a lot of noise,” Judy said getting up to follow behind her friend out the door.

They walked to where the group of men stood but first saw Lauren cracking up pointing.

“What is going on,” Judy giggled to Lauren.

Just then the crowd parted and there stood a few of the men in straw hats, bare chested, with coconut bras on. When Judy saw this, she laughed hysterically, grabbing onto Lauren’s hand for support, as the two women almost doubled over.

When Gene saw Judy happily laughing, it made him smile. He hadn’t seen her like that for a while. When their eyes finally met, they were both chuckling, and he took that opportunity to walk up to her. But he did so in a sexy stride and tilted his straw hat on his head, the way she does with her fedora in her Get Happy number.

“What do you think,” he asked smiling proud.

Judy giggled and placed her fingers on her lips as she looked down at the bra covering part of his naked torso, “I think you look ridiculous.”

“Good, just was I was going for.”

“This the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe you’re all wearing those.”

“Touch em,” he said playfully grabbing her wrist but she quickly pulled her hand away laughing.

“Get out of here.”

“Wanna try em’ on,” he said untying the back.

When they were off, she took it from him and examined the petite, wooden cup, “Darling, I’m afraid they’re a bit wee small for my liking.”

“Let me see,” he laughed and took the bra back. He was about too place it up to her chest when she pushed him away, crossing her arms.

Gene laughed and took his big, straw hat off and placed it on top of her head.

“This is not what I was expecting once you got back home, but it’s pretty damn funny,” she said adjusting the hat.

“What were you expecting,” he asked, his tone a little more serious.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she said taking the hat off, “Can you please put your shirt back on, we’re at a party.”

“Yes, dear,” he said in the all-too-familiar husband voice.

After Gene grabbed his shirt that was sitting by the tiki bar and put it back on, he found Judy sitting at a vacant picnic table. He immediately sat next to her, beer in hand.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t home yesterday when you got back.”

“It’s okay. I know you were working.”

“The kids were so happy to be with you again. They couldn’t stop talking about it,” she smiled.

“I gotta tell ya the truth, I got teary eyed. I missed the all so much. I’m glad Liza was there, too.” “You handled all four of them alone, huh,” she asked with a raised eyebrow as she needed help doing it herself.

“Oh, sure, but they were on their best behaviour, just because it was my homecoming I’m sure.”

“Kerry spent the night for a few days.”

“She told me. She said you took her to Capitol Records with you. She thought it was the coolest thing ever, her words.”

“Well, I promised to take her shopping and out to eat, but I had to record a song up at the tower first. She insisted she wanted to go with. I thought she’d be bored.”

“Oh, no. I think it’s thrilling to her. You know how excited she gets whenever she gets to come to the studio or one of your shows.”

“For a few hours, it was just the two of us. I’ve only been able to do that a few times with her since we got married, but now that she’s a teenager, it’s a different kind of bonding. I really enjoyed it.”

“I really appreciate you doing that for her, and treating her like your own ever since we moved in together. I cannot believe it’s been six years already.”

“I know, and I can say the same thing about you and Liza.”

“How’s the album coming along?”

“It’s going really great. I love the playlist.”

“Is there a title yet?”

“Oh, yes, one that I think beats my last title.”

“What can be better than ‘Miss Show Business’,” he asked dramatically.

“Judy.”

“Judy,” he repeated and she nodded with a gleam in her eye, “Well, damn, that does beat it. That’s not original at all.”

She laughed, genuinely, and reached down to scratch the bandage over her ankle. He remembered her telling him about her ankle sprain. They hadn’t spoken much over the phone while he was away. When they had, it was distant and cold and only about the children. The one time they actually spoke like a married couple was when their daughter had told him that Mama broke her ankle. When Gene had gotten Judy on the phone, worried, she told him about the sprain while she was in Frisco. He was happy that she was okay and at least didn’t break it. Judy reminded him that their daughter had an affiliation for over-exaggeration but thanked him for caring.

“How long do you have to keep the bandage on?”

“Two more weeks, just so I don’t sprain it again. It’s just a wrap. I don’t have to walk like a toy soldier or anything.”

“Does it hurt,” he asked taking her ankle gently and lifting it on his lap.

“It’s sore if I’m on it for long periods of time, but doesn’t hurt. It developed a nasty bruise though.”

He undid the bandage and there he saw her a large bruise over half of her foot now fading.

“Shit, Judy.”

“I don’t even know how I did it,” she giggled.

“Probably falling down while you’re sleepwalking,” he said putting the bandage back on.

“I don’t sleepwalk.”

“Whose that walking around the house at 3 a.m., a ghost,” he teased.

“Yeah, the ghost of Dorothy’s past.”

He looked at her as she smiled, looking down as she stretched her bare legs straight. His eyes traveled up them to the tight, and short, high-waisted white shorts she wore. A yellow, mid-drift shirt was tied around her waist, with a matching bandage holding up her hair, and a pink lay of flowers was around her neck. She looked very cute, and more radiant, than she had the last time he saw her. Of course he had watched her GE performance on television like everyone else, and noticed she had lost about 10 pounds, but now in front of him, she looked younger as well.

When her eyes didn’t meet his, he knew that she knew, that he was staring. So, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You look so beautiful.”

Across the way, Lauren nudged Frank with her elbow, to get his attention. When she had it, she motioned for him to look at their two best friends. When he did, it was just in time to see Judy look up at Gene, smiling, flattered by his comment.

“They’re getting along,” Frank said.

“Let’s hope it stays that way. I’m not looking for a repeated performance of what happened last time they were at my place.”

“What happened,” he asked.

“It was a few days before he left for Europe…” she said trailing off.

*

“Judy! Open the door! Judy! I swear, I’ll break it down!” Gene’s yelling caused the dog next door to start barking as Lauren walked around the bushes that separated their yards. “You’ll huff, and you’ll puff, and you’ll blow the house down,” she said, her arms crossed in front of her. “Oh, Jesus,” he slurred. “May I ask what you’re doing?” “She locked me out. She took my god damn keys and now all the doors are locked.” “Why did she take your keys,” she responded calmly. “Because she didn’t want me going out even though I had these plans for the past few weeks,” he smiled with his finger up like he was smarter, “So, I had Frank come pick me up. Ah ha, she couldn’t stop me then.” “She took your keys because you were probably drinking before you left,” Lauren responded matter-of-factly. Gene swatted his hand and shook his head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned back to their front door trying the knob as if it was going to miraculously open again, “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” Lauren slightly jumped and placed her finger on her temple,“Dear, she isn’t home.” “Yes, she is. Her car’s right there.” “She . isn’t . home,” she slowly stated in aggravation. “Then where the hell is she?” Lauren pointed to her own house and Gene rolled his eyes before heading that way.            Judy was singing at the piano, as Kay played, when Gene entered the living room, Lauren on his heels. It was a small group, as Bogie, June & Richie watched. Gene was ready to have words, but seeing Judy singing, he sighed and composed himself.  No one interrupted when Judy Garland was singing, not even her own husband.

