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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Сhapter 6

Life had never been particularly kind to Hange Zoe. Tragedies and heartbreaks followed her ever since the day she was born – kicking, screaming and nearly killing her own mother. Her mother never recovered from that blow, her health diminishing while vexation with her own child grew.

That day gave a start to Hange’s life – and to the endless stream of misfortunes she had to face.

Those misfortunes frequented, the amount of bad days increased as Hange was becoming older. But even as a child, driven solely by curiosity and fascination for the world, uncaring of the workings and the rules of the society around her, she had her fair share of frustrations. They usually appeared when her father was around – luckily, due to the nature of his work, he very rarely was. Hange didn’t know her father well, he was always absent, always somewhere else, doing something incredibly important, shaping the future of their country. He was many things - a leader, soldier, hero. But he was not a father. Hange had but a few memories of him, and after all these years she had forgotten the sound of his voice, couldn’t for the life of her remember if his hair was as brown as her own, or had she inherited that vivid color from her mother. But what Hange could never forget, what was etched into her memory for all eternity was the look in his eyes – full of incomprehension, bewilder, disappointment – that he always aimed at her. No matter what she did – excitedly gushed about her studies, showed him a shiny rock she found or urged to go and see the frog she caught, her father had the same reaction, always told her the same thing,

“I expected better from you, Hange.”

Those words were the first dagger that was buried in her chest. But it was far from being the only one.

Her father died before she reached her eleventh birthday. And despite the mourning clothes mother had forced her to wear, despite the endless eulogies she had to sit through, Hange didn’t feel the same sadness that everyone around her did, she didn’t – couldn’t – share their pain or understand their grief. Her father meant something for all those people, but to her he was just a stranger, an unpleasant one at that. When he died, a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Without him, it was so much easier to breathe.

But her sorrows, her frustrations— sadly, they didn’t end with her father’s death.

Once Hange finished her studies, completed her training, she was sent to the outside world, far away from Marley. And for a moment, for one fleeting moment, she was happy, excited to do what she always wanted – learn and explore. But she was not meant to busy herself with research, to familiarize herself with different cultures, she was sent to these distant lands as a soldier, a weapon of great Marleyan Empire. Instead of books and quills, she held a rifle and a knife. And the only thing she learnt was how much blood her motherland was spilling on the foreign soils.

Sleep was coming harder to her after that, her dreams were haunted by visions of red, by screams of pain and anguish. She had become a soldier, her hands made for creation were now covered in blood. Her brilliant mind was now broken by the horrors she had faced.

And so Hange decided to cover herself in thick armor, to hide behind a smile and false happiness. The bad days persisted, losses following after her like a shadow, chasing like an infatuated lover, but she didn’t let it break her, continued moving forward with her chin raised high and her lips curled up.

However, despite the positive attitude she had adopted, there were lots of days Hange considered bad, awful even – the day when she learned just how Titans were created, what price Eldians had to pay for that; the day when she realized that her teacher, brilliant Tom Ksaver was one of those so called shifters, that his days in this world would end abruptly; the day when she received her first wound and spent the night in infirmary, wallowing in pain; the day when she killed another human for the first time and saw the light fading from someone else’s eyes; the day when Wall Maria fell and she witnessed just how much destruction and devastation she helped to bring to this little island; the day when Mike and Nanaba died; the day when her squad perished; the day when she had to leave Paradis behind; the day when she was brought back.

There were lots of days Hange considered to be bad. But nothing – absolutely nothing – could compare to the fucking shit show that was waiting for her next.

___

This fateful day was off to a good, if only slightly weird, start. As always she was woken up by a knock on the door. However, this one was very different from Moblit’s – less rhythmic, and much louder. In fact, it didn’t sound like a knock at all, more like someone was kicking the door repeatedly.

Confused and still sleepy, Hange rolled from the bed and went to greet her guest, not bothering to put her glasses on. Behind the now opened door she found… a shape that could or could not belong to a human. She raised her hand, mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ and darted back inside the room, blindly searching for her glasses.

Once the specs took their rightful place on the bridge of her nose, Hange returned back to the shape that now took the form of a young, blonde man. She trailed her gaze down, to the tray he was holding. There were plates with pastries, omelet, sandwiches, sausages and a cup with brown liquid that had steam coming out of it.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke through her confusion, “But do I know you?”

“Not… yet?”

Hange couldn’t understand if his words were meant to be an affirmation or a question. Nevertheless, she took a step back, letting him in.

He went straight to setting up the table, humming under his breath as he did so. Hange watched him work, not knowing how to feel – puzzled or amused. She tried to catch the boy’s gaze and ask for his name, but, considering the amount of food he brought and how exquisitely delicious it looked, Hange already had a pretty solid guess about the persona of her visitor.

“Be my guest,” he gestured to the table after he finished setting it. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “My name is Niccolo.”

“I guessed it already,” Hange smiled, taking a seat. Her stomach growled, as the delicious smell of homemade food entered her nostrils, her mouth filling with saliva even before she took a fork in her hands. She forced herself to look away from the food, however, directing her eyes at the man who had prepared it all. “Thank you for the food, but may I ask what is the occasion?”

Niccolo didn’t answer right away. He took his time, dragging the chair to sit on the other side of the table, then absentmindedly fixing the napkin and pushing the plate closer to Hange.

She didn’t urge him, patiently waiting for him to start talking. She had a feeling that whatever he came here to tell her was going to be extremely interesting.

And Niccolo didn’t disappoint.

“I’ve spent most of my life hating Eldians. Like every good, conscious Marleyan, I believed them to be devils and abominations. When these people captured me I thought it’d be better to die than live among them. But then I’ve got to know them better, I cooked for them, I’ve talked with them, I… grew to like some of them.”

He took a pause, and Hange used this moment to push some food into her mouth. Just as she expected – it was finger-liking good. And it tasted even better, because she also had an intriguing story she could listen to while eating.

“And there is one person that I like most of all, more than anyone I had ever met. I’ve realized my feelings long ago - perhaps, they were born the moment that I set my eyes on her, perhaps, it was destiny that brought both of us together. And to think of it – a Marleyan and an Eldian. If someone had told me years ago that I’d fall for a devil from Paradis, I’d probably punch that person in the face, but look at me now…”

A Marleyan and an Eldian? Hange had heard that story before. Hopefully, Niccolo’s would have a happier ending.

“I wanted to confess to Sasha for a while now, but the time was never right, and I kept stalling… You know, I thought there was no reason to be hasty. but then Jean told me what happened during the attack on Liberio, how I almost lost Sasha and my chance to tell her how I truly feel, so…” Niccolo looked Hange in the eyes, his gaze shining with the love he had for Sasha. “I came to say thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Oh, what a sweetheart. Hange felt her chest warm at the sight of such devotion. She always was a sucker for a young, tender love.

“And?” she leaned over the table, eyes alight with curiosity. “What did Sasha say? She returned your feelings, right?”

“Um.” Niccolo brought a hand to his neck, rubbing the back of it. “I didn’t do it, didn’t, eh, confess. Yet.”

“And when—”

“Today,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “I planned a dinner for Sasha, invited her family and friends. Actually… I wanted to invite you as well.”

Despite regret that spread through her, Hange curled her lips in a comforting, gentle smile. “Not the best idea, but I appreciate the thought. And,” she added, her smile turning into a cheeky grin. “I’ll be expecting another visit from you, where you’ll share all the details.”

Hange wished she could see it for herself – Niccolo standing before Sasha red in the face, stuttering his undoubtedly sweet confession, Sasha gasping, with her mouth opening in shock, their audience watching it all with a mix of mortification and amusement. Hange wished she could have the privilege of being the part of that audience, alongside a certain Captain, who would cringe horribly at the scene, unfolding before their eyes.

Hange wished— for many things. Alas…

“I’m sure your plan will work out perfectly, but just in case,” Hange winked, snickering, when she saw red spread through Niccolo’s cheeks. “Good luck.”

“Knowing Sasha’s friends… I’ll need all the luck I can get. But for now, I also need to get going, the dinner won’t prepare itself. So thank you once again.” Niccolo stood up, bowing his head. “For everything.”

“Make Sasha happy, that’s all the thanks I need.”

Niccolo nodded, showing her a smile. He headed to the door, and just before he left the room, Hange gave him thumbs up, wishing him luck once more.

As the door behind him closed, she slumped back in the chair and continued munching on her breakfast, a blissful expression appearing on her face.

So… not only a great cook, but also a romantic? Sasha was such a lucky girl.

___

Her next visitors were just as unexpected, and their conversation - a lot less pleasant. It was in that moment that Hange started to suspect that this day would take its rightful place in the collection of her awful ones. But she was far from knowing just how horrible it had the potential to become.

The moment that Armin tumbled inside the room without knocking, throwing the door open in his haste, and Mikasa trailed after him, her pace much slower but just as unsure, dread settled in Hange's stomach.

"Hange-san!" Armin was speaking in a quiet, but barely controlled voice. His chest moved rapidly, as he struggled to keep his breathing slow and even. Hange swallowed her worry, her thoughts running at a lighting speed. What could possibly have happened to make him so panicked? She chanced a look at Mikasa - the young girl wore the same guarded expression she always did, but her eyes kept shifting from side to side, hands clasped together tight enough to make her knuckles white. "We need to talk."

Hange gave them a cautious nod and stood up from the bed, the book she was reading moments ago all but forgotten now. Pieck's warning was loud in her mind, as her fear grew. Marley... they couldn't have attacked so swiftly, right?

Hange gestured for her guests to take their seats at the table that stood near the window. Absentmindedly, she wondered where Moblit was. He didn't show his face to her even once this day. What could he be so busy with?

"Your guard told us that you had a visitor today," Armin stiffly began. "Mind telling us who that was?"

Hange frowned, cocking her head to the side. If the guard told Armin about the visitor, didn't she also mention that it was Niccolo? The cooking boy had to be known around the barracks, if he was that close to Sasha.

"Niccolo came by, he wanted—"

"You mean, Marleyan came by." Armin corrected.

"Sasha's and your friend, if I understood properly," Hange protested.

"But he's Marleyan. Just like you."

So, Armin was accusing her. And not only her, but Niccolo too. Accusing them of conspiring, but for what purpose? By which means? Against who? Hange was so confused. Hange didn't understand. Armin was always so rational, so coolheaded. What could possibly make him so frantic? What drove him to such desperation, to such wild guesses?

"Armin..." any other time, with any other person who trusted her just a fraction more, Hange would have taken their hand in hers. She'd caress it gently, try to calm them down, but in Armin's state... Hange worried that it'd make matters even worse. "Armin," she repeated, lowering her voice ever so slightly, making it sound more trustworthy. "What happened?"

Armin didn't answer, lowering his eyes - in shame or indecisiveness, Hange couldn't guess. And so Mikasa took the word.

"Chief Zacklay is dead," she said. And if that wasn't mind-blowing enough, she added, "Eren escaped from the prison."

"Fuck."

What else was there to say? Everything was turned on its head - Paradis' biggest defender seemingly had gone completely off the rails. Hange wondered if the threat of Marley invasion was still the scariest crisis the island would have to face. The absence of the clear answer was… unnerving.

“We don’t know what to do, or where to look for Eren. That’s why… Armin hopes that you’ll shed some light on that.”

Armin hopes – an interesting choice of words. He didn’t think, didn’t speculate, didn’t hypothesize. He hoped – exhibited a desperate, illogical kind of feeling. So… it was that bad, huh?

“I know nothing about it.” Hange said truthfully. “As you’re aware I’m not even allowed to leave this room.”

“We know.” Mikasa agreed softly, pressing her hand to Armin’s. “But it’s hard to come to terms with it.”

“He is your friend.”

Hange didn’t understand what they were going through, she never had someone that close to her destroy the trust between them, but she knew it wasn’t easy. Eren had changed, Eren had already lied to them once, but he was their friend, they’ve spent years, believing him and in him. They couldn’t change their opinion of him in just one night, they couldn’t let a few mistakes kill what they had created over the course of their lives.

She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how her friends felt. Was it just as hard to believe in her betrayal? Did Moblit and Levi feel just as lost and unsure? Were they just as desperate to come up with a reason for her behavior? Whatever they did, whatever they felt, Hange hoped she would never have to learn about it. She was miserable enough as it was.

But Eren knew what his friends were going through, had to be aware of the consequences of his actions, of what he was doing to his friends, how much he was hurting them. What drove him to his decision then? What happened to the boy with bright eyes and big heart?

“Do you have any idea what Eren is going to do?”

“I don’t think it’s Eren’s doing, Zeke is probably lying to him, but…” his eyes were still cast down, his finger weakly tracing some vague shapes, when Armin muttered, “Hange-san… do you by any chance know what rumbling is?”

Hange froze. Her throat constricted acutely, creating a quiet, choking sound. For one second, one terrifying second her heart stopped, ceasing its usual rhythm.

Rumbling? Did she hear correctly? Was Armin speaking the truth, did he mean what Hange was worried he meant?

Rumbling.

A short, but scary word. One that was mentioned in but a few frowned upon books. One that was only whispered amongst the members of Titan Society, too horrifying to speak it loud and clear. The word that meant death, the end of everything they knew about their world.

“We were meant to experiment with it,” Armin explained, wriggling his hands. “Nothing too serious, nothing too… devastating. Just a showcase of the power we yield, to keep the other nations on their toes. To keep them away from us. But ever since Zeke had appeared, Eren became so…”

Even since Zeke had appeared, Eren had decided to act on his own, distanced himself from his comrades and friends, joined forces with his brother. Hange would have believed, would have been convinced that the boy she once knew was incapable of such cruelty…

But Liberio, the heart of her homeland was standing in ruins. And it was Eren’s doing.

She narrowed her eyes, gave a scrutinizing look first to Armin, then to Mikasa. Hange really, really hoped that she was wrong. Against all sense, she hoped that they would drive away her doubts, that Eren’s closest friends knew him much more intimately than she ever could, that their opinion of him was right and just.

“Do you think he is capable of proceeding with it?”

“No,” Armin answered.

And the same time Mikasa said, “Yes.”

Yes, said the girl, who was in love with Eren, who was devoted to him above anything or anyone else. She said yes, spoke it quietly, in pained voice. But without a shadow of a doubt.

Hange shuddered.

She— they had to stop this. Somehow. Anyhow. Before it was too late.

"Eren can't activate the rumbling on his own," Hange mused out loud, biting at her thumb.

"Right," Armin confirmed. "He needs the bearer of the royal blood."

And that was good, that meant not all hope was lost. To go through with the rumbling, Eren had to find Zeke, and Zeke was out in the woods with Levi. He would never get away from Levi, and so the world was safe, but—

Zeke wasn't the only one with special blood. There was also—

Fuck.

"Historia, where is she?"

Armin's eyes widened, a gasp escaping him as he came to the same conclusion as Hange. "She arrived in the town... This morning."

And that was the morning Eren decided to make his escape. Hardly a coincidence.

"You don't think..." Armin began tentatively, his eyes pleading Hange to say that it was a joke, that she was wrong in her assumptions. She wished she could give him that reassurance.

"I don't know."

She didn't know what Eren's plan was, what was his goal, what was Zeke’s role in all of this. She didn't know what means Eren would use to ensure his success.

Would he go to his brother, would he trust him enough? Or would he go to Historia and risk hurting his friend?

And how Eren would get to them? Both Zeke and Historia were heavily guarded - Zeke as the hostage, Historia as a Queen and a future mother. But who was the easiest target?

With Levi being in charge of Zeke, Historia was an obvious choice, unless—

Hange swallowed heavily.

Unless Zeke was planning something too - some rouse, or a play, something that would fool Levi, make him lose his focus.

Make him lose Zeke.

And if that worked—

"Where is Historia?" Hange repeated that question. Hidden in the forest, theoretically, Levi was safe. He could hold his own in a fight against Zeke, Hange has seen him do just that in Liberio, even if some part of it was a spectacle. She also had seen Zeke after Shiganshina, personally tended to his wounds that refused to heal properly because of the amount of his injuries. Back then, every hiss of his was like a melody to Hange, a miniscule payback for the carnage he had born.

Zeke was far away from Eren, guarded by Levi. Hange had to trust him with that task. She had to hold onto hope that Levi would be safe. But Historia... Historia was another matter. She was here, close, and as good as her security was, they were not on par with humanity's strongest. They had to protect the Queen first.

"Historia chose this day to arrive because of Niccolo's invitation. She's probably in his restaurant, along with the others." Mikasa said.

So she wasn't alone, surrounded by soldiers and friends. Would that be enough to hold off Eren? Possibly, although, Hange wasn't sure.

But Eren was not alone, he had followers, the ones Moblit was so worried about. Would they be just as amicable? Would they not hurt the ones Eren cared so much about?

"Historia is our main priority. We have to go to the restaurant and make sure that—"

"We?" Armin interrupted.

Hange deflated. Of course, how could she forget? She wasn't their superior, their commander, their friend. There was no we. She was an outsider. She always were.

"I didn't mean to—"

"No." Mikasa curtly said. "We need you, Hange-san. We do," she repeated to Armin, who was already opening his mouth with a protest on his tongue. "We need all the help that we can get."

Armin studied Mikasa for a moment, then turned to face Hange, regarding her pensively. The intense look of his big blue eyes was unnerving, almost impossible to hold without flinching. There was a man Hange once knew with the same intent gaze. Oh, how she wished to see him again. He'd know what to do in a shitty ordeal they were facing right now.

"You're right," Armin sighed at last. "We might not have same goals or even enemies... but our concerns align. With you on our side, our chances are much higher. So, Hange Zoe," Armin offered his hand for a handshake. "Will you help us?"

An unlikely alliance then, huh? Hange could work with that.

She shook his hand with a smile.

___

Something was turning, twisting inside Hange on the way to the restaurant. Even the air seemed stiff, the landscape outside of the carriage bright, pretty but ominous all the same. Liberio - her city - looked just as lively before it got crushed.

And today, right now, she couldn't get that image out of her mind. The streets she walked through hundreds, thousands of times; bakeries she visited day after day; parks and playgrounds she admired from afar - everything was now gone, turned into debris, into nothing but broken stone and crushed glass.

And all of it - all the destruction, pain and blood and death - all of it was a courtesy of one Eren Yeager, the boy with bright eyes and passionate soul.

Would the same thing happen to another city? To all the cities in the world? To hundreds and millions of—

Hange took a deep breath, stopping herself before she screamed in fury, ripped something apart, overturned the carriage, or worse - started crying.

No. Nothing of the sort would happen to the other countries or their people. They would stop this— this catastrophe and Eren, and Zeke, and whoever else was involved. They would not allow another tragedy.

In the meanwhile, Hange did her damnest to focus on small, trivial things - the inside of the carriage, the bumps on the road, the subtle similarities between Mikasa and Levi, the sunbeam playing across Armin's face - anything to keep her mind from other, much scarier things. It didn’t really work.

"We are here," Armin announced, cutting through her morbid thoughts. He put a hand on her elbow - a tentative, but heartfelt gesture. Hange wondered just how disturbed she must have seemed to earn it.

"Let's go," she shook off all the worries, all of her fears. They weren't needed. They would slow her down, serve as a distraction, nuisance. And today, she had to be on her best. "We have no time to spare."

Mikasa and Armin seemed to be of the same opinion, and so the three of them left the carriage and started moving towards restaurant's entrance.

The place was much bigger than Hange had imagined it to be. She expected to see something small, but snug, something homely. But Niccolo's restaurant was grander than most buildings on Paradis. It didn't quite reach the luxurious and exquisite nature of restaurants in Marley, but— clearly, that was Niccolo's inspiration.

The restaurant - as big as it was - was packed, the merry sounds of laughter were heard even from the courtyard. People were celebrating, people came here to have some fun. Hange knew just how rare those instances were. And she hated being the one to put a stop to it. But she'd rather ruin someone's day and be wrong about her assumption or ruin someone's say and be right, than— Than not ruin someone's day, be right and waste precious time.

The three of them walked through the dark brown door, and instantly Niccolo stood in front of them, appearing seemingly out of thin air.

"Armin, Mikasa! I didn't think you'd make it! And you brought Hange with you!”

The happiness on his face was so endearing, so genuine. Hange was wrecked with sympathy for him. Niccolo was just a boy, who loved a girl, and decided that today of all days he'd make his feelings known. Unfortunately, the day he had picked turned out to be one of Hange's bad ones.

"Congratulations once again," Hange made sure to put on an extra gentle smile, in vain hope that it would soothe the effect of her next words. "But that's not why we are here."

"No?" the happiness was gone from Niccolo's face, suspicion overtaking it, but only for a second. Next came anger. "I thought we were over this," he leveled, glaring at Armin. "I thought we've already discussed everything you wanted. And I'm not going to deal with this bullshit again. Not today."

Niccolo whirled around, his leg raised to, no doubt, dramatically storm out. Mikasa's gravelly voice and a tight grip on his wrist stopped him. "If you don't want to ruin this day for Sasha, then take us to Queen Historia. Right now."

Oh. Even Hange felt shivers at that tone of voice, and the threat wasn't even directed at her. Was Levi teaching her his tricks? Or was every Ackerman just naturally good at being so scary?

Niccolo yanked his hand out of Mikasa's grasp, massaging it with a wounded expression. He didn't try to argue once again, though. And soon Hange, Armin and Mikasa were following after him to the banquet hall.

He took them through the lengthy hallway, past kitchen and washing room. At the edge of it, Hange could see two familiar figures - one tall, another short. They were standing next to a wooden cupboard, snickering quietly to each other. As they came closer, Hange realized that Jean and Connie were holding several bottles of wine, clearly having trouble choosing which one to open.

"Niccolo!" Connie yelled out, waving the bottles over his head. "Which one is better?"

"That's not for you, you idiots!" Niccolo snatched the bottles from their hands, his retort vicious— and more shaken than the situation truly called for. Any other day, Hange would have found it weird, would have paid more attention to it. Any day, but not during her bad day.

So she shrugged it off and after giving Jean and Connie a painfully awkward wave, continued following after Niccolo.

Once they were inside, Hange couldn't help but marvel at the amount of people gathered. There were lots of civilians, none of which Hange could recognize. And among them, there was a sea of green, representing the members of Survey Corps. Most of these faces were known to her. One of those faces in particular swiftly left the conversation he was having, gluing himself to her side.

"Hange-san? Armin? What is going on?"

Moblit had his mouth open, his eyes shifting between the three of them. Hange didn't know what he had seen there, what face she was making, but Moblit didn't ask another question, silently falling in step with them.

Sensing the change in the room, Jean and Connie hurried to do the same.

They all stopped in front of the table in the corner - one near the window and with a nice bouquet standing on it. The table was occupied by two - giggling Sasha, who was retelling some story in a rather animated fashion, and Historia, who listened to her friend with a joyful smile.

Looking at her, Hange couldn't help but be amazed. Last time she saw the girl, she had just become a Queen, still doubtful and unsure in her position. And, although, the woman before her eyes didn't look exactly royally – what, with her simple dress and long, loose hair - but Historia had certainly grown, become tougher, more confident in her abilities. However, she was still as pretty as a picture, and the motherhood had enhanced her beauty even further.

"Your Majesty," Hange was the first to take the word, but after that she faltered, not sure how to proceed further. Should she bow? Kneel before the Queen?