When Judy saw Gene, singing loudly through a long note, she nonchalantly lifted her left hand giving him the bird. The room turned to look whom she was flipping off and Gene looked at Lauren who smiled, putting her finger up to her lips to shush him. “Whatever you did, maybe you should apologize,” a man in his late 20’s said with a chuckle, as he walked up to Gene out of nowhere. “Why are you immediately taking her side…‘cause she’s got the tits,” Gene asked as if talking to a friend, but then when he looked, he didn’t recognize the guy. “Yeah,” the man chuckled. “Who are you?” “And if you don’t make up, maybe I’ll end up having the tits, too. Hi, I’m Robert,” the man’s voice was full of sarcasm, clearly joking, and he extended his hand happily to introduce himself but Gene turned red. In his current state, with the current circumstances, Gene took the comment the wrong way and saw red. He suddenly grabbed the guy by the collar with his fists and baked him up to the wall startling everybody. “Don’t fucking talk about my wife,” he shouted. “Oh, Jesus,” Judy said and quickly ran over. Robert put his hands up, “Whoa, I was joking! BACK OFF MAN!” “Gene!” Lauren shouted. Bogie grabbed Gene from behind, calmly, to back him off but Gene just stared at the man, still in a hold. Suddenly Judy was next to them. “Gene, that’s Lauren’s cousin, now BACK OFF,” she hissed. Hearing her voice, suddenly brought him back to reality, and he let go. He looked at the man with complete remorse, helping him smooth his jacket. “I’m sorry.” They watched as Gene walked out of the room, running his hand through his hair. When he passed Richie & Junie, the two looked at one another shocked. “I am so sorry, Robert. Please do forgive my husband. He’s not himself right now,” Judy pleaded. “He’s not usually like that,” Lauren added. “I thought we were joking around. I guess it got misunderstood.” “He’s a walking bottle of whiskey right now, hey, Judes,” Bogie asked a bit amused but she didn’t find it funny. Judy shook her head, looking at Lauren, before she walked the opposite direction that Gene went.

* Lauren handed Frank his fresh beer, “Judy really locked him out of the house that night. He spent the night in our guest room. I had never seen Gene’s temper like that.”

“Yeah,” Frank chimed in, “Even when drinking, he isn’t like that.”

“Judy really wasn’t lying about his temper becoming a problem.” “But from what he told me, Judy’s mood swings are a huge problem as well. With his temper like a short fuse, and her bi-polar moods, that ain't good. Do you know what they've been fighting about?"

"No clue. But Judy did tell me they had a blow out the day before he left. She said it was the worst fight they ever had. I guess they both said things that were pretty hurtful, attacking below the belt, and all. She doesn't know where their marriage stands right now."

“Well, maybe they’ve made up, or will later,” he said wickedly.

Judy turned her head away when Gene had leaned in to kiss her and it really pissed him off. He didn’t say anything, but his face said it all as he slowly leaned back from her.

“Gene, don’t,” she said. She wasn’t playing hard-to-get, she was serious.

Gene exhaled, not wanting to get into an argument, especially here at the party, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have no definite plans.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

Judy didn’t like his tone one bit, “I’m not sure I’ll be in the mood to talk tomorrow.”

Hearing her actress voice, he whispered, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but that thing you sent in the mail, is full of shit. Just know that.”

Without another word, Gene got up and walked away. Judy’s eyes followed him until he sat down in a chair by the pool.

Back across the way, Frank and Lauren looked at each other.

“Well, that didn’t last long,” Lauren said.

“I wish we could do something to help ‘em, you know?”

“What we ought to do is lock them in a room together until they figure things out.”

Frank nodded and took a swig of his beer but suddenly his eyes widened.

“Betty.”

“Hm?”

“I got an idea.”

Debbie Reynolds sat next to Judy, and playfully nudged her shoulder as she did so. Judy acknowledged her friend’s presence with a gentle smile, but that not-so-like-Judy welcome alerted Debbie.

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing for you to worry about, darling.”

“Man problems?”

“If you want to call it that, sure,” she giggled.

“Is it that time of the month for Gene,” Debbie joked.

“Yes, but for both of us, and has been that way for more than just a week, let me tell ya.”

“Oh, it’ll be okay. Every marriage has ups and downs.”

“I know,” Judy said a bit frustrated, “I’ve had my share of downs with my past two marriages, but not with Gene, at least not like this.”

The seriousness in her friend’s voice altered Debbie’s smile and she took Judy’s hand, “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because it’s you two.”

They were quiet a moment before Debbie spoke up again, “Now, I have some exciting news to tell you that might turn that from upside down.”

“You’re pregnant,” Judy said joking.

“How’d you know,” Debbie answered gleefully.

“Wild guess,” Judy giggled back, still joking, but when she saw the look on Debbie’s face, her eyes grew wide, “Are you really?”

“October.”

Judy gasped, with a huge smile, before putting her in for a big hug, “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you. We haven’t announced it to everyone yet, but I’m so thrilled.”

“Oh my goodness, I bet Eddie is excited.”

“Oh, he is. It’s not for another six months, but I think he’s already gone and bought cigars for when the baby’s born.”

Both girls laughed.

“Hey, Judes,” Frank said walking up.

“Yah, honey,” she asked turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“Can you stand up a moment?”

“Why?”

“Can you stand up a moment,” he repeated.

“No. Why?”

“Come on, come on.”

Judy and Debbie gave each other strange looks before Judy stood up, a little self conscious. Frank walked up arms length, and put his hand up so she would place her hand in his, which she did. He kept a hold of it and looked at her, as if observing her outfit.

“What the hell are you - what are you doing,” she asked now trying to get her hand away but he kept a hold of it.

“Mm hm, mm hm,” he said then all of a sudden yanked her to him and picked her up over his shoulder.

Judy gasped and grabbed onto the shirt of his back so she wouldn’t fall, “Frank,” she yelled, “Put me down!”

“No can do, babe,” he said as he started walking down the small hill.

“God dammit, Frank, put me down,” she continued and kicked her legs. Instead of a verbal response, he gave a small slap to her behind. Judy leaned up, angry, and hit his back in response to this. Everyone pointed and laughed as they watched Sinatra carry Judy over his shoulder down towards the pool.

Gene just lit his fresh cigarette, sitting on a poolside lounge, when he heard commotion coming his way. He turned to see Frank walking towards him as his wife angrily wiggled over his shoulder yelling vulgarities.

“What the fu--,” he mumbled as they got close but he was interrupted by Judy.

“Don’t you dare,” she said hitting Frank’s back again as she saw the pool in front of her. When Judy saw them about to pass her husband, he reached her hand out, “Gene!”

Gene immediately put his cigarette in his mouth, so he wouldn’t burn her as she almost violently reached to grab his hands. Laughing, Gene was able to grab her arms hanging off the back of Frank, and pulled. Frank kept a hold and took a few more steps. This alarmed Judy, and she gasped, wrapping her arms around Gene’s neck, his chest now pressed up against Frank’s back.

Gene lifted his chin up to the sky, holding Judy, the cigarette dangling back and forth between his lips as he spoke, “Come on, man, let her go, she’s gonna choke me.”