She was spared from making that decision. Because right in that moment, right when she was meaning to open her mouth and explain everything to Historia as curtly as was possible— her day turned from simply bad to straight up shitty.

"You!"

Familiar voice. The anger in it wasn't unusual too. Never before it was directed at her but—

Hange recognized the pride of Marley, the future Warrior right away. It was all she was allowed to do before getting promptly tackled to the ground.

"Traitor! Liar! How could you do that to us! How could you side with the devils?"

Gabi kicked and punched anything she could reach, accentuating her every word and accusation, but the blows were barely registered by Hange. She felt no pain, only huge amount of relief.

Gabi was furious, Gabi was loud. Gabi was alive and well.

A month, a whole month she spent worrying about these kids, only to have fate throw them back together in the most ludicrous way possible.

“Gabi,” despite her kicks, despite her loud shrieks, Hange smiled happily. She pulled the girl closer, wrapping one arm around her, while her other went to softly brush the girl’s hair. “Gabi, are you alright? You’re not hurt?”

“And why would you care?” Gabi suddenly sniffled, voice muffled by Hange’s shirt. “You never cared about us, did you? Only about those devils!”

“Gabi…” Hange sighed, finding herself at a loss of words. How could she explain something so complicated? Something she couldn’t understand herself?

Luckily, an unexpected help arrived.

"Don’t judge too harshly, child. You may not understand it yet, but humans' hearts are tricky things. No rules apply to them, they never listen to reason. They don't act like we want them to. They create emotions, make our lives brighter, and at the same time... So much more confusing. And accusing someone of caring for the wrong person… it’s just not right."

Hange looked up, surprised to see a middle-aged man standing before her. She was fairly sure that she had never met him before, but his eyes, his manner of speaking... Somehow, they were familiar.

Before she could connect the dots, however, her attention was ripped away once more, this time by Niccolo's deep voice.

"Eldians, Marleyans," he scoffed. "All of us are vile, devil is in each and every one of us. We're all imperfect, but all of us yearn to find the place where we belong, where we're loved. We don't choose who these people would be, we love others for what they are, not what they represent, or what side of the conflict they come from. And if loving my enemy is treason, I’ll gladly go down as a traitor."

Niccolo glanced back, meeting the eyes of the one he had dedicated this speech to. Hange caught Sasha’s bewildered, loving look and smiled, feeling her eyes go misty.

So, Marleyan and Eldian? Was a union like that even possible? Four years ago, on the dawn of the day when she left the one she loved the most behind, she'd say that it would never work out. But... times were changing, right? For the better, or so, at least, Hange hoped.

"Hange-san..." Moblit crouched beside her, painfully awkward. "Erm..."

Oh right. Only now, Hange realized that she was still lying on the floor. And that in on itself wasn't so unusual, but most of the times... she didn't have a ten or so pairs of eyes watching her.

Hange cleared her throat. Then, as absurdity of the situation caught up with her, snickered quietly.

"Hey, Gab," she stroked the girl's side. "Would you mind letting me get up?"

Gabi rose on her elbows, considering Hange. The frown on her face didn't vanish, but— her eyes weren't so full of rage anymore - clearly, the speeches had left an impression on her.

"I'm still mad at you," she said, lip stuck out petulantly. "But... I'm glad that you're here. Because it means they're coming for us, right? Commander Magath and Reiner— Reiner will save us, right? We just need to wait for a little longer, until they arrive."

They're already here, Hange wanted to say. If Pieck came, there was no way that Reiner would want to sit that one out— or be allowed to, anyway. Marley was coming, their guns blazing. But in the room full of members of the Survey Corps and Queen herself, Hange couldn’t say that, wasn’t yet ready to betray her country like that. She could only kiss Gabi's brow and promise, "You will be alright."

Reassured, Gabi nodded and let Hange get up. As soon as her feet had touched the ground, Hange found herself with someone once again wrapped around her. This time, however, the embrace was that much warmer and a lot less violent.

"Falco," she carded her fingers through his sandy blonde hair. "I take it you've missed me too?"

"You can't imagine," he spoke, his face pressed to her stomach. "Going on missions with Gabi is a torture! I could barely keep up with her!"

"You'll learn with time," Hange looked back, exchanging a look with Moblit. "It's not that hard to deal with annoying shits like us, right, Mob?"

He tugged at his collar, strategically evading her curious eyes. "Perhaps, after a very long while..." he reached out, patting Falco's shoulder. "And with the help of a good alcohol stash."

"Oi!" Hange slapped his arm. "He's only a kid!"

Moblit shrugged. "He has to know what is waiting for him."

"Don't listen to him," she gently consoled Falco. "He's joking."

Although... Hange had to agree with Moblit on that. If Falco continues running after Gabi like that, he'd have his first grey hair by the age of fifteen.

With the boy still clinging to her, Hange surveyed the room, swiping her gaze across Sasha and Niccolo, who stood side by side, wearing identical, enamored expressions, to Connie and Jean, who were whispering something to one another, and finally to Mikasa and Armin, who hid Historia behind their backs.

Right. She didn't come here for a cheerful reunion. The fate of the world was at stake. Hange pulled herself together and— pulled Falco away from her.

"Sorry, dear," she fondly ruffled his hair once again. "I need to go now, but I'll get back to you."

Could she do, though? Could she return to these kids, ask them to be placed under her care? Should she do it, considering that she didn't even know what was going to happen to her, where would she be one hour from now? Was it wise then to drag kids along with her? They were sharp and strong, more than capable, and they did survive on their own for so long— wait.

How did they manage to survive on a foreign soil, all by themselves? And why they were here today, in Niccolo's restaurant of all places?

"I guess these ducklings are yours?"

Oh. The familiar man that Hange had never seen was back, now standing in front of Hange, showing her a kind smile.

"We haven't been introduced, but it's hard to mistake you for someone else. Hange Zoe, right?"

"Right," Hange shook his warm, calloused hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Braus."

"The accent was a dead giveaway, huh?" he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He had a nice laugh, Hange decided, deep, heartfelt and genuine. She liked Mr. Braus, just as much as she liked his daughter.

"I understand that you're the one who had taken care of my ducklings," Hange giggled, catching Gabi's very much unamused look. "Thank you for that."

"And thank you for saving my daughter's life. For that deed I could never repay you."

"That was... that was nothing. I did nothing, just happened to be in the right place, in the right time."

"It's only because of you that we're here, celebrating, instead of mourning. So," he gripped her shoulder tightly, his brown eyes staring into hers intently. "Let me express my gratitude, for that is the smallest thing that I can do."

"I think," Connie inserted himself between them, his mischievous smile lighting up the room. "This calls for a toast!"

No more than a second later, Jean had produced a bottle of wine, opening it swiftly and skillfully. Once the bottle was dealt with, he filled a glass with wine, thrusting it to the person standing closest to him. Which— happened to be Gabi.

She took all but a tentative sniff from the glass, before it was roughly yanked out of her hands. The drink splashed everywhere as Falco hurried to finish it, before Gabi caught up and took it away from him.

There was just as a couple of droplets left, everyone watched the scene in amusement, until—

Until Niccolo screamed.

He pounced from his place, wrestling the bottle out of Jean’s hands. “It’s not for you, morons! I told you not to touch it!”

Ice spread through Hange’s veins, as she heard the desperation in his voice. If her first thought was the right one… she had to make sure of it immediately.

“Who that wine was meant for?” she seethed, grabbing Niccolo by lapels of his shirt, suffocating him in her white-knuckled grip and currently not caring about it. Everyone in the room tensed, Sasha jumping closer to them, but Hange didn’t care, ignored all of them completely. “Who that wine was meant for?” she shouted, shaking the boy like a ragdoll.

“F-for the military officials! It’s the good stuff, expensive, it was meant only for them!”

The good stuff, the best one they got, Hange reasoned. The next question was pointless, she knew the answer already, was the one who came up with this idea in the first place, but— Niccolo was a good guy, a sweet boy in love with a kind girl. Hange wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“What’s wrong with the wine?”

And that was it. That’s all she had to do to get to the bottom of it. One short, simple question, and Niccolo crumbled. He didn’t try to fight her, made no attempts to protect himself. He hanged his head in shame, avoiding the dozen pairs of eyes that now were boring into him.

“They made me do it,” he whispered, his hands, his lips— his whole body shaking. “I had no choice, you wouldn’t understand—”

Oh, but Hange did understand. Better than Niccolo knew. She knew how it felt to be forced to follow the current, accept every cruel tide. She knew just how frustrating, how painful it was to lose control.

So yeah, Hange understood. But she could not excuse.

However, she had no place to judge as well, she herself was a reason for so many tragedies and disasters. She couldn’t judge, and she didn’t have the time for it. The deed was already done, now they had to try and undo it.

“Who gave you the orders?”

The spine fluid, injected into wine, came from Zeke, that Hange had no doubt about, but Zeke was far away, deep in the forest, under Levi’s watchful eyes. So who had redistributed the wine? Who was the betrayer, the real culprit?

“It’s—”

He didn’t get to finish. For only now Hange had realized what had happened moments prior. Falco drank the wine. Falco. Drank. The. Wine.

Her heart thumping, Hange pushed Niccolo away, grabbing Falco’s hand instead. Armin, Mikasa, the Queen, let someone else deal with that shit, for now she had to try and delay the inevitable. She looked around, her eyes wild, mind racing. “Where— where is the bathroom or— or a—”

“I’ll show you.”

It was Moblit’s quiet, reassuring voice. He gripped her elbow gently, taking her away. Hange let herself be led, rubbing soothing circles into Falco’s palm all the while. She didn’t know what do, wasn’t even sure that spinal fluid can be taken out of someone’s system, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t at least try. Falco, sweet, smart Falco, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be turned into a Titan, a mindless creature with no loyalties and feelings. Hange wouldn’t allow it, she was ready to do the impossible and then more to save the little boy.

Once they reached the bathroom, Hange set out to work - took off her coat, rolled the sleeves of her shirt, sat Falco down on a stool, pushed his head under the faucet, instructed him to try and rinse all the wine out.

It was possibly entirely pointless, Hange was pretty sure of it— but. What else could she do? Sit tightly and wait for the young life to vanish?

"That thing in the wine..." Moblit spoke up - calmly, but defeated, as though he had already surrendered to whatever tragedy that would befall him. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Hange tensed. Hange jumped to her feet, fisting her hand into Moblit's shirt so desperately, the fabric creaked in protest.

"Moblit," she croaked, her voice shaking, broken, eyes begging him to say that he was joking, that his inquiry was simple curiosity. "Moblit, did you drink that wine?"

"It was served at every government meeting. I couldn't refuse."

No. No. Hange couldn't believe, didn't want to believe it, Moblit— not Moblit, she didn't want him to fall victim to this, become another casualty in her long, extremely bloody career. Anyone else, but not— not him.

"It's the same tactic we used in Ragako village," she explained numbly. "Back then it was gas, this time the fluid that turns people into Titans was added into wine. It activates after Zeke screams."

"Ah," Moblit shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "If - when - I turn, you could experiment on me. Just— don't give me a stupid name like Sawney or Bean, I'd like, I think, I'd like to be called Moblit. If I'd still have some semblance of consciousness by that time, if not - you can call me whatever you—"

"Shut up." Hange choked, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She ignored them, glaring fiercely at him. "Shut the fuck up, Moblit, you will not turn into a Titan, I will not allow it, I'll do whatever I can—"

"Hange-san," he smiled, and it broke her heart. "It will be okay."

It won't. Because it was her damn creation, made to defeat faceless, unknown enemies. And now it was used against people she cared about.

She had to do something about it. With a start Hange realized that the solution was... fairly easy.

"Avoid Zeke at all costs." She told Moblit, urgency turning her speech more frantic. "Don't go near him, try— try to get away if he gets into city—"

But Zeke couldn't get into the city. Zeke couldn't get out of the forest at all, couldn't make a single move without Levi knowing it.

Levi was the solution. He would keep Zeke under his guard, he would keep Moblit, and the rest of them, safe. Hange finally could take a breath.

But the calm didn't last for long.

As soon as she returned to Falco's side to check on the boy's condition, a loud crash came from somewhere deep within the restaurant. Hange heard the sound of hurried footsteps, then a concerning scream.

She exchanged a look with Moblit. Both of them started running at the same moment.

When they tumbled inside the main room, they froze in shock.

Sasha's family, members of Survey Corps and among them— soldiers with rifles. Hange scanned the room once more, her eyes travelling further, to the table by the window. She breathed out in relief - Historia was guarded by Connie and Jean. At least, the Queen was safe.

But not the rest of them.

"Squad Leader Moblit," the ginger head took a step towards them, a too wide smile plastered on his face. Hange didn't like that man and his smile. And the gun in his hands. The gun that was now aimed at the ceiling but could be very well aimed at Moblit, or anyone else in that room. “You’re the one I need.”

Moblit inched closer too, his chin held high and eyes defiant. Hange didn’t miss the fact that his movement hid her behind his broad shoulders. Oh, loyal, caring Moblit. How could she leave him to his fate?

“I’m here,” he leveled to the redhead. “What do you need me for, Floch?”

If it wasn’t for the gun in his hands, or the smile on his face, the way Moblit spelled his name – the obvious aversion, unhidden contempt was enough for Hange to understand that this Floch guy wasn’t very nice. And, despite the Wings of Freedom on his back, he certainly wasn’t Moblit’s friend.

So. That was one of the famed Yeagerists? And the rest of them, the ones that held civilians on gunpoint were the part of the same group? Hange was so not impressed.

“You’re buddies with Captain Levi,” Floch continued. “That means you know exactly where he is hiding.”

“Perhaps.” Moblit nodded. “But what makes you think that I will tell you?”

Floch’s smile grew, and the gun that was held lazily in his hand, pointing at the empty air, moved. It was lowered down, its barrel now staring right at Moblit. But the gun didn’t stop there, it moved again, shifting just a little to the side. To where Hange was standing.

“Hange Zoe, right?” Floch tilted his head, so he could look straight at her. “I didn’t have the pleasure to make your acquaintance before, but I’m glad that life threw us all together. Especially now, for you see…” he lifted a hand, and a soldier took his place, his rifle raised, while Floch paced from side to side. “I’m not allowed to hurt them,” first he pointed at Jean and Connie. “Or her,” now at Historia. “I’m, however, allowed to do with the others whatever I want. And since hurting our dear Squad Leader Moblit wouldn’t bear the needed results…” he spread his arms, shrugging helplessly. “No one would miss a traitor, right?”

“Don’t you dare!” Moblit surged forward, shoulders shaking from the unbridled fury. But he made no more than a few steps, before he was immobilized, two soldiers coming from behind to grab his arms and twist them painfully. Moblit didn’t back up even then, continuing his fierce resistance. “Leave her out of this!”

“Ah, yes,” Floch chuckled to himself, observing Moblit’s struggling with morbid fascination. “The luck is surely on our side today. You will be useful after all, Hange Zoe. We will take you with us.”

No sooner than these words left his mouth, Hange felt a pair of hands around her, subduing and enabling to make a single move. She thrashed, she kicked, but to no avail.

“Floch—” Moblit grounded, pulling on his restraints.

“Don’t you worry,” Floch squeezed Moblit’s shoulder, showing him a look of feigned affection. “No one is going to get hurt, if you cooperate.”

No. They couldn’t cooperate. Cooperating meant leading Floch and his bunch to Zeke, and that meant leading them to Levi.

“Mob! Don’t listen to him! We can’t–” instinctively, momentarily forgetting about the arms that held her down, Hange reached out to him, trying to catch his eyes.

But Moblit turned his face to the other side, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

Ah. Hange’s heart sunk, while Floch clasped his hands in delight.

“I’m glad you’ve made the right choice! And now,” he raised a finger, and Hange with Moblit were forced to move forward. “Let’s get going!”

___

Outside, the weather changed. The sun hid behind the heavy, grey clouds, the rain was now steadily falling down, creating puddles under their feet.

The gloomy weather further enhanced the trepidation inside Hange. The feeling, the certainty that something was going to get very wrong and very fast persisted, forcing her to grab the reins of the horse tighter, in vain hope of providing some miniscule outlet to her ever growing anxiety.

Despite the fear, Hange spurred her horse forward, doing her best to ignore the rifles pointed at her back. It was proving to be quite a vexing task, when the said rifles kept pushing her to move even faster but— it wasn’t the worst situation Hange had found herself in. That time when she and Zeke were captured by the enemy forces and put inside a fortified prison was so much worse. The prison had anti-Titan artillery surround the perimeter, they were alone and cut off from their allies. And still they managed to escape. Compared to that, a few Yeagerists were nothing.

Although, Hange had to admit – the stories did them no justice. In reality they were a lot more vile and disgusting.

But, apparently, Levi still trained some of them. And, boy, did he teach them well. One soldier behind Hange kept huffing, cursing the weather under his breath. Hange waited, and when he once again got distracted by the mud that splashed on his boot, she thanked Levi for his absurd obsession with cleanliness and acted, stealing that little moment for herself.

“Hey,” she leaned closer to Moblit who was riding right beside her, and whispered to him in a voice just slightly louder than the sound of the rain. “Remember that thing we did during Erwin’s coup-d'etat?”

Moblit winced, anxiety reflecting in his eyes. “When we punched people that were armed with rifles?”

Hange grinned. Atta boy, of course, he remembered. “I’ll give you a signal,” she nodded discreetly and returned to her previous position, now directing all of her attention on their fearless, redheaded leader.

“So Zeke is your main goal, right? You don’t actually need Historia?”

Floch scoffed, rising his nose up in distain. “The Queen is a back-up plan.” Wow, getting information out of them was that easy? Some devoted followers they were. Hange continued listening, eager to know what else Floch would reveal. “We’re not sure what exactly is going to happen, and Eren… doesn’t like hurting his friends.”

They weren’t sure what was going to happen. Only for these words Hange was ready to throttle each and one of them. What was going to happen? Mass destruction and death, a lot of unnecessary deaths.

But did these children care? Of course, they didn’t.

And would Zeke care about it? Hange wasn’t sure. Zeke was many things – cruel, violent, heartless, he never cared that much about other people. However, he was his father’s son, and, as much as he had loathed Grisha Yeager, Zeke still carried around the hero complex that his father fought so hard to plant inside him. Was it possible then that Zeke would be against the rumbling? Was it possible that he didn’t know of Eren’s true intention, that he blindly trusted his little brother?

Was it possible that their goals didn’t align? If so… then Zeke was a key player in this game of chess. He was a powerful figure they had to get on their side. If Hange could talk to him—

A loud sound, a crashing bang interrupted the flow of her thoughts, making her jump in the saddle.

That noise, it was similar to a thunder, but not quite. Hange knew that sound all too well, was the one who created the devise that was activated with the very same sound.

It couldn’t be— that noise couldn’t come from a thunder spear explosion. But… what other explanation was there?

“Let’s head there!” Floch commanded. “Something must have happened.”

Hange’s heart raced as they inched closer and closer to the place where the sound had come from. It wasn’t hard to find, the gory sight of the poor, wounded horse and the blasted cart was easy to spot.

They approached it slowly, and suddenly Hange froze, her eyes landing on something near the riverbank. Something that looked a lot like a body – a short one with strong stature and black hair—

“Moblit,” she whispered, begging him to clear her suspicions, to reassure her that she was mistaken.

But Moblit pursed his lips, and shook his head – brief, but resolute.

For a second, Hange froze, overcome with desperation and fear. Her heart stopped too, if just for a moment.

Levi, he couldn’t— but what if he did?

Ignoring the insistent shouts and strict orders to come back, Hange jumped off the horse, scrambling to get closer to the riverbank and to him.

She fell into the mud, uncaring of her clothes, of the mud she was splashing around. She felt nothing, the rain, the river, her captors, it all faded into background. She cared for nothing else, except the limp body in her hands.

Oh, please, please, please.

Her hands trembled as she turned the body to face her, careful as she could be. A bloody mess, her personal nightmare stared right back to her.

And in that moment— Hange felt her heart break, ripping, shuttering into thousands pieces. She thought she knew loss before, she thought she knew what pain was.

She was so wrong.

#i think it's the longest chapter of this fic for now?#so ummmmm enjoy!#levihan

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keichanz · 4 years

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

hey @britonell. do you remember Ride? yeah. that’s the one. anyway i have absolutely positively no explanation for this other than the fact that i’m a slut and also i’m blaming @clearwillow and @lemonlushff for this because they will know exactly where in the fresh fucking hell this came from.

now if you’ll excuse i’m going to crawl back into the hole i came from and actually attempt to finish my 654 WIPs i have kthxbye.

anyway this is a follow up of sorts to my oneshot Ride because i have no self control. so here enjoy Stripper Inuyasha in chaps and a Stetson as i make him fucking line dance across a stage *cackle*

brief smut at the end but nothing exceedingly detailed because i’m lazy.

“Kagome,” Sango groaned, following her friend through the packed club and raising her drink above her head in order not to spill it as she meandered through the sea of people and tables. Jesus, this place was huge! “Why are we here again? And how the hell were you able to bypass that line? It was like a mile long!”

“I told you already,” Kagome called back over her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on her beer as she headed toward the only empty table in the entire establishment, reserved for a one Kagome Higurashi and guest. “We’re meeting someone.”

Sango didn’t fail to notice Kagome did not answer her second question and she sighed in irritation. Her best friend wasn’t telling her something and for the life of her she didn’t understand why. Kagome had always told her everything, and vice versa. There were no secrets between them, and that was why they were so close. But she also trusted Kagome and knew if it were truly important, her friend would tell her so Sango let it slide and muttered an apology as she bumped into a table while squeezing through the narrow paths. The tables were clustered so close together it was almost impossible to maneuver between them, but they managed and finally reached where Kagome had been leading them.

Gratefully sliding into the cushy seat beside her friend, Sango glanced around and couldn’t help but notice their table, which had been suspiciously empty in a fully packed club, was near dead center of the place and with a clear view of the stage not too far from them. It was empty at the moment, but the show hadn’t started yet, so not a surprise. Above the dull roar of chatter and laughter, Sango could hear a low beat coming from the speakers situated everywhere, standby music as the “performers” no doubt got prepared.

Sango flushed and took a sip of her Cosmo. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed Kagome to talk her into coming to a damn strip club of all places and she’d only given in because she was tried of her friend constantly bugging her about it. Hopefully after tonight, and after meeting whoever Kagome wanted her to meet, Kagome would be satisfied and never ask her again. These places just weren’t her scene, though of course she had nothing against strippers. Hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do.

Sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, Sango sighed and set her drink on the table before turning her attention to the woman beside her. Dressed similarly like herself in a short jean skirt, cowgirl boots and a cami to give off that western sort of feel – something about the theme for the night apparently, from what Kagome had told her – said woman was grinning down at her phone with a soft blush on her cheeks, biting her lower lip as her fingers flew across the screen, no doubt typing a text message to her the new man in her life. Sango hadn’t met him yet, and every time she asked about him, Kagome would blush darkly and dodge the subject.

Not very unusual behavior for her friend, if Sango was being honest with herself. Kagome had always been reserved and shy, easily flustered and quick to stutter out an excuse if she was feeling embarrassed or awkward in a situation. So the fact that Kagome had chosen here of all places to meet their friend was very strange, to say the least. Still, despite herself, Sango was curious and knowing Kagome would just avoid the question again if she asked, she resigned herself to wait as patiently as she could for this friend of hers to show up.

Well…at least the seats were comfortable and the alcohol was good. And also free. Sango frowned. Wait a minute, how the hell—

Unbidden the lights shut off, plunging the club into darkness and instinctively Sango knew the show was about to begin. The lights lining the edge of the stage started glowing and there was a tangible buzz in the air, a heavy anticipation that blanketed the eagerly awaiting patrons. Sango was surprised to find herself actually a little excited, sitting up straight in her chair, staring hard at the dark stage and…

Wait a minute. She squinted, leaning forward. She could see figures on the stage, dark silhouettes moving into a triangular formation with one person in the front and four more branching out behind him. Her heart rate increased when she realized it was the dancers—the strippers. Ohmygod she was about to see a strip show—

Beside her Kagome could hardly contain herself, biting down on her lip to counting her squeal of excitement as she bounced a little in her seat. Though it was dark, she could just barely make out Sango’s face and she grinned from ear to ear to see her attentively staring at the stage, looking just about as excited as she felt.

Kagome couldn’t wait to see her friend’s face when she told her one of those dark figures standing motionless on the stage was her boyfriend.

Throughout the club, all the speakers hummed as the volume was cranked up, but at first there was nothing but static. Every few seconds a brief burst of music broke through before fading back to incomprehensible white noise, as if a radio dial was being turned to find that perfect frequency. This went on for another few seconds before the faint twang of a guitar was audible, the notes growing louder until an undoubtedly southern melody could be heard clearly above the gentle crackling of the static.

No lyrics accompanied the melody, no voice crooning out words of country roads, sweet potato pie, or mama. Instead all that could be heard was just the strumming of the guitar getting louder while steadily growing faster, the anticipation building, thrumming through the joint and creating a charged, restless energy until—

Silence.

A crackle, followed by an incomprehensible jumble of words, as if several radio stations were playing at once burst from the speakers, and then it was followed in short order by a widely familiar, but altered recording.

“Th-th-there’s a snake in my—”

A husky and positively sinful masculine laugh abruptly cut it off, echoing seductively throughout the club, and the wicked sound sent pleasant shivers down the backs of damn near every single female patron in the audience. Warmth pooled low in Kagome’s belly and she bit her lip because she knew who that laugh belonged to.

And then finally - finally - everyone’s attention was directed toward the stage as one by one, the dark silhouettes that were standing immobile were suddenly illuminated starting with the two in the back. The middle figures were next, first left, then right, and then finally at the head of their triangular formation, silver hair, golden eyes, and a positively devilish smirk was revealed on who was no doubt the star attraction of the joint.

While the patrons went wild and hollered their vivid appreciation, Sango’s mouth dropped and her face went very red as she took in the five figures standing on the stage. While fringed brown chaps coupled with black western boots concealed their legs, it was very obvious they wore nothing underneath them by way of the black briefs that were clearly visible. A matching brown suede western vest hung open from their shoulders with nothing else and expensive looking Stetson hats completed the cowboy look and honestly, Sango was kind of digging the look and she really wanted to know who the one with the small ponytail and charming smile was…

The response was deafening: riotous applause, exuberant cheering, screaming, shrieking, high-pitched whistling erupted from the audience. From beneath the brim of a sleek black Stetson, amber eyes found and zeroed in on a head of dark hair and melted caramel eyes in short order, sitting at her table as he knew she would be. Their eyes met and she smiled, a secretive curl of her lips that was returned with a flash of fang and a suggestive wink.

His girl blushed and bit her lip and fuck she was so goddamn beautiful.

If he’d bothered to take his eyes off of her for even a second, he would have noticed her friend beside her choking on her drink at the exchange, clearly shocked.

The beat dropped and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her, Inuyasha adjusted the microphone headset – specially designed for his ears in mind – closer to his mouth and with one hand holding the brim of the black Stetson on his head, the other hooked into his chaps, and he waited for the next cue before starting the memorized choreography.

“Boys,” he spoke into the mic and behind him, his “boys” moved to the beat with him, holding a similar pose with one hand holding their hat and the other hooked in their chaps.

“Now, remember what we’re here for,” Inuyasha continued, purposely adding a southern drawl to his voice that elicited several hoots of appreciation from the crowd. “This ain’t no half-cocked or eight second rodeo. Ain’t no kiddie rides or little ponies up in here.”

In sync, Inuyasha led his fellow performers into a quick country two-step the flexed the muscles of his abdomen. More whistles and hollers of female appreciation were issued as he drawled, “Nah, what we got here is the real deal. We got them one of a kind”—slide a hand down the stomach—"large and in charge”—hip roll—“rough and ready”—step back, a little spin—“motherfucking stallions.”

Cheering amidst rowdy laughter and shrieked encouragement was the response to that and Inuyasha gave a fang-baring smirk, his low chuckle rising above the din of the crowd thanks to the mic close to his mouth.

“And believe me when I say,” he continued, kicking out his booted feet and transitioning smoothly into an easy line dance, “there ain’t nothin’ half-cocked about ‘em.”

More screaming and cheering, wolf-whistles and cat-calls abound and yeah Inuyasha had to admit, he was soaking it up like a fucking sponge.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen.”

The five men spun around in a brief circle and with practiced ease caught the prop that was tossed to each of them from off stage, not missing a beat before whirling back around to face the audience and straddling what they held in their hands—a hobby horse toy, the one where a stuffed horse’s head was on the end of a stick.

“A gentle reminder”—Inuyasha turned sideways, tilted his prop so the horse head at the end of the stick was pointing upward, and very suggestively stroked his hand up the wooden shaft—"that you must be this tall to ride”—feminine giggling, shrieks of laughter and more hollering met his ears at that and he grinned—“and that any lightheadedness or tingling sensations are completely normal.”

More hilarity and cheering, the crowd restless, impatient, so Inuyasha decided it was time to wrap up his little speech. After performing some rather provocative dance moves with their props that had every woman in the building feeling rather flushed, the five performers tossed their props back to the hidden stagehands and while Inuyasha strutted to the end of the stage, the other four took position behind him, preparing to put on one hell of a show.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, cowboys and cowgirls,” he began and once more locked eyes with his girl, a devastating smirk curling his lips upward at her flushed and star-struck expression. “We kindly ask that you sit back, hang on tight, and enjoy…”

Strobe lights flashed, spotlights swiveled and bathed him in an ethereal glow, and the smirk that stretched across his face was all fang as golden eyes flashed from beneath the rim of his hat, dangerous, alluring, positively wicked.

“…the ride,” Inuyasha finished in a husky growl and as the crowd once more roared their vivid appreciation, the hanyou whipped off his headset before tossing it carelessly to the side and then fucking moonwalked back to his position, tipping his hat forward so only his smirking mouth was visible as he waited for the cue. It started only seconds later, the music reverberating throughout the club, and as one the performers started the largely anticipated show.

Only vaguely did Kagome recognize the beat that was pouring from the speakers, some kind of remix of the song The Git Up by Blanco Brown but it hardly mattered. They could have been dancing to something as ridiculous as the big butt song and Kagome would have been just as captivated, as enthralled as she was right now watching her man gyrate and pivot on the stage like he owned it. A lot of his moves were familiar now – both from being considered a regular here now and from his private little shows he gave her after hours – and Kagome suspected no matter how many time she watched him work those hips and roll that toned stomach, it would still have the same effect on her every single time, warmth pooling in her belly, heart beating fast, and a familiar ache developing between her legs.

Stealing a glance at the woman beside her, Kagome was thrilled to see that Sango was in a very similar state, her face redder than she could ever remember seeing, mouth parted in awe, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her gaze was focused solely on Inuyasha’s friend Miroku. Kagome had met him shortly after she and Inuyasha had started seeing each other officially and though he could come on a little strong at times with his wandering hands and flirty nature, he was a good man and Kagome genuinely liked him. Charming, witty, and with a surprising sense of humor, she knew he would be perfect for Sango and she decided to ask Inuyasha what he thought about setting them up.

But not until later, though, because right now Kagome’s attention was thoroughly ensnared by one silver-haired, golden-eyed Adonis as he drifted across the stage, flexing muscle, smirking devilishly, and every so often tossing her little winks that never failed to make her erupt into elated, girlish giggling.

By the time the first show of the night ended a disappointingly short five minutes later, all five performers were sans their vest and chaps, strutting around on the stage in naught but their boots, briefs, and Stetsons and looking utterly fucking delicious while they did. For the finale, the toy horse props had been made a second appearance and then the show had taken a very unexpected, but also very appreciated twist that had captive audience roaring with applause, cat-calls, wolf-whistles, and general pandemonium as every woman collectively lost her shit.

Each performer, with Inuyasha going last, briefly disappeared behind a screen that had been discreetly rolled onto the stage while the audience had been distracted by sexy dance moves and when they emerged, the briefs were gone and the hobby horse was held between their legs in such a way that the stuff horse head deliberately concealed any stallions from their screaming fans.

The dancers bowed and in another move that delighted the audience, each man removed their Stetson and tossed it into the crowd. Predictably they were fought over, women clamoring over each other to get to the precious souvenirs first, but Kagome ignored them all. Conveniently Inuyasha’s black hat found its way to her and she blew him a kiss as she placed it on her head to which her man winked at her with a grin before the stage went dark.

Giggling, Kagome turned to Sango to ask how she enjoyed the show and found that she was holding he own hat in her lap, a flush on her cheeks and a slight smile curling her lips. She recognized it was the one Miroku had been wearing and she smirked. Her little plan might be easier than she’d anticipated.

“Sooo,” Kagome drawled, not even bothering to hide her smirk as raised a brow at her friend. “Nice hat. It’s safe to say that you enjoyed the show?”

Flush darkening, Sango muttered something and proceeded to ignore her friend by putting the hat on her head and tugging it down over her blushing face. Kagome cackled and without removing the hat, Sango flipped her off. Kagome cackled louder.

Deciding to spare her friend further embarrassment, Kagome left to get them two more drinks and by the time she returned, Sango had cooled down and smiled her thanks when Kagome set a Manhattan down in front of her.

“Yes,” Sango sighed as nursed her drink and her smile was almost dreamy. “Yes, I admit it. I enjoyed it.”

Kagome simply waggled her brows and sipped at her amaretto sour, but before she could say anything else, she spotted a familiar figure, now dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, weaving through the sea of tables and people, fending off grasping hands of appreciative women. His honeyed gaze was zeroed on her, however, not once looking at any of the women that tried to get his attention and Kagome felt that familiar warmth bloom in her chest. She felt it somewhere significantly lower as well, but that was nothing new and she tried to ignore it as her boyfriend approached with his signature smirk.

“Ladies,” Inuyasha greeted and bent down to sweep his girl into hot kiss, caging her in his arms with a hand on either arm rest. “Baby,” he rumbled, pulling away and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmmm,” Kagome hummed and tugged him back down for another one. Inuyasha chuckled and happily obliged, getting lost in her taste, her scent, the way she twined her fingers in his hair and snagged his ear to massage the sensitive flesh. He growled, lifting a hand to cup the back of her head, tilting it back so he could plunder the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, nip her lips with his fangs, and suck the soft flesh into his mouth. Kagome moaned for him and the sound went straight to his—

“Inuyasha, get your tongue out of your girlfriend’s mouth. You’re being rude.”

With a grunt, the hanyou reluctantly pulled away and leveled a peeved glare at the source of the voice.

Unfazed, Miroku stared blandly back, arms crossed while next to him, eyes impossibly wide and mouth open in shock as she sputtered incoherently, Sango gawked incredulously at them.

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha grumbled something but nonetheless complied, dropping one last kiss to his girl’s mouth before standing up and gesturing at Kagome to stand up. She did, and he took her place in the chair before tugging her back down to sit on his lap. His arms went around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder and Kagome wiggled around to get comfortable before resuming sipping her drink, calm as you please, like she hadn’t just been making out with her hot as fuck stripper boyfriend.

Recovering from her shock while Miroku not so discreetly looked down Sango’s shirt at her cleavage, Sango jabbed an accusatory finger at her friend and screeched, “Your boyfriend is a stripper!”

Kagome blinked and smiled a mite sheepishly. “Um…uh, so, Sango, remember when I said we were meeting someone here?” She chuckled nervously. “Well…”

Without warning Sango snatched her drink off the table and drained it in three large gulps.

Miroku practically had fucking heart-eyes as he gawked at the woman who had just downed a strong cocktail like it was nothing.

“Fuck, marry me,” he murmured, barely aware of what he was even saying and then he promptly forgot how to breathe when the woman of his dreams suddenly swung her gaze his way, racked her eyes up and down his body in an evident once over, and then made a noise of approval as her eyes lingered somewhere considerably lower than his face.

Feeling warm not only from the booze in her system but also lingering effects from the captivating show featuring the very sexy man before her, Sango abruptly got to her feet and pegged her best friend with a look. Kagome blinked and innocently widened her eyes. Sango snorted.

“You,” she said, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk later. And you.” She spun around and jabbed her finger in Miroku’s face. His eyes crossed as he stared at it. “You’re coming with me.”

Then with that, completely ignoring the couple nestled in the chair with matching knowing looks on their faces, Sango stormed off, head held high and like an obedient puppy Miroku followed after her, nearly stumbling in his wake and ignoring the hands that reached out to him as he passed by.

Kagome and Inuyasha stared after her, one gaze amused, one slightly bewildered.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome deadpanned. “Meet Sango.”

Inuyasha snorted and maneuvered her around on his lap until her legs were draped over the armrest and her arms were around his neck. He buried his face in her neck and kissed the soft skin, ears flicking at her soft sigh.

“I think Miroku likes her,” he pointed out a little needlessly since it was obvious the guy was already half-way in love with her. His friend always did like a woman that could hold her liquor well and Sango’s first impression had been stellar.

“Hmm,” Kagome hummed and her friend was the last thing on her mind as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and ran her fingers across the hard lines of her man’s defined abdomen. “I like you.”

Inuyasha smirked and kissed his way up her neck. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” Scratching lightly with her nails just to feel him shiver against her, Kagome slipped her other hand into his hair and found one of his ears, fingers stroking the soft flesh. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” Inuyasha growled into her ear and nibbled on the tender lobe before trailing his tongue along the delicate line of her jaw.

Breath hitching in her throat as his devious mouth licked and nipped at her skin, Kagome swallowed back a moan and slyly slipped her fingers further south to flutter over the crotch of his jeans as she leaned up and confessed her secret in a sultry purr.

Inuyasha’s entire body stiffened as her naughty words registered in his brain and he groaned, head falling back to loll against the backrest of the chair as his devil of a girlfriend snickered impishly on his lap. Damn, but his girl was dangerous, and fuck if he didn’t absolutely fucking love it.

“Well?” Kagome purred and he could feel her warm breath wash over his jaw as she laved the skin with soft kisses. “How ‘bout it, cowboy? Shall we go for a nice hard ride on your stallion, or you gonna make me settle for a boring little pony show?”

Her fingers flitted over the hardening crotch of his jeans again and she felt an answering pulse between her legs, thighs squeezing together to relieve some of the building tension.

With a low growl designed to tell her just what he thought about her cheeky little teasing, Inuyasha surged forward, caught her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss and then suddenly he was on his feet and dragging her toward the employees only backstage entrance. Breathless, aching, and trembling, it was all Kagome could do to keep up with him, shamelessly admiring the flexing muscles of his back and his tight ass in those jeans, but then her back was suddenly against a wall, her hanyou had wedged himself between her legs, and his hand was up her skirt, claws hooking in her damp panties and tearing the fabric completely off.

Kagome gasped but it turned into a moan when her lover hitched her thighs around his hips and then hastily unfastened his jeans, freeing the stallion that was rearing and ready to go from within. He cursed, she laughed, and the next minute he was inside her, grinding her into the wall, swallowing her moans with his mouth and returning them with heated growls of pleasure.

He fucked her against the wall, in a rarely used dark hallway somewhere behind the stage, and as Kagome clung to his shoulders and begged him for more, harder, faster, please, Inuyasha snarled and complied as her naughty little confession rang in his ears over and over, fanning the flames of his passion, his hunger for this woman all-consuming and never ending.

“I want your full cocked, large and in charge stallion inside me in the next thirty seconds and it had better be longer than any eight second ride.”

i want you all to know hat i could not. stop. laughing. as i was writing Inuyasha’s sexy little speech and that i am very proud with how it turned out rofl also yes i did make Inuyasha line dance anD I’M NOT SORRY

on another note, i didn’t put as much detail into the dancing this time because one it’s a fucking pain in the ass to write out detailed choreography; two, the actual dancing wasn’t a huge part of the plot, and three, i’m a lazy piece of shit and just wanted this done. also yes i’m aware that last line is kinda lime and anti climatic but i couldn’t think of anything else lmao

for anyone curious, the eight second thing references bull riding. a cowboy must stay on a bucking bull for eight seconds without touching any part of the bull or yourself or using any spurs, ropes, ect.

#save a horse ride a cowboy #inuyasha #inukag #oneshot #keizfanfiction #fanfiction #fuck #now i remember why i never wrote a second part #this was a MASSIVE PAIN IN THE ASS TO WRITE

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radramblog · 3 years

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Album Discussion- The Fall of Troy

Last week I discussed an album that, more or less, was defined by looseness and empty spaces. This might as well be the polar opposite of that.

(man no-one seems to have uploaded this album art in high res)

Released in 2003, The Fall of Troy is a self-titled mathcore/post-hardcore/screamo debut album made by 3 17 year olds- and in some ways that shows, but it’s not like they were fresh, they’d had two EPs under a different name by that point. The Fall of Troy is probably best known by their song F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X., having been featured as a bonus track in Guitar Hero III, which is notably, not on this album. Rather, their second album, Doppelganger, had a few tracks that were basically retakes of songs from this first album. But we’re not talking about Doppelganger (and I still can’t find a bloody CD of it), we’re talking about The Fall of Troy, by The Fall of Troy, so let’s bloody well dive in.

The first song on here, Rockstar Nailbomb!, is as much a statement of intent as anything I’ve ever seen. It’s starts with hoarsely screamed, incomprehensible vocals over a frenetic set of guitar riffs, that cuts back into a more traditional song structure, you know, after a bit. Like any good opener, it’s introducing what you’re going to be getting from the album- songs that, while extremely energetic, tend to cut between sung vocals and screamed ones at a moment’s notice, complex and overlapping guitar riffs, and a very deliberately unpolished sound. The technical skill on display is incredible considering the age of the band, as well. For such a short song, Rockstar Nailbomb! goes in some real places, closing with a line that would be appropriate to finish off the album as a whole- but of course, we’re just getting started.

The next song is called Spartacus, and it shows off the talent of the drummer in a way that the previous didn’t. Unfortunately, I almost feel like this song was kind of a half-formed idea, considering it’s a minute and a quarter long, and the…squeal…? Near the end is kind of offputting. A mid one.

Oh boy it wouldn’t be a nerd band without ridiculous track names- next up is The Circus That Has Brought Us Back to These Nights (Yo Chocola), and no I don’t fucking know what that means. This one ironically feels the most like a song than the others before it, a slightly more traditional structure, the screaming and singing vocals forming something of a call-and-response that would probably make more sense if I could understand the lyrics half the time. Despite this, it’s no less speedy, frantic, and intricate, mixes between melody and dissonance that are basically the band’s signature.

The fourth track is named Mouths Like Sidewinder Missiles, and it’s one of my favourite tracks on the album. I can’t really describe why, though, so I’m going to take a minute to talk about something else. See, this is one of the tracks that was redone for Doppelganger, and on Spotify, for whatever reason, has the title misspelled “Misssiles”. I let them know about this years ago and they never fixed it, so I guess this is my callout post. For what it’s worth, I think the Doppelganger version is a bit looser, adding in some elements in the empty space (there’s a reverb after the initial riff I really love), but both have their own merits.

Okay, mild rant over, back to regular old rambling. The next track is The Last March of the Ents, Lord of the Rings reference very much intended. This is one of those tracks I always forgets exists to be honest, like the intro started and I was like…what was this one again? And then the bit at like 50 seconds came in and I remembered everything. That section is honestly really strong, though unfortunately the rest of the track kinda feels just like Mouths like Sidewinder Missiles, but like, slightly worse? Which is especially awkward considering it immediately proceeds that song. I will say the part of the song where it slows alllll the way down is really enjoyable, it’s very gradual and smooth, gives the bass a bit of time to shine, before blowing back up again because these guys just can’t bear to play slow for half a minute.

The next track is F.C.P.S.I.T.S.G.E.P.G.E.P.G.E.P. This is the song that their most popular track, F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X. is a version of, and they’ve never actually stated what the acronym is for. A common (and I believe discredited) suggestion is, and I quote, “Fuck condoms, premarital sex is the shit, get ‘er pregnant get ‘er pregnant get ‘er pregnant”, which is A Take. It also has nothing to do with the lyrics of the song itself. This track is actually by far the loosest and slowest on the album completely, appropriate considering it’s first words are “slow down”. There’s really not a lot of screaming on it, left only to the chorus, and they’re actually understandable which is nice (or maybe it’s just because I know it’s “come running home”). This is undoubtedly an emo track, based on the lyrics, but it’s also just kind of excellent, similarly complex lyrics slowed down to a comprehensible tempo and a bridge that builds in a supremely satisfying manner. The comparison to R.E.M.I.X. is of course, inevitable, and I will say the tightening up did help in some places- the very slow section at the latter part of the song probably doesn’t need to go that long, and that’s easily the part that gets sped up most in the redo. Still, the song stands out very naturally, feeling more thoughtful and controlled than its peers.

The next song is titled “Whacko Jacko Steals The Elephant Man’s Bones”, apparently a reference to…a music video where Michael Jackson danced next to a recreation of the skeleton of a famously deformed man. Yeah, ok, sure. I don’t actually have much to say about this one, it’s very scream-led, but doesn’t really stand out to me apart from the naming. It’s play rating supports this, being the second least listened track here, but it’s by no means bad. It’s just kinda long and as generic as something like this can be, I suppose. Honestly I kinda forgot all the directions this goes, some of these sections are really quite excellent, but the song is probably like 2 minutes longer than it needed to be. I’m just saying. Like I kept waiting for this song to try and change my mind and it kinda just didn’t.

Reassurance Rests in the Sea is up next, and god that little riff it’s building around, that just noodles around but at triple speed, is just so sick. It’s a song that spends a lot more time cutting itself down- like F.C.P.etc. it’s looser and slower, but substantially more disjointed than that one is. This song, uh, completely breaks off like two minutes in and just stops. And becomes a different song. Like, I don’t think this is a bonus track or anything, it’s just a part of the same song. And that second half is a really sort of chill (for this album) instrumental, lead by a bassline that slowly gets more riffs over the top of it. And then that bit stops itself, and the main song returns again for like the final half a minute or so. And honestly I was just like, wait, no, go back…….

The actual least listened to track on the album is number 9, The Adventures of Allan Gordon (it’s apparently about a book). Honestly, I’d kinda love to hear this live, because the first minute or so of it is the kind of thing you’d play as an interstitial to keep the audience going while you get your shit ready for the next song. Eventually (and I mean eventually, song’s a third through at this point) the lyrics and such come in, and yeah ok I see why this one isn’t as popular. It’s like, fine? Like, that cut back section is pretty overall mediocre, but when we get back to the screaming and the riffs and the noise its as solid as ever. It’s a little frustrating, because they can do the more lyrical stuff, F.C.P. is right there, but this one doesn’t quite make the mark for me. A shame.