“And I’ll choke you to death if you let go, Gene,” she warned kicking her legs.

“Ow,” Frank said as she nearly kicked in him the face, “Ok, ok,” he said and loosened his grip.

With that, Judy slid off, and clung onto Gene. Near the edge, Frank then tackled Gene’s side, giving a huge push.

“Oh my God,” Lauren said, but not surprised, when she heard Judy scream before seeing the big splash as the couple landed in the pool. She placed her hand over her eyes, stifling a giggle. Frank hadn’t been kidding.

Judy and Gene walked into the master bedroom soaking wet.

“I can’t fucking believe he did that,” Judy stated furiously.

Gene chuckled, “The little shit.”

“Why are you laughing,” she asked untying the wet bandanna from her hair.

“It’s just water, baby, lighten up,” he said starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Lighten up,” she asked with a shriek and was about to go on when the door opened.

“Hi,” Lauren said smiling, “If you don’t mind, I just have to…” She trailed off as her eyes landed on the bedside table and she walked across the room.

Judy and Gene both just stood there, confused, as they watched her pick up the phone. She fiddled with it before the cord was no longer plugged in.

“Ah ha, there we go,” she said and head back towards the door.

“What the hell are you doing,” Gene asked.

“Why are you taking our phone,” Judy added completely flabbergasted.

When she went out the door, Frank appeared with a tray of veggies in one hand and fruit in the other, obviously from the party.

“Here ya go, something to hold you over til’ morning. You’re good with just water til then, ya?”

“What are you talk--what the hell is going on,” Gene said taking a step towards him, his arms out confused.

Frank smiled, gave him a thumbs up, before shutting the door behind him.

Gene looked at Judy, who was making a strange face, before he walked back to the doors. But, they wouldn’t open. He tried again.

“What the fuck,” he said and tried again.

On the other side, Frank had tied one of the kid’s jump robes around the double door’s handles like a tourniquet. Lauren stood by smiling when she heard Gene and Judy mumbling inside.

“Frank! What the hell are you doing,” Gene yelled.

“Locking you both in.”

“What do you mean,” they both answered at the same time.

“Now, darlings, don’t get mad…” Lauren started.

Judy interrupted as she stomped to the door, “Darling’s going to get mad if you don’t open the god damn door!”

Frank looked at her eyes wide hearing that rare, but intense, yell, “I think she means business.”

Lauren went on, “Now, listen, you two are going to stay in there together, and work on whatever shit you’re going through, no ‘if’ ‘and’s’ or ‘but’s’ about it.”

“We are not going to stay in here, now OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR,” Gene yelled and hit hit fist against the door which made Frank back away startled.

“Stop it,” Judy said pushing Gene away and put on a calm and sweet voice, “You cannot just leave us in here.”

“Sure we can. You have a bathroom, you have snacks, you have water, you have a bed, you have each other, you’ll be fine until morning,” Frank added.

“We’re not joking,” Lauren said walking closer to the door, “We’re not letting you out until you can work out your problems.”

“Great,” Gene said, “We’ll die in here.”

Judy gave him an evil glare before trying the door herself, but of course it didn’t open, “Betty, I love you, I really do, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t know anything about what we’re going through, and quite frankly, it’s none of your business.”

There was silence a moment before a piece of paper was slid under the door. The couple didn’t even have to pick it up to know what it was: Deposition for Divorce. Gene sighed, running his hand through his hair, as he started to pace.

“Found this on the table in the foyer on my way up. Frank and I planned this little charade before I even saw this. I may not know why this exists, but, as your friend who knows you both very well, I do know that it shouldn’t exist.”

“I agree,” Frank said matter-of-factly.

“You’re really going to keep us in here,” Judy asked, trying to avoid Gene’s gaze.

“Just until morning.”

“What about my children?”

“Oh,” Lauren said cheerfully, “I’m taking them over to my house for a sleepover. Won’t that be fun?”

“You’re going to wake them up, to take them over to your place, just to go back to sleep,” Gene added ridiculously

“They’ll be fine.”

“Have fun with that one,” Gene added.

“I have kids of my own, remember. I’m well aware how they work.”

“You guys need anything before we leave,” Frank asked exuberantly.

“How about for you to let us out of here,” Judy called out frustrated.

“Cannot process that request. Anything else?”

“Well, I do know one thing, I’m going shopping for a new best friend after this,” Gene stated.

“Ok, well, if you don’t need anything, have a good night.”

“Tata,” Lauren added.

Gene pressed his ear up to the door and heard the footsteps fade away. He then looked at Judy shocked, “They’re really leaving us in here.”

Judy just gave him a look and walked into the bathroom slamming the door loud behind her, the picture rattling on the wall.

Gene exhaled through his nose, “This will be fun.”

When Judy emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing a black, silk robe that came to her knees, and her face was freshly washed, damp curls framing it.

Gene, who had changed into a pair of dry pants and a t-shirt, was standing on their bedroom’s small veranda looking down at their enormous backyard. As Judy walked over, she could hear the echo of the party still going on next door.

“Might be a bad idea, Gene,” Gene mumbled to himself, “you might break something if you jump.”

“Are you insane,” Judy said ridiculously, “You’ll break your damn neck.” She looked over the side at the vines that covered the back of the house, “What if you, you know, shimmy down the vines?”

Gene was the one to look at her ridiculously now, “This isn’t The Pirate, Manuela,” he emphasized and Judy looked at him insulted as she placed her hands on her hips. He went on, “Besides, even then I was harnessed to a safety wire.”

Judy followed him inside, shutting the veranda doors behind her. He walked over to the large, white mahogany, double doors and placed his hands on his hips.

Judy looked at him warningly as she saw the determined expression on his face,“No.”

“No, what,” he asked, but was preoccupied with turning the door handles gently to see if whatever was locking them in would come loose.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing, it’s a big fat no, buster.”

“What am I thinking?”

She placed her hand on the door in front of his face, leaning on it, “You’re not going to try to break my door down, Gene.”

“Your?”

“Our,” she corrected rolling her eyes, “These are brand new doors that I had specifically made to match the carvings on last ones. That hole you kicked in them was there for a month before I could get it fixed.”

Gene sighed. She knew exactly what he had been planning…kicking the door through enough to unlock it.

“Is it really that horrible to have to be stuck in a room with me for a night that you’re willing to break down the doors?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like to be a prisoner in my own fucking house and I know you don’t like this either, so don’t even try arguing with me.”

“Look, you can’t jump off the damn balcony and I’m not letting you break the door down, we don’t have a phone, so we’re just going to have to make the best of it. Besides, the doors are heavier than the last. You might hurt yourself in the process.”

“Oh, so you still care,” he exaggerated but Judy took offense.

“Don’t be silly.”

Gene walked over to the veggie tray and picked around as she turned on the radio and grabbed a magazine.

“Well, at least they left us food, though I wish Frank woulda left me some bourbon.”

“I bet you do,” she sassed back with her eyebrow raised as she head for the lazy boy chair in the corner.

“What,” he said with a warning tone that told her that he knew exactly what she said but was challenging her to say it again.

“Nothing,” she half sung as she curled her legs up underneath her and opened her magazine.

“Can we at least try to get along,” he said out of frustration, “I mean, you know Judy, I’m back home after being gone over a month and…”

She cut him off sharply, “You wouldn’t even be here right now if they hadn’t locked us in. You’d be down the street at Petey’s apartment.” Gene was silent a moment as he bit into a baby carrot, “Do you have a problem with that?”

She ignored his question, “Why did you decide to stay there?”

“I told you over the phone, Peter was looking for someone…”

“...to sublet the apartment to,” she finished for him, “Yes, I know. But he has lots of friends who could do it. Why did *you* decide to do it?”

“Because I wanted to help him out. Besides, it’s only a couple minutes down the road.”

Judy blinked as she slowly turned a page of her magazine, avoiding his eyes, “Is that the only reason?”

“Well, this has something to do with it, too, but I’m guessing you already knew that,” he said dropping the divorce paper in her lap and walked away.

Judy placed the paper on the table beside her and went back to her magazine. Gene walked back out onto the balcony as he lit a cigarette. He exhaled only once before he spotted Richie and Junie start down the Bogart’s drive way.

“HEY! Powell! Up here!”

“Oh, hey,” Richie waved.

“Junie, come up and help us!”

“Help you what,” Rich called back.

“We’re locked in!” “What do you mean?!”

“Lauren & Frank locked us in!”

For a moment Richie started to walk towards the house but June quickly grabbed his hand. She spoke to him briefly before she smiled and waved pulling her husband with her. Richie put his hand out as if to say sorry and followed his wife down the driveway.

“OH GO TO HELL, POWELL!”

Judy was sitting up straight, obviously alerted to the fact they almost got out of ‘jail’, when Gene walked back inside slamming the door behind him.

“I assume they were told not to help us,” Judy said amused.

“Yeah, nice friends, huh?”

With a new Bing Crosby show starting, Gene laid on the bed to listen and finish his cigarette. For the entirety of the show, the two didn’t talk. Any show of Bing’s was a favorite of theirs and they both chuckled in almost all the same spots. For how uncomfortable their situation was, the atmosphere never felt uncomfortable when they were together, even in silence.

When guest singer Jo Stafford sang one of her most requested songs, ‘You Belong to Me’, Gene lifted his head up to look at Judy.

“Did you sing this song before, I can’t remember.”

“Mm hm, a few years ago, on his show, coincidentally.”

Gene dropped his head back down, “You sing it better.” Judy giggled, “How do you know if you don’t remember me singing it?”

“Because,” he said stretching before sitting up, “you sing everything better.”

“Oo, even ‘Singing in the Rain’, hm?”

“Ok, maybe not everything,” he teased and got up walking into the bathroom.

About fifteen minutes later, he re-merged wiping his now freshly shaved face with a towel. He noticed Judy staring out the patio door, resting her head on her hand, deep in thought.

He switched off the radio, which he knew would tick her off, but he wanted to talk without corny laughter or cheery music in the background. When Judy didn’t even glance his way, he found it a little irritating.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Things,” she mumbled.

“What things?”

Judy sighed and looked up at him impatiently, “Things that are none of your business.”

“None of my business?”

“Gene, my thoughts are my business. Always have been, always will be.”

“Oh, well, considering you’re my wife, that’s my business. And this is half of my bedroom that we’re both stuck in, that’s my business, particularly in a house that I mostly paid for. Anything, and anyone, in my house,” he pointed to himself, “is my business.”

“You sound like a prick right now, stop it,” she said disgusted, and then stood up, “You know what, while you ran off to Europe, I have been here for over a month alone running *your house* and taking care of *your children* while I was also working. Since this is *your house*, maybe I will go stay at Peter’s and you can take a crack at it for a while.”

She stormed past him, but when she got to the doors, and they didn’t open, she yelled in frustration, hitting her palm against the door. In the heat of the moment, she forgot.

“How’s that working out for you, hun,” he said sitting down in the chair she was just in.

“Shut up,” she chuckled placing her hands on her hips, and looking up at the ceiling trying to calm down.

Hearing her laugh made him smile a bit and he continued, “I mean, I would call Peter myself to see if he would be okay with the switch but…” he motioned to the empty spot on the bedside table where their phone used to be, “Bacall.”

Judy knew he was trying to make light of it, but if he wanted to talk, then fine he would get it.

“You knew I wasn’t comfortable with you being away for 5 weeks, but you took the job anyways.”

“Because I loved the script and I am under contract still. I’m not fighting about this again. It’s was a job. I didn’t tell them to film in another country. And you weren’t alone. You have help and I took care of everything before I left. So, don’t play the ‘abandoning’ game with me, Judy.”

“I begged you not to go,” she continued, “A wife shouldn’t have to beg her husband to do anything.”

“Well, the last time I saw you, when you told me to get the hell out of your life, I thought, maybe, you changed your mind,” he said in a very sarcastic undertone.

“It seemed fitting to say after you yelled that maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore,” she said tilting her head at him, reminding him of his words.

Gene stood up in rage and walked over to her, “I only said it because you told me that this, us, wasn’t working out the same anymore.”

“It wasn’t! It isn’t. I meant that we have to change something. I didn’t once say we should not be together anymore. Those were your words,” she yelled, tearing up.

Gene took two strides to the dresser grabbing the piece of paper and held it up to her face, “THEN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!”

Judy pushed it out of her way and walked past him.

“I know exactly what you’re doing, and I want you to admit it,” he said standing in the same place she left him.

“Admit what,” she said, her back to him, her hands resting on her elbows.

“Why you sent me this stupid thing.” Judy didn’t respond, but when he saw her try to flick a tear away, without being too obvious, he clenched his jaw, looking down feeling bad.

His body relaxed and he sat on the end of the bed speaking calmly, “If you won’t be honest about the divorce papers, then at least have the decency to apologize for what you said to me and I’ll do the same. You know what I’m talking about.”

She nodded but still didn’t turn to look at him.

*

“Judy, it’s out of my fucking hands! I’m under contract, or do you not remember what that’s like? The schedule and on-location can be hell, but I love the business, and being in movies, and I’m not changing my mind.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be in movies.”

Her comment hit him so hard, and was so shocking to him, Gene couldn’t help but what came out of his own mouth, “And if it weren’t for me helping you to get into a stage career, and A Star is Born, you’d still be an MGM has-been!”

*

Gene spoke a little emotional, remembering it like it was yesterday, “I’ll start. I’m sorry for what I said to you, sweetheart. It was beneath me.”

Judy let out a sob before she sat back down on the lazy boy chair. Her expression killed him, but so did her comment.

“You really hurt me, Gene. You know you’re the one person I trust with all my insecurities and then you just sweep the rug from under my feet.”

“Honey, I only said it in retort from what you said to me. It was like a god damn punch to the gut. You know how grateful I am to you for…”

“I know,” she cut him off not needing to hear it and lowered her voice calmly repeating, “I know. I’m sorry, truly.”