Track 10 is I Just Got This Symphony Goin’, which does not have an actual symphony, but it does present and absolutely killer opening riff, so it’s not all bad. This is one of the songs I most associate with the album, even if it’s one of the ones also on Doppelganger. Its speeding up and slowing down and screaming and singing and lots of interweaving and yeah. I like it. Iunno.

The final song, What Sound Does a Mastodon Make? (I dunno, ask a paleontolgist?), is a full seven minutes, 2 minutes longer than the next longest track. It’s kind of interesting, since the second half of the album going by tracks is much much longer than the first half. It does this really fun bit where the lead guitar and rhythm guitar do their own little call and response thing, immediately followed by one of the weirdest vocal noises I’ve ever heard, and I don’t have a word to describe it, so you’re gonna have to either trust me or listen to it yourself. This song is just really, really long, man, and it goes in a lot of places but none of them are exceptional enough to really justify slogging through a total 7 minutes of it. I’m going to be honest, I’m probably not going to listen to it unless I’m going through the whole album. The extended build near the end is pretty sick, I guess? And the way the last minute just decides to, like, drop everything, and just end with a very quiet, indie-esque instrumental. Like the very “we did it, now we can relax” sort of moment. Lets both you and the band know its over, and you can move on past your energy high to something a bit more chill.

I think the best phrase I can use to describe The Fall of Troy is “ADHD music”. Both in that it feels almost a little distractable sometimes, multidirectional and often not fully resolving its lines, and also in that said lines are great if you’re someone like myself who’s brain needs something to be chewing over while the more conscious parts are trying to do something else. To be clear, I consider this a compliment. Like most music I discuss, this certainly isn’t for everyone, as you’re going to need a tolerance for adrenaline and screaming to enjoy this album, but I do think it’s worth the attempt. Now, I haven’t listened to Doppelganger (or any of the other albums for that manner) in full, so I can’t comment on how the style of The Fall of Troy would evolve over time. But at the very least, this is a very solid starting point for what would become a surprisingly long-lasting act.

#ramble #music #mathcore #the fall of troy

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arabrot · 3 years

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Who Do You Love by John Doran

Who Do You Love?

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire.

You’d think that by travelling that distance around a country you could get the measure of it. Especially if the country was only 361 miles from top to bottom and even less from East to West. You’d be thinking reasonably but not accurately.

Despite journeying the equivalent of one fifth of the circumference of the entire Earth in 31 days, all we got to see was the road itself. England endless. What we experienced was just a percentage of a splodge, a smidge of a blotch on the coastal fringe of Europe that deserved neither the sobriquet Great, nor the title United. How did such a small area of land contain such extravagant lengths of major road? In the same way that a human body could house a tapeworm 33 metres long. Probably not comfortably but hopefully not fatally either. Undoubtedly, in May 2015 - general election month - England had beauty to spare: it’s just that none of it was visible from the motorway.

We met on the forecourt of a petrol station near an airport. Heat haze was already starting to rise from the tarmac. The Driver was dressed immaculately in a tight-fitting black suit, shades and wide-brimmed black hat. His concession to non-monochromatic decoration was silver chains carrying cocks and crosses. He looked like Asa Hawkes, the “blind” preacher from Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood - but much thinner. He tipped the brim of his hat hello. This was not his stage hat but his everyday hat. His stage hat, the kind of prairie Stetson featured in the opening scene of Holy Mountain was massive and kept in the kind of box that suggested it was an essential part of a drum kit. It had its own carefully allotted slot in the back of the van with the tons of amplifiers, speaker cabinets, guitars, synthesizers, boxes of books, suitcases full of clothes and bags and bags of oranges we were taking with us. There was only one way to fit all of this stuff into the vehicle, and packing it correctly was like 3-D Tetris. All it took was one giant, impractical hat in the wrong place and then everything had to be taken out again and reloaded in the correct position.

He was the colour of milk, which made the angry red scars up either side of his neck all the more vivid. He looked like the missing link between human being and some future race of Lovecraftian eel-men who would be able to breathe via gills under water.

As well as me and the Driver, there was the Passenger. She looked more like she had stepped straight from the set of Bladerunner than a Jodorowsky or John Huston movie. This was to be their last tour as boyfriend and girlfriend as they were headed straight to a deconsecrated church in rural Sweden to get married as soon as the trip ended. I was merely a temporary guest in their world. A road voyeur with a month long pass.

Within minutes of setting off we hit the M25 we became enmeshed in May Day traffic. I realised that most of the month was going to be spent looking at slow moving traffic on motorways.

But just as driving to Brighton was slow and painful, leaving it the next day was a dream. On the motorway, time stretched and contracted simultaneously in temporal doppler effect. The days seemed longer but time blistered, popped and broke apart pleasantly as the brain switched down a few gears into a near pure experiential mode. There was little to worry about. All I could do was count the pylons and pretend I had a flamethrower to aim at UKIP billboards and hoardings; to luxuriate in motorway sign typography and listen to Maggot Brain as loud as it would go. Miles Davis’ Agharta was the soundtrack to us speeding out of the south up the M1 towards the Rainy City. Al Foster’s ringing, open hi-hat was our fuel. And then it was nothing but John Coltrane, Electric Wizard and NOMEANSNO until we reached our destination. It started raining the second we hit Stoke. And then before long we were on the Mancunian Way heading for Piccadilly in torrential rain, parking the van under a tangle of flyovers. When I planned this jaunt it was a thing of beauty. I took an AA road map and unfolded it until it covered half the floor space in my tiny living room. I took a sheet of stickers from my son’s Thomas The Tank Engine magazine and created a spiral of towns and cities, first round the edges near the coast and then spiraling in toward the centre. Our proposed journey looked like an occult temporal and spatial message only discernable from the god perspective. What I planned was a perfect thing. But after you plan your perfect thing what happens is this: promoters start phoning you up or emailing you. ‘We’ve double booked you with a Stereophonics tribute act’; ‘There’s actually a bar mitzvah on that day’; ‘It’s Record Store Day.’ And then the perfect thing falls to pieces. By the time we hit the road the perfect thing looked like that terrifying film of a spider on LSD trying to spin a web. And there was only one thing worse than a spider on LSD trying to spin a web and that was a spider on caffeine trying to spin a web.

We stopped for several coffees en route to Sunderland the next day. The weather was beautiful. Fields of golden rape seed glowed under a blue sky. But I gave up counting the UKIP billboards. There were just too many. The purple pound signs zipped past in a blur. We’d been on the road for five days and I hadn’t seen a single sign for Labour. It was almost a relief when we passed a huge hoarding in an arable field next to a broken tractor which proclaimed: “Prepare to meet your Lord!” We pulled in soon after to stretch our legs in front of a petrol station that shared a forecourt with a sex shop wrapped in a large tarpaulin hoarding, proclaiming: “Under new management!” Next door was a garden centre flying a row of ten confederate flags and two Union Jacks. There was a knackered and rusty jet stream caravan serving up plastic cups of filter coffee.

It became clear early on that the Travelodge was our friend. Every Travelodge the Driver, the Passenger and I shared was identical. A family room. One double bed, one fold out couch bed, minimal decoration, very interesting mass produced art, scant furniture, tea making facilities and a portable telly, often chained to the wall. The Travelodge may have had less furniture in it than the average bail hostel and may sometimes have smelled like a suburban pet shop from 1984 but it was totally fine as we were low ranking touring musicians and writers, not visiting dignitaries from Saudi Arabia.

After Leeds, our Travelodge was situated in a motorway retail park so the following morning we walked just a few hundred yards to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Pushing open the double swing doors we were confronted by a man in stained chef’s whites, with hair pushed under a light blue plastic turban crowning a jowly and crimson face. He was methodically and noisily applying a large cleaver to a foot long cylindrical sharpening steel with a schnick-schnick sound.

“Hello!” said the Driver cheerfully. “Are you Toby?”

The chef looked up slowly and a pendulous and translucent bead of sweat swayed under his nose. His eyes were like drill holes in gammon. Bruised udders of flesh were hanging below each of his nicotine-stained ocular orbs. He was possibly the most hungover man I had ever seen. He jawed away silently, his eyes flickering dully with rage as he started straightening up. The BPM of metal on metal increased. The three of us circled round him gingerly and headed rapidly for the breakfast counter past tables rammed full of people who looked like they were about to die. I had never seen so many morbidly obese people in one place at one time. It was like God’s waiting room with unlimited fried egg.

Oh England, you are sick.

It was only £5 per head and you could eat as much as you wanted but the choice was only bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, black pudding, fried egg, fried bread, beans and mushrooms. The thrill of the open road. Unlimited roast potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

(We spent just one night at the supposedly more upmarket Premier Inn, and it was relatively more luxurious but due to its incomprehensible automated reception machine, it took us an hour and a long conversation with two angry Premier Inn employees to gain access to our room. “Getting into this hotel was like the opening scene from a new episode of Black Mirror”, said the Driver, a recent convert to the show. “There’s nothing like waking up in some shitty English town, before eating some shitty English breakfast before driving slowly down some shitty English motorway for 12 hours before loading into some shitty English venue and playing a shitty gig to ten people before going to some shitty Travelodge just to watch a really well made English TV series which explains to you exactly why everything is so fucked”, he told me gleefully.)

Any hotel room was actually very much like home as long as you had a laptop, a handful of Nick Cave CDs, some Right Guard and a copy of Threads on DVD, which happened to be the exact contents of my overnight hotel bag.

Waking up in another identical Travelodge on another identical Motorway retail park the next day I realised finally that this was literally the worst place for a writer to be during general election month. Nowhere had wifi that worked. It was like being in a bubble of ignorance for 31 days. We had to choose these parks to minimise the chances of the splitter van getting stolen with all of our gear inside it. Every Travelodge we stayed in was essentially the same, surrounded by a handful of other outlets - a Toby Carvery or a Harvester or, if you were really unlucky, both of them. Then maybe also a Costa, a Boots and an Esso petrol station as well. They were all accessible from a motorway roundabout that wasn’t really near anything other than either an airport, a prison or an industrial estate. A vague hangover from reading JG Ballard as a schoolboy led me to believe that there would be some kind of mind-expanding nourishment to be had from this aspect of the venture but these motorway retail parks were all identical. They were the most co-opted and least free spaces of all.

After breakfast, outside, sitting on a wall drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine, I looked intently at a semicircle of rooks surrounding a single bird of their own kind. They were slowly advancing in toward it. The bird in the middle was stock still and not moving. It didn’t look like a friendly encounter. The Driver and the Passenger came out and joined me. The parliament were just about to attack the accused in order to peck it to death but just as the corvine jury bore down, they were disturbed by a loud noise from above. The Red Arrows flew over the Travelodge in formation causing them to scatter It felt almost as if the Driver existed in a bubble of weird, uncanny, apocalyptic and esoteric events that moved with him wherever he roved. But it was also as if he barely noticed any of them. I stood pointing at the sky.

“Yes, yes” he snapped irritably as if he was sick of seeing this kind of thing. “Let’s get in the van and get off otherwise we won’t get to Digbeth in time.”

That night I dreamt that the solid iron core of the Earth was about to slough us all off until the planet stood raw and bleeding in space, just roiling magma with no skin to contain it. The utter indignity of being born between waves, the scions of a pusillanimous age we were all about to be cast into the void with the filthy scab of a country we called England. A flat and unmagical land. A depressing and tawdry place. When I opened my eyes Toby was stood in the corner of the room, sharpening his cleaver, schnick, schnick, schnick, schnick. Empty eye sockets carved out of rancid, fly-blown gammon.

“We have to stop eating lunch at the Harvester!” I sprang out of my fold out bed and shouted at the Driver and the Passenger, waking them from their sleep. “The full rack of ribs is fucking killing me!”

Fuck the Harvester. Fuck Toby Carvery. All of the clothes that were hanging off me on May 1 were now snug and it was only May 12. My ears were ringing with the premonition of some future blue cheese dressing related pulmonary event.

It was easy to see how ruinous life on the road could be, even when you didn’t drink or do drugs. I felt sorry for younger bands who felt they had to go out partying every night after shows. After a couple of weeks it must end up hellish.

The road to Hull was paved with UKIP signs. Only Necrosis by Cadaver played at ear disrespecting volumes kept us sane. It was dark as we drove into town and ghosts lined Ferensway waiting to greet me. The cinema where I’d had my first date in town, the pair of us just turned 18 - watching Shirley Valentine no less, saying, “Imagine being that old” about Pauline Collins and Bernard Hill - was now a bingo hall. The war memorial that I regularly drank sherry in front of on a bench. The Welly nightclub where I saw a punter swan dive off a balcony and go headfirst through the corner of a formica table. When they took him out on a stretcher there was a blanket pulled up over his face. And then down past my old house on De Grey Street and into the car park of the Adelphi. And then the ghosts waved us back out of town.

The drive to Great Yarmouth was gruelling and 13-hours long because of traffic - we got stuck behind no less than three serious road accidents. Bodies strewn across baking tarmac. Bloodied travellers weeping in incomprehension at the hard shoulder. Slow moving the traffic might have been but at least we had plenty of long albums to listen to. Just like a mattress in a shared student house or the narrative flow of the Bayeux Tapestry - Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly sagged in the middle but it was very, very long, making it ideal for the van.

Eight hours later, after the show, we flew down the A47 unimpeded like we were clinging to a rocket, listening to Slayer albums sequentially at full volume, gabbling like a bunch of four-year-olds as we went. By the last day, I felt like I was about to die and constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t want it to end. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It was genuinely the worst of all times. And yet I’d crawl over broken glass to be able to do it all again right now.

You know, if you really want to get the measure of a country don’t drive round it. Take a train or walk. Maybe buy a bicycle or a skateboard or something.

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire and parked the splitter van by the roadside.

John Doran, Bangkok, Thailand, December 2017

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kiaraconcept · 4 years

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An interview with the Water Dress

1. So, being that your name is the water dress, it would be logical to assume that you’ve been inspired by the water but, I want to know are there any other elements around water that have inspired your creation?

Yeah. Iris grew up next to the water and has always been fascinated by how just being there was so liberating for her. Nature has always been a big influence in Iris’s work and there are unfathomably many things to explore around it. For instance, the properties that identify with water in its different states, its calming and unbounded nature when in fluid-structure, the color, texture, movement, energy, even to the way light refracts on water. She wanted to create all these elements to form a tangible collection, it challenges her to create something as uncontrollable as water to control her design process.

I was created during a collaboration between Iris and Benthem Crouwel Architects. His design for a new extension to Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum earned its nickname, “bathtub”. To live up to the name, and to represent the museum, Iris created me to mimic a splash of water, like when someone is doused in water. I symbolize the incomprehensible magic of the human body and how water is manifested in all its states.

2. Since your debut there has been a lot of talk both within the fashion world and the outside world where people who would not have otherwise explored high fashion. How do you think going viral has impacted the fashion industry?

Ever since the collection became a huge hit, people started imitating my design and I was recreated by so many different designers who all interprets it in their own different ways. They started realizing that fashion has become a lot more extensive and that it is important to incorporate elements of art, science, philosophy, sculpture, computer technology, engineering, and architecture. The interest in wearable technology and 3D printing has increased exponentially and Iris has been labelled as the pioneer of utilizing 3D printing in fashion. Iris's pieces grabbed the attention of icons like Björk and Lady Gaga, which then popularize Iris’s designs and bring fame to her brand.

People started following Iris’s unique vision and design approach to create designs that we have never seen before while making use of 3D printers as another creative tool, a canvas for creative expression. Like Jenny Wu, an architect that launched her own 3D-printed jewelry company or Danit Peleg, a fashion design student who launched the first fashion collection 3D-printed at home.

3. Iris has been producing numerous new collections over the years, if you could be one other dress which dress would it be? And why?

It was always a dream of hers to create a fully transparent water dress using 3D printer. But at the time I was made, it was impossible because the technology was still limited. So she tried to find other ways and opted for another design. She finally finished all her hard work and it was in the magnetic moon collection that she was able to showcase it. To get there, the process wasn’t easy. It took 81 hours just for the printing and that was followed by another 8 hours of polishing and finishing work.

The outcome was a dress that almost looks like an ice sculpture. It was the first ever fully transparent 3D printed dress and I’ve always wanted that title to be mine. Iris also described this achievement as one of the happiest moments in her life. So if I could be one other dress, it would undoubtedly be the ice dress.

4. I see that there has been a project where you were evolved into a new dress. For this remake, you were worn by Daphne Guinness. How does that make you feel? Can you tell me more about the experience?

Daphne Guinness has always been famous for her love of couture and extravagant style. To be worn by someone so stunning like her was such an honor. Her warm personality made this project so much more enjoyable and it didn’t take long for all of us to bond together.

Not only is she beautiful outside, her personality also shines through. Being raised as a socialite and an heiress, it is easy to be caught up in a world of luxury and glamour. But Daphne never forgets to give back, she has set up The Isabella Blow Foundation to support aspiring art and fashion students and also facilitating further research into mental health. She also raised money for Womankind, a charity that believes in improving the life standards of women in developing countries. Overall, this was such a great opportunity for everyone to gather and make art while learning from one another.

5. You’ve obviously being constructed using techniques that are not commonly used in the average atelier. What are some of the unique or unexpected techniques that have been used to create yourself?

Knight captured the action of Guinness being splashed with black and clear water using high speed cameras and the video was a guide reference imagery for Iris to create my structure. Iris defies logic by combined archaic crafts with futuristic technologies, she heated plastic with a hot air gun and then pulled it with pliers to form an undulating transparent sheet with jagged edges, and used the result to create me.

#assignment3 #week12

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crisisengine · 4 years

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review: TEENS OF STYLE

Teens of Style was Will Toledo (aka Car Seat Headrest)’s 2015 major label debut. However, rather than being a paradigm shift into new, polished studio-recorded material (which would come on the next record, Teens of Denial), it was instead a laptop-recorded look back at the Will’s lo-fi Bandcamp days, compiling together older songs from different projects (mainly his first non-numbered album My Back is Killing Me Baby and the relentless but captivating breakup record Monomania). Now that Will has a firmly established musical reputation outside of the world of Bandcamp and people are enjoying all his work, both new and old, I thought it would be a good time to explore whether this record holds up in its own right. It is more than just a greatest hits compilation? (short answer: ABSOLUTELY YES!)

I like how the refrain from SUNBURNED SHIRTS closes and opens Car Seat Headrest’s first trilogy of major label albums. It’s cool to see how, on this song and on ‘Twin Fantasy (Those Boys)’, the same words and melodies are used in totally different contexts (though, here, we also get the eargasmic “People here bang on the walls late at night…” part). This one oozes dreamlike, summery vibes. I love the psychedelic sound collage at the start and, from there, it’s a pleasure to watch the song build up into the final rock-out ending.

The opening riff of THE DRUM is perfectly produced. Whenever it appears, sometimes without warning, I get total chills. The guitar tone cuts through like an ice pick. The verses build on this in a muddier fashion but, by the time the vocals come to a head (“The Drum’s in debt!!) I am absolutely won over. Andrew Katz’s spritely drum fills add a fitting contrast to the breakdown and final verse really does give off a bizarre sense of triumph (“he’s got his flag unfurled or something”). I enjoy how, after the opener has gradually drawn us in, this song feels like a decisive overture, a setting of the scene for the album.

SOMETHING SOON is a brilliantly put-together pop song. The verses’ lyrical vignettes of cabin-fever turn into outright desperation in the chorus. It pinpoints these feelings really accurately. The skittering breaks in the verses release themselves into the crashing choruses and outro. Each section is bookended by the same repeating electric piano chord. The explosion from this pared down moment into the final burst of energy just seems so right.

Like ‘The Drum,’ NO PASSION also rests on an exquisite moment of production. In the final chorus when Will sings “I” in his high register, it’s like a shot through the heart. The sarcastic image of failure in the verses compliments this so well – a succession of half-formed images that seem to suck away all feeling. The comparative earnestness of “I just needed more money, more time, more love” hits home. Our generation often try to rationalise things through sarcasm when really there is something more deeply lacking in our lives. The line “All my desires are so poorly drawn” also really resonates with me.

TIMES TO DIE adds to this album’s incredibly strong selection of opening moments of tracks. The wandering bassline interlocks with the chug of a delayed guitar followed by a single note. There’s something incredibly satisfying about it, especially when you are aware of the sound bath you are about to enter. The psychedelic vocal and guitar interplay in the verses is a highlight – in the first, they mirror each other but, in the second, the guitar skirts around the vocals, carving out new crevices. Their two melodies collide at the end of said verse, in a really affecting way (“but he just keeps singing this song”). The use of horns and cut-up vocals enlivens the sound palette. It feels like a series of ancient rooms with each section or lyrics (“and when they took him to the temple…”) leading somewhere new. A light seems to shine through as the melodies cascade upwards. The “most of the time” section provides nice segue into the “divine council” part which feels like an explosion, with the “is it harder to speak?” section as its fallout. The intermingling of imagery or religion and the music business (“got to believe in the one above me, got to believe that [Vince]Lombardi [head of Matador records] loves me”) is playful and dreamlike.

PSST TEENAGERS is a fun interlude that adds some more immediate energy into a generally fairly meditative album.

The opening verses of STRANGERS leave you inquisitive as to where the song is heading. All becomes clear when the tension of the exclamatory chorus is released in the lovely, picked instrumental break that follows (again enhanced by some inventive drum rhythms). The second section is the real stunner though, starting off cocoon-like and vulnerable but leading into a volatile crescendo. The line “I won’t last too much longer” and its raw delivery convey a sense of enigmatic fragility that I find very affecting.

The keyboard riff in MAUD GONE swamps the mix in the best way possible. I love its distorted, wet tones. The sax solo at the song’s crescendo provides the perfect counterpoint to it, too. Its muscular, sinewy texture cuts through emphatically in the context of the album’s drenched sound palette. As the notes reach up, the instrument seems to become an incredible, cathartic pressure valve, leeching out a lot of confused unspoken feelings as the notes reach up. The metaphor of “a full moon every night” is enticingly simple but also utterly apt for the feelings it describes.

LOS BARRACHOS has an infectious opening synth lick. As it bubbles under the verses, I’m just waiting for it to return with its full force. The wry but combative tone of the song’s opening (“let’s […] crush the grapes beneath our feet/ like some heartbroken Bacchus”) reflects Will’s desperate attempt to rekindle this relationship, to change his situation, to turn sadness into hedonism. These illusions can’t last, however. The riff does not return. Instead the song melts into a kind of broken, abject despair. “I miss you.” The disintegration of the song’s subtitle to just “Don’t have any hope left” is heart-breaking. It’s the most visceral portrait of a breakdown I’ve ever heard.