Gene nodded, hearing the guilt and sincerity in her voice. Gene scooted back on the bed and rest his back against the headboard. Even though they both apologized for the blows, it didn’t change the situation

For, what seemed like an eternity, the two sat in complete silence lost in their own mind. The stress was heavy hanging over them like a dark cloud. After a while, Gene couldn’t stand the stillness any longer.

He got up and walked past Judy, who was hugging her knees to her chest, her face hidden. He thought she looked smaller than usual as he glanced at her before looking out the window. The Bogart’s party had ended and now it was pitch black in the backyard.

“The first movie we saw together was Casablanca.”

Judy lifted her head up and looked at the back of him, curiously, as he had his back to her, with one hand up resting on the wall, the other on his hip.

“It was only like a week after we first got together. Do you remember that,” he asked looking at her over his shoulder and she nodded, a little taken back by his random memory. “We snuck into a night showing at some theater on Hollywood Boulevard and sat in the back row so no one would see us. I held your hand the entire time. I was so enamored by what was happening between us, it didn’t matter that I was thirty-years-old, when I was with you, I felt like a love stuck teenager. And so much so, I even made love to you in my car afterwards. Even though we had already slept together, a few times before that night if I remember correctly,” he joked which made Judy giggle and he went on, “You said to me that you were usually not that easy on a first date.”

Judy’s smile had disappeared by then as she stared at him, as he stared out the window, a slight curve on his lips. She remembered that night fondly and, because of it, the movie had always been one of her favorites. It almost shattered her heart to think about it. Not to mention that the star of the movie lived next door.

“Why are you thinking about that now,” she asked in almost a whisper.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s normal to think about the beginning of something towards the end of it.”

Judy felt her heart flutter, in a bad way, when she realized that she just heard Gene’s confession about where he thought their marriage stood. She hadn’t signed the divorce papers, because she wanted to know how he felt on the situation. If he sent the papers back to her signed, then she knew. But he hadn’t signed them, and that gave her some hope, though she was not going to admit it until he did. But now here he is, thinking of the end of them. This was not a game. It was real.

“I’m getting sleepy,” she said sounding as casual as she could as she got up.

Gene watched as she walked over to the bed, tossing the throw pillows on the ground, before getting under the comforter. He checked his watch before heading into the walk-in closet to change into pajama pants.

When he returned, he walked over to the bed respectfully, “I don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t care if you sleep in the bed, Gene,” she said coldly, “Besides it’s your house, your room, *your* bed, right?”

Without another word she turned off the light. As he got into bed, he noticed she rolled on her left side, away from him, something she never had done in the past, ever. As Gene turned out the light and rolled onto his back, he stared up at the shadows of the palm trees dancing on the ceiling. It was a new, but odd feeling, he suddenly felt. Judy was there with him, but the room felt very empty.

Stop

That was the word that went through her sleepy head, but she didn’t dare say it out loud. It felt too good. Her body was betraying her mind as an aching arousal was building between her legs. It had been so long since they had sex. She wasn’t thinking about anything that had transpired before they went to sleep, and she didn’t even know what time it was, all she was focused on was how her body was feeling.

Still on her side facing away from him, Gene’s left arm was slid under her neck, resting on her breast though her silk robe, his thumb moving against her nipple back and forth slowly through the fabric. His other hand was also moving slowly, up and down her thigh, knowing how much that always turned her on. She couldn’t help the pleasurable whimper escape her mouth as his sucked gently against her neck. And the sound of his lips against her skin, the only sound in the room, just heightened the sensation.

In their dark room, the bed made a slight sound as Gene pressed his body closer to the back of her. She could feel his hard on, which always excited her, but the warmth of his body cascading hers always made Judy feel safe. Feeling safe wasn’t what was going through Gene’s mind. It had been about 6 weeks since they had sex, and even though they were fighting, it didn’t matter. They never failed to get turned on, and God o’mighty, he was horny. And he missed her, he missed the feel of her. And judging by the sound she made, he knew she felt the same. He also knew he wasn’t going to last long. It had been a long time…a long, stressful time.

Gene’s hot breath tickled her ear as he breathed heavily, rolling his hips gently against her as he pulled her closer. The sensation suddenly engulfed her body with pleasurable shivers and she slightly gasped at the feeling of it, her nipples also tingling in the process. She leaned her head back against him and Gene took that opportunity to leave hard, wet kisses along here neck as his hand slid between her thighs, which were pressed tightly together. He had trouble reaching the spot he wanted, and tried to nudge her legs open but she quickly grabbed his wrist stopping. Instead she rolled onto her back and lifted her bum, quickly shimmying out of her undies.

Seeing this, he let out a breathy groan in anticipation and tugged his pajama pants down. Crawling between her open knees, he jerked himself a few times before grabbing her hips. He scooted her towards him and lifted her a bit, the perfect angle, before pressing into her. He gave off a moan as he did so, she was so wet and there was absolutely no resistance. Wish he could say the same for her attitude sometimes, he actually thought, as he reached all the way in. But then her muscles immediately snugged around him, and he forgot about any attitude. As he slid in and out all the way a few times, he really knew he wasn’t going to last long. So he willfully adjusted himself, and her, knowing all-too-well where her spot was and started a rhythm. And she didn’t disappoint. Her sighs quickly turned into mewling cries which each thrust. The arousal he created for her earlier, was now growing, forming into one spot feeling better and stronger each time the head of him pushed up on it.

Her tiny screams, his desperate moans and the sound of his pelvis hitting her skin, getting louder and faster, was so erotic to both their ears.

Gene was so lost in the sensation of being inside of his wife again, he barely heard her whimper that she was coming, until he felt her body tighten, and her moans stop. He slowed down, but hit her with rough strokes when all of a sudden she let out a loud gasp. Gene stopped moving when her orgasm milked him hard, wanting to feel the sensation around him. He almost came then. When her body relaxed, she gave off a little ‘mmm’ and he started moving again. It only took him a few more strokes until he started panting and then gave off a loud groan, his body jerking into hers. It seemed endless as he kept coming into her hot warmth.

When Gene stirred out of sleep, he heard the quiet sound of some commercial playing over the radio and the sounds of birds chirping. Opening his eyes, he noticed the patio door open, the drapes blowing in from the spring breeze, and the sky was blue.

Sighing relaxed, he turned over and noticed the bed was empty, her robe laying where she had slept. He was about to call out for her when he heard the sound of the shower running. Gene threw on a white t-shirt before he grabbed his smokes and walked out onto the veranda. It was a gorgeous morning he thought as he lit the cigarette. Leaning on the banister, he took a drag, when he heard familiar sounds of children. He couldn’t see all the way into the Bogart’s backyard, but he could see a few kiddos running around, and he knew one of the was his baby girl, as a dog also barked obviously playing with them. He smiled a moment, at the peace, and had a sudden urge to kiss Judy and tell her everything would be okay.

After finishing the cigarette, he smashed it out before walking back into their bedroom. As he passed the dresser, he did a double take before stopping. Slowly, he picked up the piece of paper.