BAD ROLE MODELS, OLD IDOLS EXHUMED is my favourite song title ever. The track (the only new song written for Teens of Style) feels like a self-aware reflection on the nature of this album. The images of a figure from the past who once meant a lot but is now insignificant in the life of the narrator seem to tally somewhat with the way in which the album is made up of songs taken from previous projects. Past relationships, and the hurt they have caused, are dismissed and rationalised into triviality and insignificance. The horns and the final refrain make for a strangely celebratory ending, like a forced annulment of regrets (“You probably looked like an idiot in that hat!”) in the face of a resolve to move forward. This forced, performative break with the past, however, seems only to emphasise how the wounds are still very much open, just as the songs here, despite their pre-dating of the album itself, lose none of their emotional potency.

The chorus of OH, STARVING! is deliberately contradictory but also feels very comprehensible. The boredom of a life that seems superficially better as, opposed to a past delineated by clear highs and lows, is a recognisable feeling. Sometimes things being superficially ‘ok’ just makes you painfully aware of how far away you are from the things you really want in life, while impending pressures can obscure this, making any brief moments of solace much sweeter. In the context of the album, this also seems to imply a sense of nostalgia with regard to the events and feelings laid out in these songs. Even though this album deals with confusion, depression and heartbreak, in hindsight, the potency and simplicity of these feelings (given the separation of time between the writing and re-recording of these tracks) could almost seem preferable to the confused present. Yet, by the end of the song, Will seems to finally be able to let go. Saying “goodbye” to all his “secret files” seems almost ritualistic, like he is purging himself of the confusions of the past and moving on. I like this version of the song best because of the moment, at the very end, when the delicate piano chords and doo-wop harmonies are replaced by raw, shredding guitars and a single voice singing “goodbye” so distortedly the word is almost incomprehensible. The raw power of this moment seems to work up a head of steam, like an exorcism of the kinks and bruises of the past, in favour of something.

There isn’t Car Seat Headrest album I’ve heard that I don’t love. However, I think Teens of Style undoubtedly ranks among the best of them. It might just be one of my favourite albums of all time. It does lack the conceptual charge that powers Twin Fantasy, Monomania, Teens of Denial and even, to some extent, How to Leave Town. However, despite their lack of a heavy overarching theme, these songs flow together really well. The album feels cohesive thanks to its spring-reverbed production aesthetic (which reminds me of being indoors on a hot summer day) and the smaller themes that recur throughout (resentment of the past, confusion in the present, getting signed to a major indie label). The tweaks to the lyrics of many of these songs make the creative intent yet more apparent.

I also think this album definitely does not negate the albums from which these songs are taken. I love Monomania and My Back is Killing Me Baby and, if you haven’t listened to them you should definitely do so right now! There are bunch of essential songs on both albums that are not on this one (‘father, flesh in rags,’ ‘Souls,’ ‘happy news for sadness,’ ‘Sleeping with Strangers,’ I could go on…). However, for me, the songs on this album benefit from being recontextualised and, in certain cases, from being rerecorded. It’s great to be able to experience the stronger standalone songs from these previous records in the context of album that lets them breathe a little more, outside of context.

The most obvious example is ‘Los Barrachos’ which I think works amazingly well as the climactic track for this album. On Monomania, placed somewhere in the middle, it felt more like a just another rung in the downward spiral of heartbreak. On Teens of Style, it has room to breathe and can finally reach its full potential. Similarly, ‘Maud Gone’ benefits hugely from its re-recording. The crisp yet bedraggled sound palette of the new version feels much more fitting than the original and, in the context of a more emotionally diverse album, the catharsis it brings is more powerful (especially coming after ‘Strangers’).

Teens of Style might be made up moments from the past, but it more than proves its worth as a cohesive album that is great in its own right.

#car seat headrest #teens of style #review #will toledo #Andrew katz #1 trait danger #sunburned shirts #the drum #something soon #no passion #times to die #strangers #Maud gone #los barrachos #oh starving!#Jacob bloom #monomania #my back is killing me baby #starving while living

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usaghinanami99 · 5 years

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Hugh Jackman’s world tour: a personal comment

Hi, everyone! I know I'm a bit late, but I'm here to post a not-so-brief coverage of Hugh Jackman's world tour The man, the music, the show, or at least of the performance I've been able to witness myself. To be precise, I attended the concert held inside the Hallenstadion, Zurich, on the 19th of May, which, by a lucky coincidence, also happened to be my 20th birthday. It's been a long trip by train to reach Zurich, and I want to deeply thank my mum for being the kindest parent in the world and going through all of this just to give me the best birthday present I'll ever have had. Oh, please bear with my English, which is less than stellar, unless I’ve written something absolutely incomprehensible (in which case, please don’t hesitate to contact me!). I must say I’m very grateful that Hugh, knowing he was in a non-Anglophone country, purposefully spoke at a very slow rhythm. Thanks for being so considerate and kind. [Edited to put all this wall of text under a cut]

First things first, I have to say I had never been to such a big event, and concerts I had previously attended were nothing like this one. I mean, the only non-classical music concerts I had been to before were shows by Cristina D'Avena and/or Giorgio Vanni (who are Italian national stars specialized in anime theme songs), where the relationship between the artist and the public was completely different, in the sense that it was a given that, after the performance, they would have got plenty of time to meet every fan who wanted to do so for signing sessions, answering questions etc., with no additional price or need to preorder whatsoever. Well, things are obviously different when one's level of fame goes from "national" to "global", so what I felt was lacking more from Jackman's show was a real contact with the public... save a few horribly lucky exceptions. I mean, it's not like I thought he could do a signing session with over twelve thousand fans, but all in all, I reckon that seeing a concert with so little first-hand contact is not all that different than seeing said artist through a screen (which, BTW, we still had to do, since it was not humanly possible to see Hugh and the dancers from the furthest places without the aid of the maxi-screens). I'm sorry to have to start this post with a negative opinion, but I also have to say that this was absolutely the only bad thing about this concert; that, and the fact that Hugh always had a shirt on. Because, otherwise, I was totally blown away by the majesty of the music, as always happens when my ears are graced with hearing Hugh's fabulous voice, with the added bonus of the spoken intermissions, which were endless fun to listen to (and quickly translate to mum).

The show, as probably expected, opened in medias res, with no sort of introduction (apart from a very brief on-screen montage of various scenes taken from Hugh's filmography), but directly on the notes of The greatest show, which, thanks to the meta nature of its lyrics, may very well work as the most fitting show-opener of all time. The first verses of the song already worked very well when the film started at the cinema, but were no less than perfect to introduce a real-life show like the one that Barnum was about to start in-universe. Unfortunately, the version performed was the one from the official soundtrack – I say "unfortunately" because I prefer the film version, where The greatest show is actually two different songs and we manage to hear sad!Barnum's amazing verses at the end of the first part – albeit tweaked a bit to cut Zac Efron's solo lines out. Nevertheless, this song is breathtaking in every rendition, as are all songs from TGS, at least in my opinion, so I was still blown away right from the start of the show, and I remained in a state of hyper-excitation for its whole duration. After the show-opener ended, the first spoken intermission came, which made us understand from the get-go that this was going to be a little bit more than a normal concert, with the inclusion of these short but interesting comedic numbers by the star. This sketch consisted in a weirdly long declaration of the importance of numbers, which in the end was only functional to Hugh declaring in a depressed tone that he's fifty. A fact which matters not, seeing how he is still the sexiest man alive (disclaimer: I am not a gerontophile by any means, I usually lust over younger men and women, but Hugh's sexiness is something that transcends this, also because he objectively looks at least a decade younger than he is) and how insanely athletic he is for his age, a thing which we can confirm first-hand with all the crazy dancing he did on stage... and dancing while singing, may I add. And always with his shirt on, to boot. Man, that must have been hard. Oh, and he also said that, in case we were those horrible people who left before the show ended to have an easier time with the traffic, he would tell us when there'd be only two songs left. I wonder who on earth could have been that insane.

Immediately following this, Come alive came next, with its usual irresistible catchyness. The only negative side is that PT didn't actually put his red coat on in the epic and sexy way we see him do in the film, but I think I can live without that. I really liked the following transition, because, right after starting the show with his latest musical project, Hugh took us back to the start of his thetrical career, telling us how he still can't believe he won the audition to portray Gaston in the Sydney 1995 version of the Beauty and the beast stage musical (the theatric adaptation of the 1991 Disney Classic), seeing how he still had to take singing lessons. Now, the following part was my personal favourite of the whole show, given the fact that B&B is, in my opinion, the very best film ever created, as well as featuring my eternal OTP and sporting Alan Menken (the greatest composer alive) at the very highest of his career, who graced us with the most breathtaking songs I've ever listened to; oh, and Marjorie Biondo is my favourite singer on earth, to boot. So, you may imagine just how elated I was at the perspective of my favourite film meeting one of my favourite singers/actors! I had obviously already listened to Hugh's rendition of Gaston's songs from the official recording of the Sydney cast, just how I also watched Beauty and the beast in every language it's ever been dubbed into, because that's just how much of a fangirl I am; the only other film I've got such an extensive experience of is Frozen. That being said, I honestly reckon that Hugh's singing skills have dramatically improved during the almost-24 years that passed between that recording and this concert, even if he was already an excellent singer at the start of his career! Well, to put things shortly, Gaston was the musical number that followed, and it was undoubtedly the one that I enjoyed the most. The one performed was obviously the stage musical version, which is a bit longer than the original film version because of its lenghty dancing-only intermission; well, the crew didn't actually dance on tables, but the atmosphere was still there, thanks to Hugh being very in character as the sexy but sexist asshole that is Gaston, and the choreography involving tons of fake beer. That being said, since there was no LeFou present, the song was presented in a somewhat abridged rendition, starting from the "When I was a lad..." lines, but then recuperating some of the earlier stanzas and putting them out-of-order before the finale. The visual highlight of the number was Hugh lifting one dancer per arm to prove that Gaston has indeed "got biceps to spare", but sadly he didn't open his shirt like Gaston does in the film to show that every last inch of him's covered with hair. That was the saddest thing ever, imho. Still, I can confirm Hugh Jackman as being on the second spot in my ranking of the best Gastons ever, right after the inimitable Carlo Lepore, not to mention the fact that he's the sole and only baritone I can accept as Gaston. I mean, the character really needs a basso to fit his physical appearance and personality, especially in the film, and a basso also sounds much better in Gaston's songs, but Hugh somehow manages to make a baritone Gaston credible, like no other's been able to. Well, to be honest, maybe he's helped by the fact that he portrayed him in a stage musical and not in a film, so he didn't have to adjust his voice in order to be perfectly glued to the already-present face of a character; still, I regard this feat as something amazing, and you can't change my mind. As a side note, my mum, too, was quite happy during this number, because Gaston was pretty much the only song in the whole concert that she already knew; after all, you can't not know Beauty and the beast if you live with me, since I watch it obsessively every month (I'm still amazed by the fact that the videotape has never broken).

After an introduction with his own music repertoire, Hugh then went on to a small series of covers from different artists, starting with Fred Astaire's classic The way you look tonight (taken from the film Swing time), and on with other songs I had never heard him perform; which was a very nice surprise, because I really didn't expect to listen to anything new that evening! He thanked Switzerland for existing because that's where his parents first met (awww), which means that the country is very important for him, and thanked his public for being there for him, especially those of us who came by train or by plane – which means that Hugh Jackman thanked me, I'm definitely not delusional. But next time come to Italy, pleeease! After this, he performed I've been everywhere, which seems to be a popular Australian song where the singer mentions the hundreds of cities in the country that he's visited; this number was particularly hilarious because Hugh randomly added Zurich to the mix, and because, during an instrumental break, he asked the cameraman to show the audience the small screen where he could read the lyrics... seems that even Hugh Jackman is a human being after all, who would've guessed? Next came two songs from the film Dear Evan Hansen (absolutely watch it if you haven't!), which happens to be scored by the same Benj & Paul of The greatest showman fame, starting with the melancholy, but at the same time uplifting, You will be found, which was my personal favourite among the unreleased covers of this concert. The second song was the tearjerker For forever, a romantic ballad that Hugh aptly dedicated to his wife, and even played by himself on the piano, because apparently there's nothing this man can't do. The number was accompanied by pictures of Hugh, Deborra and their children on the screens, at which I literally couldn't not cry of too many feels... And, at the end of the song, she even went up on-stage to hug and kiss her hubby. Gosh, I envy her so much even as I still totally ship her with her husband, but really, Deborra Lee-Furness may very well be the luckiest woman alive. Returning to Benjamin and Paul, he then told us of how they composed and wrote This is me during a plane trip, one single day before a workshop where the film would be pitched. He then proceeded to recount the famous anecdote of how Keala Settle, who should've only sung this song at the workshop and wasn't to portray Lettie in the film, stunned everyone with her performance so much that she was immediately chosen for the role. This intermission, of course, served the purpose of introducing the night's special guest: the audience seemed to explode when Hugh announced Keala's entrance, to the point that I think that quite a few of them hadn't read that she would make an appearance. Anyway, even without her beard on her impression as Lettie is incredible, and her rendition of This is me was as breathtaking as always (incidentally, she also sang Tom's lines as well as her own). After her number had ended, she briefly thanked everyone who gave her the opportunity to play Lettie, and even the character herself, since she helped her become more determined, all while weeping tears of joy, which caused Hugh to cry, and... I can't. I just can't. These two are so amazing together and I want to see them in thirty more films singing and being happy one with the other.

After Keala exited the stage, a medley consisting of three songs from Les misérables started, introduced by footage from the film of Colm Wilkinson as the bishop giving Valjean the candelabra (you know the scene). The first part of the medley consisted of the aptly titled Valjean's soliloquy, which Hugh soloed with all the amazing skill we've already witnessed in the film. What I wasn't expecting, though, was for a background singer to own the spotlight as a full-on soloist: the second part of the series was none other than I dreamed a dream, in a rendition where a singer called Jenna Lee-James played Fantine. And, oh my gosh... I still have to listen to all versions of the stage musical, but what I know for sure is that I liked this performance even better than the one from the film (sorry, Anne!). I didn't think I would come out of a one-man show determined to check out a never-heard-before artist, but here I am, and it was definitely worth it; Jenna has got such a melodious, angelic voice, that I'm sure you'll be enchanted by her, too. The last number of the medley, as well as the closer of the first act, was One day more (which is already more or less a medley by itself, lol), where basically everyone had the opportunity to shine: since this is such a big ensemble number where almost every main character has got some solo lines, many different background singers managed to step out of the shadow and be recognized for their raw talent. While I'm somewhat sad that Bring him home wasn't included in the concert, this song was a truly satisfying act-closer, thanks to it epic proportions and majesticity.

After a well-deserved pause of twenty minutes for the artists, the second hour-long act opened with the cameraman gracing us with a glorious zoom-in on Hugh's butt (though I prefer his buttshots as Wolverine because here he was sadly wearing his trousers); it doubled as sexy and hilarious when the cameraman started to zoom out, only for Hugh to reprimand him and ask him to keep the focus on. By the way, at this point Hugh was already in-costume as Peter Allen, which means that he was wearing that absurdly sparkling jacket, so unfortunately it was a bit difficult to look at him without being blinded by all the *sparkle sparkle*. The initial musical numbers of the second act consisted in a series of freaking seven songs composed by Peter in various occasions and then posthumously used for the biographical stage musical The boy from Oz (I'm writing it here so that I don't have to repeat the various songs' origins every time), for which Hugh played the protagonist role in the Broadway version. The first one was obviously the legendary Not the boy next door, which was as spectacular as you can imagine, with the highlight consisting in Hugh taking the sparkling jacket off (for which my eyes thanked him in every possible sense) and spend the better part of the medley in a bright red shirt. All in all, this was probably the funniest number of the show; but then came the most irritating part, where Hugh invited a random man from the public to dance with him, and by "dance" I mean "being impossibly close and touchy-feely to the point that it was almost hard to distinguish where one ended and where the other started". I reckon it would've been sexy if the other person had been slightly hotter (for example, Hugh Jackman on Zac Efron brings infinite possibilities to mind), but he was just your regular middle-aged man, so no, there wasn't much fanservice for everyone except for him. I mean, Hugh even stroked. his. chest. Not fair. While rationally I know that it could never have been me because 1) I was as far away from the stage as you can get, since we bought the most economic tickets, and 2) he was in-character as Peter, so he needed a man, I'm still impossibly envious of this random man who's got the greatest luck of us all for no particular reason. Jeez, maybe I'm unneedlessly bitter, but I almost hope he's hetero, 'cause if he's either gay or bisexual, then he'd really have got the biggest luck of his life. Not-so-funny sketch aside, the show went on with a preposterous medley of songs from Peter's repertoire (and, indirectly through the musical, also Hugh's own) with no further interruptions: these were, in order, Best that you can do, the only one recycled from a previous musical, namely Arthur; Don't cry out loud, a pop song that Peter originally composed for a female voice, so it was a bit unexpected to hear Hugh sing it; I honestly love you, another pop piece, this one originally sung by Olivia Newton-John (which happens to be Hugh's childhood idol, by the way); Quiet please, there's a lady on stage, this one written, composed and sung by Peter himself; the iconic I go to Rio, where we found out that Hugh's red shirt actually concealed another layer of clothing – that is, the hilariously iconic pineapple shirt (and yes, he did use the maracas); and Tenterfield saddler, with which the medley closed. As previously mentioned, these songs were created by Peter for various different occasions, either for musicals or for more traditional albums, but were later reused for TBFO, sung either by Hugh-as-Peter or by other characters. All in all, this part was really enjoyable, and a totally deserved tribute to Allen's musical legend, even if one can question the inclusion of some minor pieces which kept the much more beloved I still call Australia home from being in the show.

After this, Hugh went on a speech about how dreams are important, and we know what this means: it's A million dreams time! The cutest thing is that this song was accompanied by a woman translating the lyrics into sign language... even though I must admit I struggle to conceive that a deaf would want to attend a concert, so the sense of the operation is a bit lost on me. Anyway, the version performed followed once again the soundtrack instead of the film, and once again I confess I prefer the latter, mainly because kid!Charity is also featured in it; on the other hand, it's true that the soundtrack version has got some additional verses, and the abrupt transition between the kid and the adult Barnum (which is much more nuanced in the film) is breathtaking. The parts were divided between Hugh Jackman as adult!PT, Jenna Lee-James as adult!Charity and another female singer whose name I'm desperately searching for as kid!PT. This song, which was already one of my absolute favourites, is still amazing in this rendition, but Jenna is possibly even better than Michelle (who is awfully talented in her own right), and now I really want to hear her sing Tightrope.

Following this, it was the turn for another long medley, this time a set of five covers from classic US musicals; this part of the show was introduced by Hugh confessing that he's got a very difficult upbringing... because there was only one TV channel when he was a kid, so he watched the same things over and over again (not that we do things differently even now that we can choose among many different channels), which led to his infatuation for old-style musical comedies. The songs composing this medley were: Luck be a lady tonight from the film Guys and dolls, then made even more famous by Frank Sinatra; Gene Kelly's preposterously famous Singing in the rain from the homonyme film, complete with fake rain and real umbrellas; I got rhythm from the film Girl crazy; Fred Astaire's Stepping out with my baby from the film Easter parade; and Benny Goodman's crazily-paced Sing sing sing. Needless to say, Hugh totally owned all of these songs, and I think this is the part of the whole show where his unadultered love for singing, dancing and generally being on stage shone through the most; of course the man is an excellent cinema actor, but you can clearly see that he's more elated when in a theatre or otherwise in front of an audience.

Immediately after came what was very probably the most physically prowing number for the cast, as well as the only non-sung one: after narrating that his brother was so much of an asshole that he discouraged him from taking dance lessons when he was a child, he proclaimed his happiness for having finally managed to study tip tap, which transitioned into a full-fledged tip tap routine with accompanying background music. This was admittedly the part of the show that I enjoyed the least, even if I did like it well enough (that's just to say how much I love this concert), because of the lack of singing and because I'm not the biggest fan of tap dancing. The funniest thing is that, at the end of the routine, Hugh exclaimed: <<Do you think that Ryan Reynolds could do that?>> and then did his Wolverine shtick using the battery sticks. Absolutely amazing. Oh, and after this exhausting number he turned back to drink, and even lampshaded the fact that we could take advantage of his tiredness to enjoy the view.

Then some brief footage from Australia was shown to introduce the members of a humanitarian organization called "Nomad two worlds", which made up the serious part of the show: the number in question consisted of a few men singing while two other men played the didgeridoo and a woman recited a poem. I should mention that all of these people were Aboriginals. After the end of the performance, it was explained to us that the woman who was on stage next to Hugh was actually a member of the Australian parliament who had a key role when their nation finally asked official forgiveness to the Aboriginals for the prosecution of their people. It was a very touching moment, indeed. With this over but still keeping on theme with Australia, Hugh performed a cover of Somewhere over the rainbow from the film The wizard of Oz (like his colleague and friend Nicole Kidman did in that film), and I wouldn't be lying if I said that I honestly prefer him over Judy Garland.

Then cam the most unexpected number of the whole concert, i.e., a cover of Mack the knife from Bertolt Brecht's Three-penny opera, which maybe would've fit better earlier in the programme; after which, Hugh actually told us that there were only two songs left, in case anyone wanted to leave early (I mean, does he think we’re crazy?). The following one was From now on, which I honestly expected to be used as the show-closer, but was nevertheless incredibly breathtaking; this is my favourite song of The greatest showman, in particular because it lets Hugh Jackman show everyone that he's truly the best belter of the world. From now on is also one of the two cases in which I prefer the soundtrack version of the song over the one from the film, since, like Tightrope, it features a bunch of additional verses. Unfortunately, though, Hugh performed an abridged version of the song, only starting with "I drank champagn with kings and queens...", maybe because it would've been difficult to hear him during the first part of the piece, which is sung while whispering. Anyhow, it was still exciting as heck, and the background dancers were even more amazing than usual. And, right when I was left asking myself what the final number would be, Hugh started singing another piece written, composed and sung by Peter Allen (albeit this time not in-character) and then used for TBFO; namely, Once before I go, which is incredibly fitting as a show-closer thanks to its lyrics. Thus the concert ended, with the main star, the special guests, the singers, the dancers and the orchestra bowing in front of the audience. I was appalled by the lack of an encore, and especially by the fact that no one in the public was apparently screaming for one like you usually do at a concert, but I was still utterly satisfied by the experience. Every member of the crew was simply fantastic, not just Hugh, and I'm very happy I've been so lucky to witness this show. ...I'm just still wondering why What a beautiful morning wasn't included in the programme, nor any other song from Oklahoma. That's jarring, I think.

Believe me, I would've totally stayed and bought some souvenirs, if it weren't for mummy, who wanted to go straight to bed; but, after all, she's already done so much for me, in exchange for nothing, that I can hardly believe it. She is the person I have to thank the most for this out-of-the-world trip and I couldn't be happier of being her daughter. So, many thanks to Hugh Jackman and all the others who made this concert possible, but even more thanks to the only one who made me being at this concert possible. Anyway, I simply cannot wait for Hugh to come back where he belongs to, now that his partecipation in The music man has been announced; I obviously won’t be able to go to Broadway to see the musical, but you can be sure I’m going to purchase the soundtrack album as soon as it comes out. What can I say, I love the man and I’m very happy he’s been able to realize both his personal and professional dreams.

If you've come this far, congratulations! I hope you've liked this totally unprofessional coverage, and I'd love it if you could link me to someone who's written a similar piece about a different performance, because I'm very interested in knowing how they differ between one another. Thanks for reading!

#hugh jackman #the man the music the show

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v-thinks-on · 5 years

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Contact (Between Two Minds)

Part 4 of A Crazy Little Thing Called Love

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The captain helped Spock to his feet and for an instant Spock’s hand brushed the captain’s bare skin. In that instant he was inundated with emotion; a stormy gale of concern rushed through the tiniest point of contact, underlain with disorganized thoughts and incomprehensible feelings. Spock was frozen, his eyes wide with the sheer force of the captain’s mind. He shored up his mental shields as quickly as he could, but by then the contact was gone.

Spock found himself suddenly upright and stumbled to regain his footing.

“Spock, are you alright?” the captain asked urgently.

Spock nodded.

The captain smiled at him as though he saw something remarkable in his first officer. His eyes still betrayed concern, but the mission continued as though nothing had happened.

Spock expected the captain to learn from his mistake. The captain undoubtedly knew Vulcans were a telepathic race, and for all of their secrecy, there were rumors that they could detect a person’s thoughts from any physical contact. The truth was more nuanced, but the last thing Spock expected was for the captain to increase the rate of physical contact between them.

Spock often found the captain standing much closer than was strictly necessary to hear about Spock’s latest readings or to ask him for his opinion on a difficult situation. The captain frequently put a friendly hand on Spock’s shoulder for emphasis or to provide comfort, or for no apparent reason at all. Spock could almost feel the captain’s thoughts wafting through his skin, even though there was a layer of cloth between them.

Spock stepped into the captain’s quarters and the door slid shut behind him. Captain James Kirk stood before him, as young and strong as ever. His bare torso left no doubt as to his full recovery from the radiation poisoning.

“Dr. McCoy has declared me fit for duty,” Spock announced without preamble.

The captain smiled, and his eyes seemed to light up with a very human intensity. “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Spock.” He stepped toward his first officer, so there were only a few feet between them.

“And you, Captain,” Spock replied, his expression softened. “I also wish to apologize for subjecting you to a competency hearing. I had no choice-”

Captain Kirk rose a hand to stop him and Spock fell silent.

He put his hand on Spock’s shoulder and squeezed it for emphasis. “You have nothing to apologize for, Spock. I was the one who was out of line. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that without a good reason. I just didn’t like the idea of you taking orders from Commodore Stocker.” He gave Spock a wry smile.

“I assure you, Jim, there is no one else I would rather serve under,” Spock replied, his voice low with an undercurrent of emotion.

“I should hope not,” Jim said with a grin. “Though I suppose you’ll be wanting a command of your own one of these days.”

“Hardly, sir.” Spock almost sounded insulted at the suggestion.

Jim smiled like he had gotten the response he had expected. “Good, because I would hate to lose the best first officer in the fleet.” He gave Spock’s shoulder another squeeze for good measure.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him as though he suspected flattery, but did not protest. Instead, his lips turned upward in a suggestion of a smile.

Jim’s smile widened and his eyes seemed to shine with a mischievous spark, like he was going to do something brilliant and reckless that was just crazy enough to succeed, but Spock could not begin to fathom what - Jim’s greatest ideas were usually beyond the realm of Vulcan logic.

Jim kept a careful eye on Spock’s face as his hand slowly left Spock’s shoulder, ghosted down his arm, and just barely brushed the back of Spock’s hand. Spock’s shields were up, but he could feel the burst of emotion threatening to overwhelm them. Jim’s intense, meaningful expression seemed to invite him in, to suggest that he should succumb to the intriguing waves of human emotion that rushed out of his captain’s cool skin. Spock could only wonder why, but somehow suspected he already knew.

“Fascinating,” he remarked, because that was the only response he could give.

“There are worse things to be than fascinating,” Jim teased, the contact already broken as quickly as it had been made.

Spock nodded in assent. “You are most fascinating,” he said with the barest trace of a smile.

While transporting up from the surface of a planet, the captain had vanished without a trace. The only answers were negative: no magnetic storms, no ionic interference, no breakdown in equipment.

Dr. McCoy demanded answers and Spock replied, “We shall continue sensor scans, Doctor. At the moment, that is all we can do, except hope for a rational explanation.”

“Hope? I always thought that was a human failing, Mr. Spock,” the doctor taunted.

“True, Doctor. Constant exposure does result in a certain degree of contamination.”

Captain James Kirk materialized in the Enterprise transporter, followed by Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Chekov. A whole welcoming committee faded into view, Commander Spock at the head. All Jim could do was grin at the sight of his first officer, watching him so intently. Spock’s eyes narrowed in concern as they flitted over Jim’s chest, no doubt taking in the welts and scars from his time on Triskelion.

Dr. Leonard McCoy rushed to the fore before Spock could speak. “Jim! You’re alright!”

“It’s mighty good to see you,” Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott put in.

Bones continued, “I was worried you wouldn’t make it out alive with that crazy plan of yours, but you did it! I guess Spock was right about where you were after all,” he admitted.

Jim nodded and gave Bones a smile. “The other prisoners should be alright too,” he said.

“Let’s get you to sickbay and you can tell me all about it,” Bones declared. He glanced over Jim’s shoulder at Chekov and Uhura, who stepped down from the transporter pad after the captain. “Nurse,” he ordered, “I want to run all scans, make sure there’s no internal damage, and we’ll need to get out the dermal regenerator. These are some nasty welts, Jim.”

Jim held up a hand to stop him. “First, I want a word with my first officer.” He smiled at Spock over Bones’s shoulder.

“Captain,” Spock began to protest.

“I don’t see why you can’t talk to him after,” Bones insisted.

Jim motioned for silence, cutting them both off. “Spock” - he gestured for Spock to follow him out of the transporter room.

Spock obliged, leaving Bones grumbling in their wake.

“Dr. McCoy is correct,” Spock remarked as they strode down the corridor, “It would be most prudent for you to submit to treatment and medical evaluation to ensure that you were not seriously damaged.”

“I’m alright,” Jim dismissed his concern. “This is more important.”

“What is it, Captain?” Spock asked as they stepped into the captain’s quarters.

The door slid shut behind them.

“It’s Jim, we’re not on duty right now,” the captain said. He reached over his shoulder to pull at the harness he had been given on Triskelion. “I don’t suppose you could help me out of this thing.”

“Sir- Jim?” Spock raised a questioning eyebrow at the captain.

Jim stopped struggling with the harness and leaned an arm against the wall so he was angled toward Spock. He paused just to look at his first officer. Spock’s warm brown eyes were darkened with concern, his eyebrows arched in uncertainty at Jim’s intent, all of the tightly controlled emotion fighting to escape.

“How did you do it?” Jim asked at last. He gave his first officer a smile of pure wonder. “How did you find me all the way out here? I was starting to worry I’d never see the Enterprise again.”

“Any transporter, no matter how sophisticated, leaves some form of energy residue. We merely located the anomalous trail and it led us to this system,” Spock replied as efficiently as ever, but the creases on his face told another, more harrowing story.

Jim put a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “That’s another time you’ve saved my life,” Jim said with a grin.

“It is my duty,” Spock said simply, but Jim could almost feel the emotion behind his words.

Jim did not miss how Spock’s eyes wandered over his torso, lingering on the angry red welts, as though he wanted to do something, but could not bring himself to. His hands were locked firmly behind his back.

Jim leaned back a little to give Spock a bit more space, a mischievous smile teasing at his lips.

Spock quirked an uncertain eyebrow at him.

“What was that gesture your parents did?” Jim remarked a little too casually. “Like this” - he held out his right hand, his first two fingers extended toward Spock.

Spock’s eyes widened in open surprise. “Jim,” he nearly whispered, “That is…” he trailed off.

Jim grinned at him. “Only if you want. Regulation clearly states that I can’t give you any orders here.”

Slowly, his hand just barely shaking, Spock extended two fingers and brought them nearly to meet Jim’s so that they were just centimeters apart. He hesitated, and then, very gently, he lowered the tips of his fingers so they brushed against Jim’s. Spock’s skin was warm and the contact sent a jolt down Jim’s spine. Spock’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed green.

Jim couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to. His heart hammered in his chest and he could only imagine how Spock’s was racing - it usually beat several times faster than a human’s already. He wondered how clearly Spock could sense his thoughts and feelings and wished he could feel some of Spock’s in return. He wanted to reach out for a kiss or a mind meld - he didn’t know which.

Very slowly, Spock pulled his hand away, though their faces remained mere inches apart. Jim could feel Spock’s breath tickling his cheeks. It took all of Jim’s willpower not to kiss him, but his wide smile would have made it hard to kiss anyone anyway.

“Jim,” Spock began, his voice low.

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked.

“It is good to have you back, Captain,” Spock said at last. Despite his even expression, Jim could see every indication of a subtle smile.

Jim grinned back at him. “It’s good to be back and to see you again. Now,” he remarked, stretching a hand over his shoulder again, “I don’t suppose you could help me out of this harness.”

Spock gave a sharp nod and circled around behind him. Spock seemed to hesitate there for a moment, before Jim felt warm fingers against his lower back, working their way under the bottom rung of the harness on either side. The cloth strap dug into Jim’s stomach as Spock slowly eased it up his torso, his fingers trailing along Jim’s side. Jim closed his eyes to savor the contact.

#v writes #Star Trek: The Original Series #Spirk #A Crazy Little Thing Called Love #episode response #The Deadly Years #The Gamesters of Triskelion

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voidsettle · 5 years

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Warm Flanders

Indulging our traveling desire and continuing the newly developed tradition of European Christmas markets, we bought tickets to Belgium. This trip had its peculiarities - and a unique aftertaste. Welcome to the capital of Europe!

Panorama of Bruges from Belfry (I assume, the point where Brendan Gleeson's character jumps off in the movie 'In Bruges'

I don't know how we chose Belgium - but it all started with just Brussels, and then grew to another three towns. I suspect we may have a psychological condition.

After Brussels, Bruges was an obvious addition to the trip. Possibly the most well-known of tourist destinations in Belgium, it features a well-preserved medieval town so quaint like it crawled out of a fairy tale.

The movie 'In Bruges' (a nice piece of popularized arthaus) added to the fame of the place. The town in this flick is a character of its own - it serves as the premise and the plot twist, it helps to make hard choices and aids the protagonist. Besides, the film has gorgeous cast. Seriously, look it up if you've never seen it - or rewatch if you have.

Being in Belgium (and, more importantly, its northern part, Flanders - probably the most history-heavy region), I absolutely had to see Antwerp. Ghent was a curious little addition that we didn't plan - but that happened between Bruges and Antwerp just because we had time and opportunity. Stay tuned for more.

Brussels: Art and Chocolate

Rue de la Chaufferette/Lollepotstraat, LGBTQ art street in the inner City of Brussels

Brussels is a weird city. Commonly I enjoy places that don't mind you roaming the streets (think Rome, Bangkok, New York). Brussels is however different. It etched into my memory as grey and rainy (I barely got a chance to snap a photo), and multifaceted to the point of utter incomprehensibility.

That is partly on national communities. Our free-tour guide mused on the immigration agenda of the city: nearly 80% of the current population (first and second generations) are not native to Belgium. The city, being the administrative and political center of Europe, is the very definition of a cultural melting pot.

Only a day before we arrived, French workers had a strike against ever-growing prices - thus all of Brussels was covered in barricades (not sure about the name, but something like Cheval de frise or knife-rest (aka Spanish rider) obstacles; all cold metal and barbwire, brutal).

But Brussels also flaunts its historic heritage and celebrates its art. The whole city is covered in street art - most notably scenes and characters from comics and statements in favor of LGBTQ community. Street decorations and overhead lamps of different designs and splendor turn the city into an exhibition of light.

Altmejd, 2015. Musees royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique/Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van Belgie

The more traditional artistry is spread within the cluster of museums of Mont des Arts/Kunstberg, most notably the Royal Museu of Fine Arts that features both old masters (David, Rembrandt, Rubens - and a whole hall and Google-partnered tour program dedicated to Bruegel) and new masters (some of my beloved Impressionists including Van Gogh, Serat, Gaugin, and a couple of Rodins). Another pearl, Magritte's museum is just down the stairs.

We've also followed one of the most bizarre quests I've ever had, looking for all three pissing monuments of Brussels - the symbol-status Manneken Pis, his female version Jeanneke Pis and a non-fountain canine variation Het Zinneke. Belgian people are weird.

We had some hysterical fun trying to decipher one of the ads on a bus stop. It claimed certain Subea was the best gift for your loved ones on Christmas. Passersby undoubtedly believed us crazy as we tried to identify the thing - and never came close to guessing. Look it up, it's hilarious.

Blue street art, Brussels

Built on the time-tested principles of trading cities, Brussels preserves the tradition of market squares. In early December, the downtown is covered in Christmas towns and motley crowds, framed in softly shimmering lights. It's full of flavors of waffles with cream, and frites, and gluhwein, and seafood, and sausages.

Brussels is full of cyclists (even more so than Copenhagen), full of churches, and homeless, and nationalities - cuisines, skin tones, languages. The signs duplicated in French and Dutch do not help location purposes in any significant way.

Nevermind the confusing feelings I developed for Brussels, there is one thing I should mention with firm praise - chocolate. Walk the streets and have a cup of hot chocolate - it's literally chocolate of your choice melted in hot milk. Eat warm Liege waffles topped with chocolate and cream. Buy a set of (regular) chocolate boxes with discount - or pay a visit to Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert to learn about chocolate as art. It's expensive, yes, but oh is it worth every cent!

Break a chocolate bar of preference - dark works best - into pieces, add to the cup and pour with hot milk. Stir until it melts. Enjoy the taste of Belgium.

St Michael and Gudula Cathedral, Brussels

What to see in Brussels:

Grand Place

Brussels Town Hall

Residence of the Dukes of Brabant

Maison du Roi/Broodhuis

Manneken Pis

Jeanneke Pis

Het Zinneke

Bourse/Beurs (stock exchange)

Galleries Royales Saint-Hubert

St Michael and Gudula Cathedral

chapelle de la Madeleine/Magdalenakapel

Mont des Arts/Kunstberg

Musees royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique/Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van Belgie (Musee Oldmasters, Musee Magritte, musical instruments museum)

Royal Palace

Parc de Bruxelles/Warandepark

eglise Notre-Dame au Sablon/Onze-Lieve-Vrouw ten Zavelkerk

eglise royale Sainte-Marie/Koninklijke Sint-Mariakerk

National Basilica of the Sacred Heart

Atomium

Royal Palace of Laeken

Bruges: The Belfry and the Waffle Houses

Rozenhoedkaai, Bruges

Belgian capital is the least Flemish city among those I've visited. Bruges, on the other hand, seems to bear the imprint of one of the richest regions of medieval Europe. The town is neat and cute, full of waffle houses with stair-step facades, all red brick and yellowish stone. The streets are carefully crafted and well-groomed; they stretch in slow curves, and the houses crowding each side chant their stories to the tourists in a never-ending lullaby.

Houses plaster all over each other - it feels like each street has only one building that was actually constructed with 4 walls. The rest figured 'hey, here's a perfectly good empty wall right there, with nothing attached, why not stick to the side'.

The whole country is like that, one of the signature traits of Belgium, alongside angry cyclists and painted waffle houses.

Before walking to the main attraction (Belfry, naturally), we've decided to have a glass of beer in Halve Maan, one of the oldest breweries in town. We were pleasantly surprised by the sleepy emptiness, the fireside couches and craft beer (I've never had an 11° beer before, it felt almost as a shot of whiskey). In a slumbery, sheepish haze we walked around the Minnewaterpark with its swans and gardens dipped in green moisture.

Minnewaterpark. After the rainy, grey-ish Brussels, Bruges met us with sun-through-the-clouds and warmth worthy of mid-October. I finally got out my camera and snapped my way through the cute medieval city

The territory of Bruges is covered in canals - no wonder it's called the small Venice of the North, and the centuries-old architecture covers the town in a romantic blur. Even the long queues of Belfry (one person in, one out, and around half a hundred waiting for their turn) didn't disturb our dreamy mood. The view from above maps the whole town on the palm of your hands, and the stone parapet is covered in numbers and names of cities with arrows pointing the direction.

Carillon, a fascinating musical instrument that has several dozen bells connected to play melodies. The Belfry carillon plays a different melody every quarter of an hour

Belfry is gorgeous at sunset, especially observed from Grote Markt - towering, starkly contrasted against the fading skies.

Bruges is probably best-known for its streets - after you've seen the main attractions, there's no clear itinerary, but just wander around and get lost in the medieval brick labyrinth. You can visit the old windmills - each with its own unique name - and the corner of Groenerei, which is less romantic in winter but still a nice place for a romantic rendezvous. Or just roam the streets and inhale the ambiance of this old town that looks like it jumped straight out of a fairytale with enchanted castles, simplistic plotline where good always conquers evil and a set of enjoyably cardboard characters.

Sometimes it's fun to experience something so far from real life. Can't disagree with the philosophic view of Fiennes's character from 'In Bruges'.

What to see in Bruges:

Kasteel de la Faille

Sashuis

Minnewaterpark

Sint-Janshospitaal-Memlingmuseum

St Salvator's cathedral

Church of Our Lady (featuring Michelangelo's Madonna met Kind)

Bonifaciusbrug

the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Rozenhoedkaai (the most photographed spot in Bruges)

't Brugse Vrije

City Hall

Basilique du Saint-Sang

Brugge markt

Belfry and Market Halls

Provinciaal Hof

Jan Breydel en pieter de Coeninck memorial

St James's church

Jan Van Eyck memorial

windmills (de Coelewey, de Nieuwe Papegaai, Sint Janshuismolen, Bonne Chiere)

Sint-Annakerk

Gronerei

Train Tales

Belgium is unexpectedly bad at doing trains. We heard the first bell as we tried to get out of Brussels. The Northern train station has a clear division between two worlds. The ground floor belongs to hobos and (most probably) unemployed immigrants - this is the world of half-light, scary coughs and little noises, empty food wrappings, garbage, people wrapped in multiple layers of dirty blankets and coats. The upper floors are obviously European, well-lit, with shops, 24/7 information desks and wending machines. The contrast is so stark that it's frightening.

(Under)ground floors of Antwerpen-Centraal

Yet this was but a warning. For some unknown reason, the schedule of Belgian trains is really complicated - we couldn't make sense of it using just timetables and scoreboards. This was a shock for me specifically - I just went to Italy a month prior, where I didn't even need to talk to anyone to understand where to buy tickets and how to get from point A to point B.

Obviously we were not alone confused by the whole system - by the machine selling tickets, a nice lady was spending her working hours explaining stupid tourists how this works. She offered us a ticket we didn't consider - it could take us to 10 destinations (we needed 6, and decided to spend 2 more for a short detour to Ghent before Antwerp; profit).

The complications started when we failed to notice the class of the coach we were boarding. Truth to be told, there was a number '1' on the side - but the inside didn't look any different from second class, so I'm not sure what's the deal. 10 minutes into the ride, a railway employee walked in and aggressively started to demand extra payment to 'upgrade' our tickets - about 10 euro per person. None of us were allowed to leave the first class coach for the second.

The thing about that whole situation was: of all the people in the coach, only one woman was aware of its first class status. The rest were bewildered and looked like lost tourists (some of us surely were) who forgot to check the number on the side of the carriage. Which, frankly, didn't feel like the people's fault. A Spanish family nearly started a brawl with the guy - which earned my compassion but also a portion of solid mirth.

Hilarious experience - but also quite frustrating. Not too fond of Belgian train system.

Ghent: The Castle and the Histrionic Weather

Gravensteen, Ghent

I didn't expect this short detour would turn out this satisfying. Don't get me wrong, there's not much to do in Ghent in the evening. In a manner traditional for the whole country, life dies away after 6PM. As nightfall covers the streets, the shops and restaurants close, and the whole city seems deserted. There are some late passersby, some groups of youth and random tourists but they're not common, especially further from downtown.

But the architecture is spectacular nonetheless. Korenmarkt (basically, central square) with Church of Saint Nicholas is the heart of the city. The sites are mostly all on the same line - Stadhuis Gent and Belfort, Saint Bavo cathedral and a couple of nearby 'palaces' that were actually residences of (very) wealthy merchants, and Saint Michael's church on the other side of Korenmarkt, across the Leie river.

It was enjoyable to just wander the empty streets quite aimlessly, bumping into architectural sites curious things here and there

Gravensteen is exactly the prototype you imagine when someone says 'a castle'. It's the type of medieval structure you drew as a kid, with the battlements and turrets. This is where a valiant knight came to rescue a fair maiden from an evil king. It's The Ultimate Castle.

In yet another plot twist, the weather in Ghent was unpredictably fun. It made us giggle at its hysterical fits.

Rain, wind and damp autumnal warmth changed each other in bizarre epileptic seizures.

One moment, it decided to rain - and the downpour started as soon as we opened our umbrellas. 2 minutes later it all stopped as if nothing happened. Ten minutes passed - and terrible gusts of wind that nearly knocked us down. Sure enough, soon it was warm and mellow again. Best advice when the weather is in such a theatrical mood: keep an umbrella with you at all times.

The walk from the city center to the train station is quite long, about an hour. But at least the building of the train station is worth exploring - it has great inner decorations all over the ceiling that imitate medieval style. Outside, by the largest bike parking I've seen after Copenhagen's sleeping districts, a sad man was playing his wistful sax; there seems to be something about Belgium and saxophones.

What to see in Ghent:

Korenmarkt (basically, central square)

Church of Saint Nicholas

Saint Michael's church

Gravensteen

Stadhuis Gent

Belfort

Saint Bavo cathedral

Antwerp: The Train Station and the Sky

Antwerpen-Centraal Train Station, Antwerp

After the grey cold rain of Brussels and the crazy run of tourist-packed Bruges and (devastatingly) empty Ghent, Antwerp was all sunshine and warmth. Easily the most enjoyable time I've had in Belgium.

Antwerp is a mild, soft city, quite self-indulgent - it has less tourists than either Brussels or Bruges - and completely immersed in its own thoughts. Traces of the eternal, undying energy that preserves big cities can be found everywhere.

First things first, we went to see the jewel of Antwerp's sightseeing itinerary - Antwerpen-Centraal, the main train station of the city. It has 4 floors, with trains arriving on each of them - it is really impressive, especially as the whole structure is sunlit through the ribbed glass roof and the underground floors are dipped in orange-and-purple lights, the true impressionist study of light and color.

Antwerp has a clear itinerary, as if the city was built with the idea of easy navigation in mind. Starting from Antwerpen-Centraal and past the diamond district, the shopping streets of Antwerp start and run right to the heart of the city, Grote Markt. The walk there is short if one ignores the detour sites like the beautiful neoclassical Bourla theater with round-ish colonnade façade, the house of Rubens turned museum, the oldest house in Antwerp build circa 1480, completely wooden and still inhabited, or the baroque St Charles Borromeo church, which simplistic interior is decorated with astonishing woodwork.

The notorious diamond district of Antwerp is located right beside the train station. History has it that it all started with shops opening here so that rich people coming to Antwerp to buy diamonds could keep their incognito and leave as soon as the deal was sealed, without the need to visit the town.