Judy wrung her hair out, and was about to turn the shower off, when the door suddenly banged open and the shower curtain was ripped aside.

She jumped, startled, “Jesus, Gene!”

“Get out of there,” he said and motioned for her to come out.

She gave him a funny look before speaking irritated and turned off the water, “I was about to. What the hell’s wrong with you barging in here like that?”

He tossed her a towel, “Come on.”

She secured it around her body and stepped out, “Do you mind?”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her out, though she tried resisting, “It’s cold. What are you doing?”

“I want you to see something.”

He stopped at the dresser and took the paper. Staring her dead in the eyes, he slowly tore the deed, the divorce papers, that now had her fresh signature on them.

Judy looked a little surprised, “Why did you do that?”

“Why did you sign it,” he asked her back.

“Because you made it clear last night that our marriage is over.”

Gene looked at her ridiculously, but also trying to understand her, as he placed his hand on his hip, “By making love to you?”

Judy laughed, “We did not make love,” her voice got almost venomous, “We both just got off, and you know it.”

“What the hell does that matter? I didn’t want to fuck Betsy, even just to get laid, at the end our marriage. Where did I make it clear last night that I want our marriage to be over?”

He placed his hand on her cheek, being very serious, but she quickly moved out of his way afraid of the sudden affection, “You were thinking about when we first got together. You told me it’s because it was the end of us.”

“Judy, it was just my mind getting sentimental because we were sitting there locked in a fucking room together with divorce papers under our nose. Look at me,” he demanded, but with a soft voice.

She looked at him and he stared at her a moment, biting down on his jaw a few times, “I know you’ll have no trouble getting another set of papers drawn up, but I’m telling you right now, I’m not signing. I’m not giving you up that easily. It took me nearly a decade to make you my wife, I’m not giving that up from one fight. And if you think I am, you’re a damn fool.”

“I don’t want this either, Gene, but we obviously aren’t working out the way we used to. Look at us, we’ve been locked in a room together and all we’ve done is argue. If this was before, we would’ve spent the time playing games or dancing or…”

“It’s just a stressful time and stressful situation, Judy, we will get through it.”

“Are you really sure about that? We’re changing as people, and our careers have changed. We’re not the same people we use to be.”

“No one is. But we’ll work through the changes,” he reiterated, “I’ll do anything…even marriage counseling if that’s what it takes. You know how the thought of that makes me ill but I’ll do it. But you need to help, too. It takes two to tango, baby.”

He took her hands desperately, “Tell me, what do *you* need?” When she didn’t answer, only looking down with sorrow, he sat them down on the bed, “We need to communicate or we won’t get anywhere. Tell me.”

“For you to be home more. For you to not drink as much, no matter how stressed you get, because your temper scares me. And I need you to understand why I don’t want you to be away from me so long. I know I’m selfish about that, but it is for my mental health. Please no more 5 weeks away.”

“If, and I say if, either of us are going to have to be away for long for work, we will travel together. I’ll make sure it’s in our contracts. But you have to understand, that some things are out of my hands and I never do anything to purposefully upset you or hurt you. And I promise to work on not drinking like that anymore, but you need to be calmer with me as well. Your erratic behaviors scare me, sometimes.”

Judy’s voice cracked, “You know sometimes I can’t help that.”

“But you can control the intake, especially when *you’re* stressed,” he said referencing to her medication. It was something she often relapsed with, but when she did, he was in control of it. But it had been harder with him away working so much, and she wasn’t good at that kind of control, especially since it was her own body. To Judy, it was like money, it was something she needed but always relied on other people to control or take care of.

Judy squeezed his hands, “Do you really think we can go back to how things used to be?”

“No, because like you said, we’re not the same people we used to be. We can certainly grow together and change together but still be us. We just have to find a new way to make things work. And instead of arguing right away, we should talk through it and consider our options.”

“Except when picking a television show,” she said wickedly.

“King of the house, I own the remote.”

“We’ll see about that, buster,” she said playfully elbowing him.

Gene chuckled before getting serious again, “Judy, I love you. I love you more than life itself, but you’re fucking mad sometimes.”

Judy laughed gleefully, “Good. I feel the same way about you. You drive me insane.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said cuddling her damp body to him.

She rest her cheek on his chest and sighed, feeling like a weight was lifted from her shoulders. When she felt his finger lift her chin, she looked up at him.

“I’d like to kiss you hello,” he said remembering how she ignored it when he tried kissing her at the party.

His lips almost touched hers when she leaned back, placing her hand on his chest, “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“That you make love to me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he breathed as his lips met hers in a passionate kiss.

She purred, practically melting into him, as his tongue pushed its way into her willing mouth. Judy didn’t even realize her back was on the bed until Gene suddenly lifted himself off of her as the bedroom doors opened.

Lauren was walking in when Judy and Gene both yelled, “Get out!”

Her eyes opened wide as she quickly retreated, shutting the doors, a huge grin on her face as she walked down the hallway.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

THE FORTY-FIVE: ST. VINCENT

Sleazy, gritty, grimy – these are the words used to describe the latest iteration of St. Vincent, Annie Clark’s alter ego. As she teases the release of her upcoming new album, ‘Daddy’s Home’, Eve Barlow finds out who’s wearing the trousers now.

Photos: Zackery Michael

Yellow may be the colour of gold, the hue of a perfect blonde or the shade of the sun, but when it’s too garish, yellow denotes the stain of sickness and the luridness of sleaze. On ‘Pay Your Way In Pain’ – the first single from St. Vincent’s forthcoming sixth album ‘Daddy’s Home’ – Annie Clark basks in the palette of cheap 1970s yellows; a dirty, salacious yellow that even the most prudish of individuals find difficult to avert their gaze from. It’s a yellow that recalls the smell of cigarettes on fingers, the tape across tomorrow’s crime scene or the dull ache of bad penetration.

The video for the single, which dropped last Thursday, features Clark in a blonde wig and suit, channeling a John Cassavetes anti-heroine (think Gena Rowlands in Gloria) and ‘Fame’-era Bowie. She twists in front of too-bright disco lights. She roughs up her voice. She sings about the price we pay for searching for acceptance while being outcast from society. “So I went to the park just to watch the little children/ The mothers saw my heels and they said I wasn’t welcome,” she coos, and you immediately recognise the scene of a free woman threatening the post-nuclear families aspiring to innocence. Clark is here to pervert them.

She laughs. “That’s how I feel!” From her studio in Los Angeles, she begins quoting lyrics from Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Red House’. “It’s a blues song for 2021.” LA is a city Clark reluctantly only half calls home, and one that is opposed to her vastly preferred New York. “I don’t feel any romantic attachment to Los Angeles,” she says of the place she coined the song ‘Los Ageless’ about on 2017’s ‘Masseduction’ (“The Los Ageless hang out by the bar/ Burn the pages of unwritten memoirs”).“The best that could be said of LA is, ‘Yeah it’s nice.’ And it is! LA is easy and pleasant. But if you were a person the last thing you’d want someone to say about you is: ‘She’s nice!’”