Grote Markt and the nearby Groenplaats are connected with a short street that features another pearl of Antwerp, the Cathedral of Our Lady. This majestic Gothic temple is narrowly surrounded by the old houses of trading guilds glued to its every side. You cannot actually see the side walls of the Cathedral (which is another trademark feature of Flemish towns - a dead giveaway that trade was of utmost importance, and that secular and religious matters were closely connected).

Grote Markt itself looks just like other main squares in Belgium - a lot of space adapted for Christmas markets during this time of year, crowded by waffle houses with gilded statues and inscriptions dating back to the Autumn of the Middle Ages, and towering Brabantine Gothic spire, the cynosure of the city.

Stroh violin player. Stroviol is a popular instrument of street musicians, seen all over Flanders

The next thing I was agitated to see was Sint-Annatunnel - a 1/2 km tunnel under the riverbed, fully built for walking on foot, riding on bicycles and even for motorized vehicles. The escalators are wood-paneled and lacquered, the photos on the walls tell the history of construction of the tunnel as one descends.

Quay along river Scheldt, shipyard and windmills

On our way to MAS, we've taken a turn into the Antwerp red lights district. As I was quite shamelessly staring at the girls (literally) displayed in the windows, my friend surprised me, hilariously paying attention to some nesting boxes on a random tree instead. Some way to explore the city.

Don't miss on the chance to visit MAS museum. For a tourist, it's a golden opportunity: free entrance to the rooftop with stunning night panorama of Antwerp lights. From up above, the lights on the windmills twinkle red, painting an ominous image in the night skies. The walls of the interior are covered with posters of modern art (sometimes inspiring, sometimes hilarious, sometimes frightening). Besides, MAS is open till 10 PM, a rare case for Belgium.

MAS pays the oddest homages, and one of them is to Harry Potter franchise: the building features floor 9 and 1/2.

While on the roof of MAS, the pragmatism and commercial genes of Flemish people deliver nothing but pure delight. The nearby houses host advertisements for the visitors of the museum: cafes and restaurants ornament their awnings with offers of hot drinks and rich meals.

What to see in Antwerp:

Antwerpen-Centraal

diamond block

Leysstraat 32-34 and 27 (twin buildings)

Meir (shopping street)

Rubenshuis

Bourlaschouwburg

Boerentoren

Sint-Carolus Borromeuskerk

Groenplaats

Cathedral of Our Lady

Grote Markt

Brabo fountain

Stadhuis Antwerpen

Het Steen and Lange Wapper memorial

Sint-Annatunnel

Stoelstraat 11 (the oldest house of Antwerp)

Sint-Pauluskerk

Schipperskwartier (red lights district)

MAS museum (rooftop viewpoint)

What to eat:

chocolate (in all forms, whether it's box of finest pralines, a chocolate bar, or a cup of hot chocolate)

waffles (fillings vary; I personally prefer dark chocolate and whipped cream. Belgian people however have plain waffle with sugar powder)

beer (one of the oldest and most important produces of the region; brewing beer is fine art here)

frites (basically French fries, but don't call them that - it's offensive, given the fact they were not invented in France; the locals still hold their grudge over the matter)

mussels (Brussels specialty, usually go with frites on the side)

Flanders As It Is

Wandelterras Noord, quay of Antwerp, near Sint-Annatunnel. The sun gave us its last warmth of the day as we strolled along the Antwerp quay, the dark silhouettes of seagulls scattering sunbeams as we scared them off the railings

The towns of Flanders are easily recognizable. The main square is always called 'Grote Markt'; the combination of a cathedral (usually of Our Lady), a stadhuis and a belfry impending over the town is mandatory. Old houses of stone (and sometimes even wood), with stepped roofs and intricate ornaments. Waffles and chocolate on every corner, infinite varieties of beer in any pub. Add cyclists during the day or bicycle parking at night, cobblestone streets, a culture co-depending with trade - and you have a perfect portrait of a Flemish city.

It was a little vacation we all need from time to time - not spectacular but fun, warm and surprisingly full of color in this grim, gray time of the year.

#belgium #brussels #bruges #ghent #antwerp #flanders

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alwaysmarilynmonroe · 6 years

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If Marilyn was alive today, it’s incredible to believe that she would be turning ninety two years old. In the seven and a half years I’ve known and loved her for, I still find it incomprehensible, due to Marilyn leaving the world at such a young age. I guess I almost have to remind myself that even the most famous woman in the world was just like us, she was human too. However, I’ll openly admit that I don’t know if that fact will ever sink in, not because I view Marilyn as an Icon, although she undoubtedly is, but because it’s amazing to think that she walked the earth we all live on.

Marilyn by Andre de Dienes in July 1949.

Although it’s been over fifty five years since Marilyn left us, in many ways it feels like she’s still here, almost like she never really left. What I mean by that is her spirit and presence is so prevalent in today, I bet there’s not one person in the world that doesn’t know her name or face. Of course, with such fame and status comes the dreaded myths and conspiracies, which myself and many strive to dispel, but, I do like to think that the majority of people smile and feel happiness when they see or watch Marilyn. She has such a unique warmth and kindness that truly lights up the screen when she appears and I’m sure it’s true that she lit up a room when she entered one over half a century ago.

Marilyn by Milton Greene in October 1953.

Every year Marilyn’s Birthday and Anniversary come around, I always wonder to myself what I should write and how do I go about not being repetitive. After all, there’s only so much that can be said on one particular person, however, to me it’s all about spreading love and enlightening others on the real Marilyn and if I can do that through writing a few words, I’ll definitely try. I’ve mentioned many times how inspiring I find Marilyn, how unbelievable her story is and how she achieved so much considering the odds against her were beyond enormous. I’ve also said how Marilyn was so much more than a beautiful Blonde Bombshell, she was a special soul who was always striving to perfect her talents and be the best person she could be. However, even as I reiterate previous statements, I can’t help but thinking about how true they are and how incredible Marilyn really was.

Marilyn attends the Premiere of Call Me Madam in March 1953.

Of course I absolutely adore Marilyn and there’s no doubt that I truly cannot say many, if any bad things about her, some would say I’m extremely biased and I would to an extent admit to that. However, I pride myself in being honest and speaking the truth and everything I state about Marilyn’s life and achievements are historically proven. Therefore, this is the main reason why I’m so dumbfounded when people don’t like or respect Marilyn, I mean, how can you possibly not? Not everyone has to become a huge devoted fan like myself, but to be so judgmental, inaccurate and assuming is such a huge annoyance to me – we should all be supportive and admire anyone’s achievements and why should Marilyn be any different? Just because a person has their struggles doesn’t make them someone not to admire, to me it makes them even more inspirational in that they achieved so much when they were suffering.

Marilyn by Milton Greene in March 1955.

Ultimately, today is a very special day for myself, all of Marilyn’s fans and Hollywood, for without Marilyn the world would definitely have been a little duller. Not only did she accomplish so much and forever make her mark in Cinema, she was a kind person and just wanted to put a smile on people’s faces. I always love reading little anecdotes showing Marilyn as a person and not the star as they show her beautiful soul and caring nature. Things like her anonymously gifting money to crew members in need or bringing a cow inside because it was raining, just show how generous she was and how little material things actually meant to her.

Marilyn during the filming of Let’s Make Love in 1960.

Wherever Marilyn may be I hope she knows how appreciated, loved and respected she is by so many. There may be a few ignorant and judgmental people still out there but she had that during her lifetime and I like to think it wouldn’t phase her all too much. Marilyn always knew that people didn’t expect much from her other than a pretty face and she never failed to prove them wrong. At 24 years old I think about Marilyn every day and have done since I first discovered her in late 2010, she fills my heart with love and joy and I will never not stick up for her. I like to think that however old we all get, Marilyn will continue to always be with us in spirit and never fail to place a smile on a sad face. It takes an incredibly special person to have the ability to make someone feel such love and emotion for someone they have never met and Marilyn is one of those rare people. I love you with all of my heart beautiful Marilyn and I undoubtedly always will.

Marilyn by Bert Stern in June 1962.

“I don’t understand why people aren’t a little more generous with each other. I don’t like to say this, but I’m afraid there is a lot of envy in this business. The only thing I can do is stop and think, “I’m all right but I’m not so sure about them!” – Marilyn to Richard Meryman in Life Magazine, August 1962.

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Happy 92nd Birthday Marilyn! If Marilyn was alive today, it's incredible to believe that she would be turning ninety two years old.

#1940s #1950s #1960s #blonde bombshell #classic hollywood #icon #legend #marilyn #marilyn monroe #monroe #norma jeane #norma jeane baker #old hollywood #vintage

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sopherfly · 7 years

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Chapter Two - Lord Rogers Returns

Summary: Tony tests Bucky’s loyalty. Steve returns to King’s Landing.

A/N: Stuckony Game of Thrones AU. Many thanks to @folklejend for beta reading. :) Catch up here, or check out the fic on ao3.

It had been a year, and James Buchanan Barnes still didn’t see himself as King in the North. The position didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Steve. It always had. The mantle was too impossibly heavy, and Bucky had no desire to carry it.

He wondered, then, why he hadn’t said no. Of course, it hadn’t been as simple as refusing. King Stark rarely took no for an answer. And in this particular case, Bucky would have feared more than a little for his life if he’d argued against King Stark’s wishes. The threat of death by dragons had only been implied - but then, that threat was always implied with a king whose dragons had razed armies to the ground.

Bucky wasn't the leader that Steve had been. Too often he asked for advice, and too often his will wasn't strong enough to withstand a sensible argument. He never knew with certainty that he was choosing the right path. Every decision took days of deliberation; only with the situation analyzed from every side would Bucky be satisfied. It made Bucky thorough and consistent in a way that Steve had never been, and for some incomprehensible reason, the people loved him for it.

King Stark insisted that Bucky visit King’s Landing on a regular basis. It wasn't a quick trip, and it meant leaving someone else in command while Bucky was away, which Bucky loved and hated in equal parts. As heirs to Winterfell and as skilled fighters, Bucky trusted Wanda and Pietro to keep his interests safe while he was away. But as the (albeit reluctant) guardian of the north, Bucky felt a fraud whenever he abandoned his people and rode south.

There was nothing for it. Bucky had grown used to being pulled in too many directions at once, and when King Stark requested Bucky’s presence, Bucky never argued. What good would it have done? King Stark snapped his fingers and the whole world came to attention. There was something about him, something captivating that had Bucky desperate for his approval, no matter the personal cost.

If Bucky was honest, it wasn’t just approval that he craved. It was attention; more than that, it was affection. Love. Whenever Bucky left King Stark’s side, he was consumed with thoughts of when he could return. When he could see King Stark’s face again. When he could hear that rich laugh, the one that meant King Stark was truly amused. Bucky wondered, sometimes, if it was some kind of spell. He wanted King Stark. The feeling had settled into Bucky’s heart and spun out into his veins, his skin, his bones. Some days, it threatened to consume him, going so far that King Stark’s presence on its own left Bucky short of breath.

(mobile users, mind the cut!)

He knew it was impossible. King Stark was of noble blood, and Bucky was decidedly not. Even if Bucky was King in the North, he’d come by it through King Stark’s appointment, and he still believed himself unfit for the post. There was no way King Stark would return his affections. Besides, an admission like that would've been dangerous. No matter what kind of personal relationship he and King Stark had, a declaration of feelings could easily cross the boundary into too bold. It was never a good idea to test King Stark’s patience.

Bucky slipped his arms into his robe, tightening it around his waist and tying the sash before stepping outside into the morning air. His room had both a fireplace and a private balcony, as King Stark had insisted on nothing less than the best accommodations. That meant Bucky’s room was also in the same wing of the castle as King Stark’s, putting him in King Stark’s path all too often. King Stark looked so much more relaxed at night, the day having worn down every sharp edge until there was only softness in brown eyes. It was torturous - and yet, Bucky preferred it to the alternative. Being too close was better than being too far.

From his balcony, Bucky had a perfect view of the training grounds. The sun had barely risen, still a crescent over the curve of the earth, and in the relative darkness, Bucky could make out King Stark and Lady Natasha, dueling with broadswords. An interesting choice for such an early hour. That likely meant that King Stark hadn’t slept. He called members of the Kingsguard to duel only when there was too much on his mind.

Shaking his head, Bucky returned to his room, finding his clothes and dressing himself for the day. With no formal audiences, plainclothes would do fine, although the cold - how had the cold traveled so far as to reach King’s Landing? - would require a coat. Bucky pulled the silver one from the rack and slipped it on, then took in his appearance in the looking glass, fastening the coat all the way to the neck. It made him look menacing, the light color of the fabric emphasizing the darkness of his hair, his eyes standing out in sharp contrast to the rest of his face. The design did nothing to conceal Bucky's physical fitness. That was almost impossible to hide, even with his days as mercenary and assassin behind him.

Slipping his hands into his black gloves, Bucky stepped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, the spiral seeming endless until it finally let him out onto the training ground. His breath puffed out in a cloud in front of him, and he pressed forward, approaching as King Stark and Lady Natasha prepared themselves for another round.

“Your Grace,” Bucky said, ducking his head briefly in a gesture of respect.

An easy smile parted King Stark’s lips. “Lord Barnes. Good morning.”

Bucky would never tire of that voice. It sounded almost musical, the cadence changing more whenever King Stark was pleased. “You haven’t slept.”

King Stark said so much without saying anything at all. ‘How is it you know me so well?’ Bucky read in his eyes.

“No rest for the wicked,” King Stark said, letting the tip of his blade rest in the loose earth. “Natasha. I’d like a moment alone with Lord Barnes.”

“Of course.” Lady Natasha retrieved King Stark’s sword, taking it from his hand like it weighed nothing, and Bucky smiled a little. It was refreshing, having a woman at King’s Landing with such similar training. It made Bucky feel less out of place.

As soon as Lady Natasha was gone, Bucky took a moment to just look. King Stark was tired, that much was obvious. There was strain around his eyes and mouth, and Bucky heard that same strain in his voice when he spoke. “I received a raven yesterday. From Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He tried again. “What?”

“I was as surprised as you are. After all those months of silence, I didn’t think he was coming back.”

Bucky was struck dumb, his lips refusing to make any of the words that had come into his head. King Stark had banished Steve, that was true; but Steve had left without saying goodbye. After everything they'd been through together, Bucky still hadn't forgiven Steve for that.

“What did he say?”

“He said - he said he was sorry.” King Stark closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “He’s bringing the Wildling army here.”

Bucky swallowed past the knot that had formed in his throat. “Will you grant him an audience?”

It was obvious King Stark didn’t like the answer to that question. “I don’t have a choice. The Wildling army strengthens our numbers and our odds.” King Stark breathed out on a sigh. “I gave my word that I would hold the trial if he completed his task. I owe him a chance, at least.”

“The council will vote against him.”

King Stark’s smile was grim. “I know.”

Of course he did. And if King Stark knew, Steve undoubtedly knew it too. Bucky frowned, worry tangling confusingly with hurt feelings. “He’ll ask for a trial by combat.”

“I know.” King Stark considered Bucky, then stepped forward, resting his hands on Bucky's shoulders. The closeness was too much; it set Bucky's skin on fire even through the thick layers of fabric.

“Do you trust me?” King Stark asked.

“Yes,” Bucky said, the hoarseness in his voice betraying him. “Of course.”

“Then trust me in this. I know he’s your friend. He was mine too. Trust that I’ll do what’s right.” King Stark squeezed Bucky’s shoulders, a small gesture of reassurance, before releasing his grip. He smiled, then took a step back, looking Bucky up and down. “Silver suits you. You should wear more of it.”

Bucky felt his face heat at the praise. “If you like it, then I will.”

King Stark raised an eyebrow. “What if I told you I didn’t like it? Would you stop wearing it?”

“Yes.”

A long moment passed, King Stark staring at Bucky, intensely focused. King Stark pursed his lips, and Bucky wondered if that was annoyance or pleasure in his eyes. It was always so difficult to tell; with King Stark, the two were so often intertwined.

“And if I told you to take it off?” King Stark asked, the question sounding falsely innocent.

Bucky held onto his composure despite the fear that prickled in his spine. Every so often, when King Stark tested him like this, Bucky managed to answer wrong. “I will do as my king commands.”

“No matter what I ask?”

“Yes. Always.”

King Stark’s lips curled back to bare his teeth. “Your blind obedience is infuriating.” This time, when King Stark looked Bucky up and down, it was almost predatory. “Fine. You want so badly to follow my commands? Take it off.”

Bucky didn’t know whether or not to look away. He held King Stark’s gaze, moving his hands to the fastenings at his neck. Gods be good, at least his hands were steady. It was only his training that kept him from trembling. His gloved fingers and thumbs moved down, making quick work of the buttons, and Bucky slid one arm out of the coat, then the other, setting it down gently over the fence beside them.

“Good,” King Stark said, crossing his arms. “Now. Spar with me.”

Bucky shook his head. “King Stark-”

“I thought you would do as your king commanded.”

“It won’t be a fair fight.” Bucky braced himself, ready for King Stark to argue.

“You’re right. I’ve never met anyone who could fight like you. Not even Rogers.” King Stark picked up the coat, running a hand over the dyed wool before passing it over. “It’s cold. Put it back on.”

King Stark began to walk away, and Bucky followed, slipping his arms back into the sleeves as he went. A man less familiar with King Stark might've stayed put, but in Bucky’s experience, a person was to stay in King Stark’s presence until he or she was dismissed, even if that meant following King Stark for hours on end.

“Is there any order I could give you that you would disobey?” King Stark asked over his shoulder. They were headed around the side of the tower, toward the cliffside that overlooked Blackwater Bay.

“No,” Bucky replied, bracing himself against the wind.

“Infuriating.” King Stark said it fondly this time, his expression soft. “Your loyalty is more than I’ve earned.”

“That’s not true.”

King Stark straightened, eyes bright with curiosity. “You don’t think so?”

“You freed me from HYDRA. You saved me even though I had hurt the people closest to you.” Bucky had done unforgivable things, things he refused to name. Things he wanted to forget, but couldn't.

“My father was a tyrant, you know,” King Stark said softly. “You did the Seven Kingdoms a service.”

Bucky still didn't believe it any more than he believed he deserved to be Lord of Winterfell. How a Kingslayer had earned favor with a King, Bucky would never know; except that maybe King Howard had been cruel enough to deserve his end, when it had finally come.

“If you say so, Your Grace.”

“I do.” King Stark stared out at the water, his gaze caught somewhere along the line of the horizon. “If I ever become like him, I need you to tell me. I know you're not my Hand, and I know you only want to tell me what I want to hear, but… Gods. If you care for me, promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I promise,” Bucky said in reply.

“Thank you.” King Stark turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to say something else. He shook his head wryly instead. “I ought to change. And I'm due for a visit to the baths. Thank you for your company, Lord Barnes.”

“Your Grace.” Bucky bowed, and King Stark smiled before retreating back the way they'd come.

Bucky turned toward the water, watching the waves crest softly, his mind turning in circles. Steve Rogers, returning home. Bucky knew it would plague him as much as it already plagued King Stark; Bucky wouldn't be able to sleep, knowing the year-long silence would soon come to an end. That silence had been safe. It had been painful and terrible, but it had been safe all the same. Bucky had set all the emotions of that day aside, boxed them up and sealed them in his mind as soon as Steve had left King’s Landing. The thought of reopening that box made Bucky’s chest tight.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the air tasting of salt. King Stark would have a plan. King Stark would deal with Steve. And with any luck, Bucky wouldn't need to be involved at all.

In the last year, Steve Rogers had become a man who dealt only in extremes.

The climate, the company he kept, his feelings for King Stark - they all swung violently from one side to the other, never stopping in the middle. He’d lived in sweltering heat, then bitter cold. He’d spent his nights alone, then found himself surrounded by Wildlings, never afforded a moment’s peace. He’d fallen out of love with King Stark, knowing banishment would be easier without the weight of what he couldn’t have. But when Steve dreamed, he fell in love all over again, remembering small looks and gestures and the warmth of King Stark’s smile.

Steve had thought to live out his sentence in Dorne. After he'd been commanded to leave, he’d shipped out on the first vessel, refusing to look back. For months Steve had trained with the Dornish athletes, living like men in Dorne, letting his hair and beard grow long. His skin had turned dark under the Dornish sun, his body occupied enough to keep his mind from dwelling on his loss.

And then Steve had received a raven from Sam Wilson.

It had been so long since Steve had seen any of the men of the Night’s Watch. Sam must have known that Steve no longer held Winterfell. So why had Sam chosen Steve, and not Winterfell’s new lord?

Things have gotten worse, Sam had written. The Army of the Dead comes closer and closer with every passing day. We need more men. We need a plan. Do you have any ideas?

Yes, Steve had replied. One.

The idea hadn’t been his. It had been King Stark’s. Gather the Wildlings and march their army to King’s Landing. It was the only thing that might absolve Steve of his guilt; and now, it was the only thing that might save the Seven Kingdoms from the enemy in the north.

White Walkers. He hadn’t doubted Sam, but Steve hadn’t quite believed until he’d seen them for himself. They were truly the stuff of nightmares, terrifying and cold and nearly impossible to kill. No wonder Thor, the leader of the Wildlings, had been so easy to persuade. Alone, the Wildling army would never stand a chance against the Night King’s massive force.

They were several days south of Winterfell, Steve, Sam, and every able-bodied Wildling of the north. Ten thousand men and women, all camped just east of the Whispering Wood. Night had fallen an hour before, and the lights of the camp were bright against the sky. The cold was less bitter down here, but the night was no less dark.

They’d received a raven earlier that morning. Steve had waited to open it, allowing the scroll to burn a hole in his pocket as they rode. Now that he was alone, in the safety of his tent, he still wasn’t sure he was prepared to read King Stark’s reply. He held the scroll in his hand, wondering at how something so small could carry so much weight.

“Come on, Rogers.” He took a deep breath, then unrolled the scroll. He stared, tracing the tight scrawl with his eyes until even the light of the fire wasn’t enough to see by. The darkness didn’t matter. The words smoldered like hot coals, still bright in his mind’s eye.

Your words of apology are meaningless. Speak with your actions, or else do not speak at all.

It was biting, but that much, Steve had expected. He had waited too long to apologize. He’d known it wouldn’t be enough. Steve would have to prove himself again, and even if he did, King Stark might not forgive him. A trial by combat was his only option. Steve had to hope that King Stark would permit that kind of trial at all.

Sam stepped into the tent unannounced, and Steve looked up, surprised.

“Have you put that down once since you opened it?” Sam asked.

“No,” Steve said heavily. “I keep wanting it to say something different, but it never does.”

Sam sat down on the stool beside the fading fire, watching the smoke as it curled upward and disappeared through the smoke cap out into the air. “What do you want it to say?”

“That I'm forgiven. That I won't be killed the second I set foot on southern soil.”

“You’re not much of a realist, are you?”

Steve sighed. “No. I’m an idealist. Or at least, I was. I’m not sure what I am any more.”

Sam grinned at him. “You’re shaggy, that’s what you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “The beard keeps me warm.”

“It makes you look like a Wildling.”

“Well. At least I’m in good company.” Steve stared down at the scroll again, then crumpled it into his fist, ready to throw it into the fire. He drew his arm back, then hesitated, his palm falling weakly into his lap. “Why do I care so much what he thinks of me?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Do you really want to hear the answer to that?”