On ‘Daddy’s Home’, Clark writes about a past derelict New York; a place Los Angeles would suffocate in. “The idea of New York, the art that came out of it, and my living there,” she says. “I’ve not given up my card. I don’t feel in any way ready to renounce my New York citizenship. I bought an apartment so I didn’t have to.” Her down-and-out New York is one a true masochist would love, and it’s sleazy in excess. Sleaze is usually the thing men flaunt at a woman’s expense. In 2021, the proverbial Daddy in the title is Clark. But there’s also a literal Daddy. He came home in the winter of 2019.

On the title track, Clark sings about “inmate 502”: her father. He was sentenced to 12 years in prison for his involvement in a $43m stock fraud scheme. He went away in May 2010. Clark reacted by writing her third breakthrough album ‘Strange Mercy’ in 2011; inspired not just by her father’s imprisonment but the effects it had on her life.“I mean it was rough stuff,” she says. “It was a fuck show. Absolutely terrible. Gut-wrenching. Like so many times in life, music saved me from all kinds of personal peril. I was angry. I was devastated. There’s a sort of dullness to incarceration where you don’t have any control. It’s like a thud at the basement of your being. So I wrote all about it,” she says.

Back then, she was aloof about meaning. In an interview we did that year, she called from a hotel rooftop in Phoenix and was fried from analytical questions. She excused her lack of desire to talk about ‘Strange Mercy’ as a means of protecting fans who could interpret it at will. Really she was protecting an audience closer to home. It’s clear now that the title track is about her father’s imprisonment (“Our father in exile/ For God only knows how many years”). Clark’s parents divorced when she was a child, and they have eight children in their mixed family, some of whom were very young when ‘Strange Mercy’ came out. She explains this discretion now as her method of sheltering them.

“I am protective of my family,” she says. “It didn’t feel safe to me. I disliked the fact that it was taken as malicious obfuscations. No.” Clark wanted to deal with the family drama in art but not in press. She managed to remain tight-lipped until she became the subject of a different intrusion. As St. Vincent’s star continued to rocket, Clark found herself in a relationship with British model Cara Delevingne from 2014 to 2016, and attracted celebrity tabloid attention. Details of her family’s past were exposed. The Daily Mail came knocking on her sister’s door in Texas, where Clark is from.

“Luckily I’m super tight with my family and the Daily Mail didn’t find anybody who was gonna sell me out,” she says. “They were looking for it. Clark girls are a fucking impenetrable force. We will cut a bitch.”

Four years later, Clark gets to own the narrative herself in the medium that’s most apt: music. “The story has evolved. I’ve evolved. People have grown up. I would rather be the one to tell my story,” she says, ruminating on the misfortune that this was robbed from her: a story that writes itself. “My father’s release from prison is a great starting point, right?” Between tours and whenever she could manage, Clark would go and visit him in prison and would be signing autographs in the visitation room for the inmates, who all followed her success with every album release, press clipping and late night TV spot. She joked to her sisters that she’d become the belle of the ball there. “I don’t have to make that up,” she says.

There’s an ease to Clark’s interview manner that hasn’t existed before. She seems ready not just to discuss her father’s story, but to own certain elements of herself. “Hell where can you run when the outlaw’s inside you,” she sings on the title track, alluding to her common traits with her father. “I’ve always had a relationship with my dad and a good one. We’re very similar,” she says. “The movies we like, the books, he liked fashion. He’s really funny, he’s a good time.” Her father’s release gave Clark and her brothers and sisters permission to joke. “The title, ‘Daddy’s Home’ makes me laugh. It sounds fucking pervy as hell. But it’s about a real father ten years later. I’m Daddy now!”

The question of who’s fathering who is a serious one, but it’s also not serious. Clark wears the idea of Daddy as a costume. She likes to play. She joins today’s Zoom in a pair of sunglasses wider than her face and a silk scarf framing her head. The sunglasses come off, and the scarf is a tool for distraction. She ties it above her forehead, attempts a neckerchief, eventually tosses it aside. Clark can only be earnest for so long before she seeks some mischief. She doesn’t like to stay in reality for extensive periods. “I like to create a world and then I get to live in it and be somebody new every two or three years,” she says. “Who wants to be themselves all the time?”

‘Daddy’s Home‘ began in New York at Electric Lady studios before COVID hit and was finished in her studio in LA. She worked on it with “my friend Jack” [Jack Antonoff, producer for Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Taylor Swift]. Antonoff and Clark worked on ‘Masseduction’ and found a winning formula, pushing Clark’s guitar-orientated electronic universe to its poppiest maximum, without compromising her idiosyncrasies. “We’re simpatico. He’s a dream,” she says. “He played the hell outta instruments on this record. He’s crushing it on drums, crushing it on Wurlitzer.” The pair let loose. They began with ‘The Holiday Party’, one of the warmest tracks Clark’s ever written. It’s as inviting as a winter fireplace, stoked by soulful horns, acoustic guitar and backing singers. “Every time they sang something I’d say, ‘Yeah but can you do it sleazier? Make your voice sound like you’ve been up for three days.” Clark speaks of an unspoken understanding with Antonoff as regards the vibe: “Familiar sounds. The opposite of my hands coming out of the speaker to choke you till you like it. This is not submission. Just inviting. I can tell a story in a different way.”

The entire record is familiar, giving the listener the satisfaction that they’ve heard the songs before but can’t quite place them. It’s a satisfying accompaniment to a pandemic that encouraged nostalgic listening. Clark was nostalgic too. She reverted to records she enjoyed with her father: Stevie Wonder’s catalogue from the 1970s (‘Songs In The Key Of Life’, ‘Innervisions’, ‘Talking Book’) and Steely Dan. “Not to be the dude at the record store but it’s specifically post-flower child idealism of the ’60s,” she explains. “It’s when it flipped into nihilism, which I much prefer. Pre disco, pre punk. That music is in me in a deep way. It’s in my ears.”

On ‘The Melting Of The Sun’ she has a delicious time creating a psychedelic Pink Floyd odyssey while exploring the path tread by her heroes Marilyn Monroe, Joni Mitchell, Joan Didion and Nina Simone. It’s a series of beautiful vignettes of brilliant women who were met with a hostile environment. Clark considers what they did to overcome that. “I’m thanking all these women for making it easier for me to do it. I hope I didn’t totally let them down.” Clark is often the only woman sharing a stage with rock luminaries such as Dave Grohl, Damon Albarn and David Byrne, and has appeared to have shattered a male-centric glass ceiling. She’s unsure she’s doing enough to redress the imbalance. “There are little things I can do and control,” she says of hiring women on her team. “God! Now I feel like I should do more. What should I do? It’s a big question. You know what I have seen a lot more from when I started to now? Girls playing guitar.”