“No.” Steve let his shoulders sag, tucking the scroll safely under his pillow. He knew the answer as well as Sam did, but he didn’t want to hear it. His feelings had complicated things enough. Better to focus on their goal: saving the Seven Kingdoms.

“You miss him.” Sam’s voice was serious, and for the first time, Steve didn't deny that it was true.

“It doesn't matter. We’ll see him soon enough.”

Sam nodded, standing and leaving the tent. Steve stared into the fire a while longer, then crawled under the blankets and tugged them over his head, King Stark’s words still burned behind his eyes.

“Come in.”

Banner opened the door and closed it softly, and Tony could see in his periphery how Banner stayed close to the wall instead of stepping forward.

Tony looked up from his work. “Maester Banner.”

“Your Grace.”

Tony returned his attention to his parchment. “Apparently every man in King’s Landing urgently requires my signature.”

Banner took a step closer. “You might let your Hand do some of that.”

Tony shook his head. “As long as I am in King’s Landing, I’ll sign all of them myself. I can't let another man bear my burden.”

“Is that because it's actually a burden? Or because you don't trust another to understand your will?”

“Would you trust someone to know your mind so well? I've been down that path once before. I won't do it again, not even if I trust Lord Jarvis with my life.” Tony signed one final document, then set his quill down. “I received word that Rogers is a day’s ride from King’s Landing.”

Lines of worry appeared on Banner’s forehead. “Then I'm here as a friend and not a Maester.”

“Yes. I need someone to listen. There's no one else I trust.”

“What about Lord Barnes?”

“He has a history with Rogers. And besides, I haven't shared my plan with him. I can't.”

“I understand.” Banner paused, finally taking a seat in front of Tony. “Does Rogers’ return trouble you so much?”

“Yes.” Gods, did it bother him. It would've been so much easier if Rogers had stayed away. Tony was tense. Nervous. Angry. Part of him wanted to cut Rogers down, and another part wanted to bypass the trial altogether with an unconditional pardon. Tony’s thoughts had been consumed with little else, and now with just a day between them, Tony’s head was starting to pound, his jaw aching from keeping his teeth clenched so tightly together.

Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If you were in my place, what would you do?”

“I don’t know. My heart doesn’t speak to me the way yours does to you.”

“My heart tells me so many stories I can hardly keep them straight.” Tony let out a frustrated noise. Even his patience with himself was wearing thin. “Just… Am I doing the right thing?”

Banner shrugged. “I don't know. It's a fair test of loyalty on both sides. And it’s about time we changed the rules for trials by combat. Even if it's not right, it does what you need it to do.”

Tony stared, unseeing, at the papers in front of him. “Lord Barnes will never forgive me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“No?”

Banner waited until Tony looked up. “He loves you. He’d forgive you almost anything.”

“That just means I’m abusing his affection.”

“You're doing what you have to do to preserve the realm,” Banner said, more emphatic than Tony was prepared for. “That's all anyone expects. Including Lord Barnes.”

Tony sighed in resignation. Banner was right. In service of the realm. That one phrase had become Tony's single guiding principle. If it didn't serve the realm, it was inconsequential. If it _did _serve the realm, nothing was more important. Proving power and offering mercy were the two things he needed to accomplish. Those were the things that would serve the realm best. Pitting Rogers and Lord Barnes against each other and stopping the fighting to save them both would be a suitable enough means. Tony only hoped Lord Barnes would forgive him for the deception.

If he didn't… So be it. It needed to be done.

“Keep our contingent back until I've given Rogers his greeting. Only bring Barnes forward once I've said his name.”

“Planning something theatrical?”

“Maybe.” Tony barely reacted to Banner’s smile. “I only plan to scare him a little.”

“Whenever you say that, men end up nearly shitting themselves.”

“They all know I have the dragons. It's not my fault they don't expect them.”

“You're right about that.” Banner’s smile faded into something serious. “My advice, Your Grace, is to get some sleep. You've thought about this long enough. Tomorrow will bring what it will bring.”

Tony gave a small nod of agreement. “Thank you, Maester.”

“Your Grace.”

Banner rose and left, giving a brief bow and a murmured, “Goodnight.” Tony sat alone in the silence, twirling the quill between his fingers, wondering how Banner expected him to get any sleep at all.

The messenger with news of Rogers’ arrival came before dawn.

Tony wasn’t asleep. He was seated on the Iron Throne, as he had been for hours, his right elbow on the armrest, his index finger pressed into his temple.

“King Stark.” Peter’s voice echoed loudly in the empty chamber. “He’s here.”

Tony sighed, standing up. “Well. I suppose I should hear what he has to say.”

The dragons were outside this morning, circling the towers of the Red Keep. As soon as Tony set foot onto the roof - it had taken ten minutes to climb the stairs - Striker was there, landing on the ledge. It was uncanny, the way the dragons knew him. They could tell his mood and his whims just by his scent. They knew when they were needed and when it was best to keep away.

Striker lowered her head, and green eyes followed Tony as he made his way up to her shoulders, using each scale as a foothold as he climbed onto Striker’s back. God, she was beautiful, the same rich, deep color of red clay. Her scales shimmered, reflecting the torchlight from the tower’s entrance, and Tony settled himself between two of her spikes, holding on as Striker lifted herself up, spreading her wings wide. A rush of cold air, a ripple of muscles, and then they were no longer connected to the earth.

The first time they'd flown, they had very nearly spun out of control. Tony hadn't known how to give directions. He hadn't been thinking clearly. In fact, the only thought in his head had been to hold on for dear life; and Tony had done just that. Since then, Striker had grown. She was easier to ride and easier to handle, and she and Tony had become so used to one another that it was as if they were a single being when they flew. In the sky, Tony and the dragon were one and the same.

Tony held tight as Striker rose higher and higher into the air, wings pumping until they’d reached the lowest clouds.

“You remember Rogers, don’t you?” Tony asked over the soft whistle of the wind, rubbing the side of Striker’s neck. He felt more than heard her rumble in reply. “Wait for him. He’s the one we want.”

Steve had walked the final two days to King’s Landing, if only because he hadn't been able to sit still on the horse. He had been restless, too tense with the anticipation of seeing King Stark again. Would it be a good reunion? Or would it end with Steve’s head on a spike? It was impossible to guess. Steve thanked the old Gods and the new that it would all be over soon.

The silhouette of the city grew larger and larger in the pale light before the dawn. A feeling of familiarity washed over Steve as they marched down toward what was left of the Dragonpit; Steve had made this walk hundreds of times before, but never under circumstances like these. The nostalgia was oppressive, and Steve cast it away with a quick shake of his head.

“You look nervous,” Sam said, suddenly beside him.

“Aren't you?”

“No. I figure as long as I bow and don't say anything stupid, I’ll be alright. I'm just glad to be warm.”

Sam was only half right. The south might’ve been warmer than the wall, but winter was on the wind, a biting cold that cut underneath the summer breeze, making it burn. Steve had learned in his time beyond the wall that the cold burned like nothing else. It crept into fingers and toes. It slithered under clothes. It burrowed into hearts, making them shrivel and die. King Stark’s silence had been another kind of cold, one Steve had hated more than anything. Steve would always take fire over ice; he would always take rage over indifference.

Finally, they stepped into the stone circle, Sam on Steve’s right, Thor on his left. The army was gathered far behind, awaiting orders. A hundred feet away, Steve could make out bodies, dark shapes in the low light. Why had King Stark’s men not come closer? What were they waiting for?

Thor was the first to look up. Steve followed his gaze, squinting, just making out the shadow of-

A dragon.

Of course. How could Steve have been so stupid as to believe King Stark might arrive on horseback? No. King Stark would want to make an entrance. Riding in on a dragon was exactly the show of power King Stark was famous for.

There weren't words for the way a dragon looked descending to the earth; but Steve couldn't deny that in that moment, he felt like prey. He was frozen in place, watching the dragon widen its claws, scooping air under its wings to slow its fall. Finally, Steve could make out the dragon’s color. Striker, he thought. King Stark’s favorite.

When Steve had left, Striker had barely been big enough to ride. And now… Now she could’ve swallowed a horse whole. She was huge, her spikes as tall as a man, her body too massive to take in all at once. She was beautiful. Beautiful and terrifying.

“Oh shit.” Sam backed up, lifting an arm to protect his face as the air around them moved with Striker’s wings. When she landed, her claws scraped the earth, making the ground beneath them shudder and shake.

Suddenly, it was all too real. Steve was about to see King Stark for the first time in a year. How had he changed? Was he still the man that Steve remembered? Would he still inspire the same fear, the same awe, the same abject adoration?

Some part of Steve thought it might be a better idea to turn tail and run. He kept himself rooted where he stood, his eyes trained on the dragon’s back, watching as King Stark descended and approached them with measured steps.

Steve swallowed, bowing and dropping onto one knee. There was the sound of boots on the earth, and then King Stark’s legs came into view, stopping just a foot away.

“Get up.”

Steve did as he was told, his focus narrowed so far that the rest of the world had disappeared. A pang of longing shot through him, and he stared, his breath shallow, his heartbeat thundering in his throat. Tony.

“King Stark,” Steve greeted softly.

“Lord Rogers.”

The title was some kind of cruel courtesy; Steve wasn't lord of anything any more. King Stark smiled, daggers in his eyes, stepping back just as slowly as he’d approached. He looked Steve over, then opened his hands, palms facing up. For some reason, that gesture filled Steve with dread.

“Welcome back to King’s Landing.”

#stuckony #marvel fanfiction #game of thrones #tony x bucky x steve #mother of dragons #kingslayer #king in the north #alternate universe #sopherfly writes

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rilayafever · 7 years

Text

flowers 🌺 || rilaya au fanfiction

Riley Matthews loved flowers almost as much as she loved staring at the back of her crush’s head in math class. It was a simpler time then, where the girl she liked didn’t even know her name. The initially innocent crush eventually became pining and Riley had no idea what do with her all of her emotions. So, like any other rational person, she dealt with it by sending Maya flowers each week.

The flower boutique was dimly lit but packed at each corner with every type of flower that Riley could imagine. Each of the colours were so bright and unique it made her giddy just by looking at them.

“Sir!” Riley asked, leaning over the counter to gain the man’s attention. “How much are those pink tulips?”

He turned his head in the direction that her finger was pointing before answering.

“You sure you want all of them?” The man questioned.

Riley nodded eagerly. After all, she was planning to keep one for herself as well.

The lean, muscular boutique owner strutted over to the flowers bouquet and scanned them. “36$” he paused briefly, counting the money before putting it into the register. “Do you want them sent to anyone?”

“Yes please. They’re for a beautiful girl named Maya H.” She answered.

He hummed as he wrote the name onto the tiny card attached to the bouquet. “And it’s from..?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Riley declined. “Just write her name and have them sent anytime tomorrow.”

The owner nodded and tucked his pen behind his ear. “Got it.”

Maya had a horrible morning. Her alarm clock didn’t go off, she had an argument with her mom last night and everything in her life just seemed to be falling out of place.

That was, until she saw the delicately arranged bouquet of pink tulips taped to her locker.

Her eyebrows rose suspiciously, glancing around for any phone cameras. She learned to be aware of those since Farkle loves recording the pranks he plays on Maya. Once she approached her locker, she read the tag, trying to analyze it for a handwriting that she recognized.

It read. “To a beautiful girl; Maya H.”

The smile that was now growing on her face almost became impossible to hide. Maya flipped the tag over and looked all over the flowers for the name of the person who sent them. She was only left with disappointment when nothing could be found.

Little did she know, the person Maya was so desperately searching for was peering at her just around the corner with her books held tightly against her chest.

The next week, Riley found herself back at the same familiar store. They received a new shipment and the girl was dying to share some of it with Maya.

This time around, Riley opted for a bouquet of light blue daisies. A couple days prior, she overheard Maya spilling her heart out to Zay and Smackle about how much she loved the colour blue.

When the delivery man asked her what to write on the card this time, he decided to be a wingman and pitch in some ideas. “Lets add a cute nickname.” He suggested. “How about peaches?”

Riley had to use every but of willpower she had to keep herself from jumping up and down in approval. Instead, she nodded and smiled widely.

Like clockwork, the bouquet was stuck to the front of Maya’s locker (the delivery man was amazing at following instructions) while Riley waited around the corner.

Maya looked tired today, even more so than usual and that broke Riley’s heart. She never understood why the blonde never smiled as brightly as she used to anymore. It made Riley’s week when she saw the unforgettable smile plastered onto Maya’s face after she saw the flowers.

Riley’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the shorter girl walk up to her locker. He eyes were focused on the ground while she stared down at her feet, not seeing he flowed on her locker. Riley almost rolled her eyes at the sight.

This girl is so oblivious- still cute though

Maya’s head lifted itself up slowly, allowing her to finally see the flowers she had been gifted. Unknowingly, the brunette inched closer, almost exposing herself in her hiding spot. She held her breath while waiting to see Maya’s reaction.

Just before she could witness the blonde’s unrestricted joy, Lucas appeared.

“What are you up to? This corner is so sketchy Ril-”

Her eyes widened, quickly turning around to slap a hand over the boy’s mouth.

Lucas was an amazing friend. He was always supportive and there for her when she needed him but god she’s never wanted to skin him alive more than she does right now.

He mumbled a few more incomprehensible words from behind Riley’s palm before he eventually gave up on communicating.

Riley nodded her head towards Maya, trying to direct him to her crush. He was the only person that knew about it besides her. Lucas thought it was absolutely adorable and even encouraged the idea of buying her flowers.

When her hand finally lifted from Lucas’ mouth, he analyzed the situation in front of him. “Oh my god. You got her those?” He whispered.

His best friend nodded eagerly. “I don’t want to look.” She admitted, her back was to the scene. “Is this too creepy? How is she reacting?”

The tall blonde boy squinted his eyes to get a better view.“ She’s talking to Farkle.” He observed. “… and blushing like an idiot.”

That was all she needed to hear. Without even turning around to look at the duo, Riley grabbed Lucas by the wrist and started walking to class. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?” The love struck teen spoke dreamily.

Maya smiled once again, bringing the blue flowers up to her nose to smell them. Today, the tag had an actual message on it besides who the flowers were for. It read:

Smiling looks good on you, peaches.

“Who’s the secret admirer, Hart?” asked Farkle.

She blushed a deep shade of red and shrugged. “No idea.” Maya paused. “I hope it’s Riley.”

He held back a laugh because god, sending her crush flowers is definitely something Riley Matthews would do.

Farkle grabbed the bouquet from her tiny hands to look at the note. It wasn’t Riley’s writing. He frowned, not wanting to break the news to Maya that this probably wasn’t who she hoped it was.

“Hey,” Maya interrupted, tapping his shoulder. “Why do you look so upset?”

The scrawny boy shook his head back and forth anxiously. “N-nothing”. He lied. When Maya raised an eyebrow at him that screamed ‘stop lying’, Farkle continued. “It’s just that you’ve had a crush on her-”

Immediately, Maya corrected him. “It’s not a crush.” She muttered.

“You send Smackle, Zay and I paragraph long texts about how adorable she is and how you want to squish her face and smell her hair.”

“Fine, whatever keep talking.” Maya replied defensively.

Farkle chuckled and rolled his eyes. He turned the corner and started walking to his home room class, gesturing for Maya to follow along.

“What I was saying is that you’ve had this crush on her since the ninth grade. We’re in junior year now and you still haven’t made a move!” Farkle exclaimed.

Maya played with the necklace hanging around her neck nervously while walking. “I turned around and asked her to borrow a pencil once.” She admitted.

“When was that?”

“Two weeks ago.” Maya could imagine the groan that escaped Farkle’s mouth before she even heard it. “She also laughed at my civil bore joke in class.” She added on, proudly.

“Don’t you guys have math together?” He asked.

The blonde turned to him and threw her hands in the air, still walking. “That’s not the point! The point is that she is way out of my league and I’ll never be able to-”

At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. Maya and Riley collided into each other at full force and Farkle had seemingly “accidentally” shoved her.

“Ouch.” was all Riley could say while she rubbed her shoulder awkwardly. When the tall girl looked down to see her attacker, time seemed to freeze for a moment.

Maya was mortified, embarrassed and undoubtedly attracted to the girl in front of her. “Sorry.” She apologized sheepishly. “I should be watching where I was going.”

Riley smiled at her innocently and Maya swore that she’s never been more attracted to someone in her life than she is right now. “Don’t worry about it, Maya. I kind of liked it.” She muttered the last part with a little less confidence than the first half of her sentence.

Before she could response, Riley already sent her a wink and turned on her heel to travel the opposite direction.

Shocked, Maya stood there speechless for several long seconds because Riley knew her name?

“Was she flirting with me?” Maya asked Farkle for confirmation.

“Shamelessly.”

For the following 6 weeks, this routine continued. Riley never sent the flowers on the same day of the week, it ranged based on how gushy she felt that day. The bouquets would be different each time, and Riley was starting to develop her own little garden at home. With each delivery, she would always sneak one flower home and add it to a designated vase on her bedside table.

However, by the third week, Riley started to become paranoid that Maya had figured out the identity of who was buying the flowers.

She felt like an idiot after a slip up where Maya accidentally saw a glimpse of Riley’s long brown hair hiding behind the wall and quickly asked “Is anyone there?”

Maya felt her heart begin to race when she saw the suspect’s hair. It was definitely a girl. She sighed dramatically, secretly wishing that it was the cute brunette who sat behind her that was sending these.

Riley finally seemed to be getting over her grief about the loss of a perfectly good pencil. The healing period was substantially shortened this time due to the cause being a certain blonde who didn’t understand the meaning of the word borrow.

The bell rang and all of the students frantically packed up for their next period class. As Riley struggled with zipping her pencil case closed, Maya turned around and shoved a pencil in her face.

She didn’t recognize it at first. After two months of use, the pencil has basically been reduced to a stub.

“I forgot to give this back.” Maya smiled, waiting for the girl to take the pencil and stop staring.

“O-oh, right.” She nodded. “Thanks peaches-”

Immediately, both of the girls froze in their seat. By now, everyone had left the class, including the teacher. The classroom was empty. The last student to leave even took the creative liberty of shutting the door for them.

Both of them knew that Maya was only ever referred to as peaches on the flowers.

Riley cleared her threat obnoxiously. “-Penelope. I meant to say Penelope. Thanks Penelope.. Maya Penelope…Hart?” She rambled so much that Penelope didn’t even sound like a word to her anymore.

Maya raised an eyebrow teasingly, and leaned in closer, closing the distance between them. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to say peaches?” She whispered lowly, causing Riley to shiver.

“Nope! Meant Penelope, always Penelope why would I even call you peaches? Gosh that’s weird. Ha-ha!” Riley couldn’t take the heat between them and backed away, unknowingly causing Maya’s heart to break a little.

The blonde nodded slowly and got out of her seat, shrugging her backpack over her shoulder. Riley mimicked her actions. “Well, if you say so. I guess I’ll be on my way.”

She sounded.. disappointed? Riley could feel her one good chance slipping away. Maybe Maya wanted this just as much as she did.

“Wait!” She exclaimed and grabbed the other girl’s wrist. “I- uh..”

The gears in Riley’s head began to spin as she scavenged her imaginary dictionary for words to express how Maya made her feel. It didn’t help when the blonde stepped closer and looked up at her patiently with wide eyes.

“Hey..” Maya whispered when she noticed the struggle. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She tucked a loose strand of curly brown hair behind Riley’s ear and the girl almost passed out.

Instead of speaking, Riley did what she did best- shut up. She moved her hand from Maya’s wrist to her waist and pulled the blonde in closer. Slowly, Riley leaned in.

Maya loved the way Riley held her. She made her feel like she was worth everything in the world and more. The way her hands wrapped perfectly around Maya’s waist made her swoon like the teenage girl she always pretended not to be.

Their lips were a breath away and both girls could feel the heat that consumed the space between them. They were so focused on each other that they couldn’t even hear the door open over the sounds of their beating hearts.

“Sorry girls! I forgot my briefcase in here.” The math teacher laughed awkwardly and avoided eye contact with the two of them.

Maya and Riley jumped apart, creating some well needed space. He quickly exited the room and shut the door once again.

They were both blushing heavily, but couldn’t help but burst out into laughter because they really just got cockblocked by their math teacher.

Riley glanced at the clock first, noticing she only had 1 minute left to get to her Spanish class.

“Oh my gosh.” She mumbled, running towards the door, leaving Maya to stand there speechless. Right before she left the class, Riley turned to speak over her shoulder. “I’ll see you around, peaches.” She smirked, purposefully exaggerating the name of the fruit before sprinting off.

Maya was starting to like her more and more each day- if that was even possible.

A short blonde girl pushed open the shop doors and stepped in confidently.

“Hey.” She greeted the store owner nonchalantly, paying no attention to him as she browsed the flowers.

Maya found the store location by simply looking at the branding on the tag. She was glad, too because this store was absolutely beautiful. It made her heart melt that there was someone out there who thought she deserved to be spoiled with flowers that this were gorgeous.

“Do you happen to know a tall, kind of awkward teenage girl that comes here often?” Maya asked hopefully. “Her eyes light up every time she talks and she has the cutest lisp, I’m sure you’ve heard-”

He cut her off, chuckling. “That’s enough of an explanation.” The man told the now blushing girl. “I do know her, she’s never told me her name before though.” He admitted.

“It’s Riley.” Maya interrupted before nodding thoughtfully. “I’m kind of new at this.” She said, embarrassed. “What kind flowers should I buy her?”

The shopkeepers picked up a bouquet of breathtaking purple lilies that were hidden under a shelf. “She’s been eyeing these for weeks, can’t afford it though.”

“I’ll have those.” Maya declared, almost too quickly.

“You want a message on them?” He asked, pulling the cap off his pen.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll say it to her in person.”

“She really stole your heart with these gestures, didn’t she?”

Maya blushed, paying for the flowers grabbing them off the counter. “No. She didn’t need to, she’s always had my heart. And I definitely don’t want it back.”

The following morning, Maya was standing in front of Riley’s locker holding a bunch of purple flowers. She felt kind of awkward, especially since some students thought that her vulnerability was an invitation to stare.

She pulled at her collar nervously, trying to slow her breathing before Riley came.

“Peaches?” The word slipped out of Riley’s mouth like she had been saying it for years. She didn’t mean to say it in front of everyone, but then again she never had much self control either.

“Hi, honey.” Maya greeted with an unbreakable smile on her face. “These are for you.” She handed the flowers over to Riley, being sure to sneak in a shy kiss on the cheek before pulling back.

“I guess you found out.” Riley giggled, trying to hide her blush after Maya kissed her. Granted, it was on the cheek but still. Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude, she pulled her in for a tight hug.

“Thank you.” She muttered against Maya’s ear.

The blonde pulled her even closer. “People are staring, is that okay?”

“I don’t mind. If you were my girlfriend I’d be more than glad to show you off.”

Instantaneously, Maya pulled back from the hug. Riley winced slightly, thinking that she went a little too far with her words.

“Am I your girlfriend?” The short girl asked shyly.

Riley shrugged. “I don’t know, do you want to be?”

Maya nodded like a child and grabbed Riley’s hand with both of her own. “How about we start with a date this weekend? On me, of course.” She grinned.

“I’d really like that.”

For the first time in her life, Riley was glad that one of her shenanigans had finally gone right.

word count: 2885

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