If one woman reinvented the guitar in the past decade, it’s Clark. Behind her is a rack of them. The pandemic has taken her out of the wild in which she’s accustomed to tantalising audiences at night with her displays of riffing and heel-balancing. Instead, she’s chained to her desk. Her obsession with heels in the lyrics of ‘Daddy’s Home’ she reckons may be a reflection of her nights performing ‘Masseduction’ in thigh highs. “I made sure that nothing I wore was comfortable,” she recalls. “Everything was about stricture and structure and latex. I had to train all the time to make sure I could handle it.” Is she taking the heels off when live shows return? “Absofuckinglutely not.”

Clark is interested in the new generation. She’s recently tweeted about Arlo Parks and has become a big fan of Russian singer-songwriter Kate NV. “I’m obsessed with Russia,” she says. In a recent LA Times profile, she professed to a pandemic intellectual fixation on Stalin. “Yeah! I mean right now my computer is propped up on stuff. You are sitting on The Gulag Archipelago, The Best Short Stories Of Dostoyevsky andThe Plays Of Chekhov. I’m kinda in it.” The pop world interests Clark, too. She was credited with a co-write on Swift’s 2019 album ‘Lover’. At last year’s Grammys she performed a duet with Dua Lipa. It was one of the queerest performances the Grammys has ever aired. Clark interrupts.

“What about it seemed queer?!”

You know… The lip bite, for one!

“Wait. Did she bite her lip?”

No, you bit your lip.

“I did?!”

Everyone was talking about it. Come on, Annie.

“Serious? I…”

You both waltzed around each other with matching hairdos, making eyes…

“I have no memory of it.”

Frustrating as it may be in a world of too much information, Clark’s lack of willingness to overanalyse every creative decision she makes or participates in is something to treasure. “I want to be a writer who can write great songs,” she says. “I’m so glad I can play guitar and fuck around in the studio to my heart’s desire but it’s about what you can say. What’s a great song? What lyric is gonna rip your guts open. Just make great shit! That’s where I was with this record. That’s all I wanna do with my life.”

More than a decade into St. Vincent, Clark doesn’t reflect. She looks strictly forward. “I’m like a horse with blinders,” she says. She did make an exception to take stock lately when the phone rang. “I saw a +44 and that gets me excited,” she says. “Who could this be?” Well, who was it? “Paul McCartney,” she says, in disbelief. “Anything I’ve done, any mistake I’ve made, somehow it’s forgiven, assuaged. I did something right in my life if a fucking Beatle called me.”

Now there’s a get out of jail free card if ever she needed one.

Daddy’s Home by St. Vincent is out May 14, 2021.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pitchfork Music Festival 2021: 9/10-9/12, Union Park, Chicago

Maxo Kream

BY DANIEL PALELLA

Considering the state of the world, Pitchfork 2021 did not feel unusual--despite the presence of masks and the (extremely welcomed) September date, the tone and energy of the festival felt largely like previous ones. This could just be public unrest and yearning for normalcy, but the festival felt wholly familiar. Keeping my mask on hand felt just like one more thing to keep track of while I neurotically made sure I had my camera, phone, wallet, keys, and water.

Animal Collective

And for me, personally, starting it off with an Animal Collective set really brought me back. The band had the full lineup, feeling like a true return to form. Opening strong with “In the Flowers,” AnCo quickly set the tone for the set. A track that normally leads to a fugue-like drop with a trance of synths and pulsating drums instead meandered gently into a soothing synth arpeggio, keeping loyal to the song’s original music while offering a laid-back take on it. This would be gold standard for the rest of the set; if Animal Collective’s premise was a jam band for the digital age, then this set truly saw them leaning back into that “jam band” aspect of their persona. While they still maintained an air of psychedelia with glittery synthesizers, morphing pastel backdrops, and Avey Tare’s trademark yelps, Animal Collective did not employ some of their more cacophonous tricks that have marked past iterations of the band. Nothing about this set was grating or jarring. Instead, we were treated to a breezy set containing mostly newer material, but some very nice arrangements of older tunes, including “Fickle Cycle”--a surprise deep cut from their Grass EP--and a triumphant crowd and fan favorite to close it all out, “Purple Bottle.” 

Phoebe Bridgers

As disappointed as I was to have to miss local footwork savant DJ Nate and UK freak rockers Black Midi due to work, Friday night offered stellar performances from Big Thief and Phoebe Bridgers. Phoebe’s fandom, especially, cannot be understated--it felt like every other shirt or sign at Union this weekend was for her (the standout being a big cardboard “Phoebe Spit in My Mouth”). Simply being in the presence of that crowd was pretty electrifying. It was some of the most intense and genuine excitement I have ever felt from a crowd for one artist. Her emergence was met with an ear shattering chorus of screams, and every new song felt like it was going to whip the crowd into a frenzy. That kind of burgeoning stardom is special to witness. And while I’m woefully under-familiar with her work, “Kyoto” was undeniably a bop.

RP Boo

Early Saturday was a nice change of pace with some hip-hop and footwork a la Maxo Kream and RP Boo. The former seemed to really enjoy himself, energizing the crowd with a chant of “Fuck 12. Fuck Covid.” RP Boo was a delightful last-minute add to the festival. Hot off of a record release the previous night at Smartbar, he DJ’d an uplifting mix of familiar and new material. But the highlight of any footwork performance is the dancing. RP Boo brought with him two absolutely killer dancers who traded feverish moves all set. The crowd loved it.

Ty Segall

I figured I knew what to expect from a Ty Segall set. It would be raucous and fun, and the crowd would go nuts. I severely underestimated the sheer heaviness and volume of what the Freedom Band was bringing though. This set was pure Sabbath worship, with snarling fuzz and deep, rumbling lows. I was a fool to not bring earplugs to the pit; I had to leave early.

Kim Gordon

Kim Gordon, on the other hand, did not bring such energy. While it is truly exciting to be in the presence of a legend from a beloved band, her sordid set of wandering spoken word, whimpering guitar freak outs, and regrettably forced-feeling trap beats just felt put-on. 

Angel Olsen’s grandiose, orchestral arrangements were not too large in scope to overpower her star power. Though her sound has gotten bigger, her voice and persona still shine through. Her set also sent a tinge of hope through the crowd--it was their very first performance post-lockdown. Cheekily proclaiming she had been so inspired the night before by the prospect of playing again, she asked the crowd if they were okay with her performing a brand new one the band had just learned; she then launched into “Shut Up Kiss Me.” 

St. Vincent

Finishing off the night, St. Vincent’s trademark incredible stage presence was a delight. Annie Clark’s personality and confidence shine through in all iterations of her music, and she still shreds on guitar. 

Yves Tumor

Wandering around for most of early Sunday, resting and catching brief bits of everything, I was most anticipating Yves Tumor, and his set absolutely delivered. Tumor’s glam rock era lends itself to a wildly high-energy, euphoric show. Backed by a band that resembles the cast of Lost Boys, Tumor worked his way through hits such as “Gospel For a New Century”, “Crushed Velvet”, and “Jackie”. The real standout, however, was a reworked rock arrangement of Safe in the Hands of Love single “Noid”. 

Erykah Badu

Closing out the weekend, Erykah Badu was everything you could have hoped for--an incredible stage presence, a legendary artist playing a career-spanning set--and she showed up!