#can you imagine how insufferable i would be fighting it out. thankfully i just draw comics and i can say things like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

treenissanderssidesstuff · 3 years

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One

A03 Link

Thank you to @edupunkn00b for helping me beta this story!

Words: 4222

Pairing: Roceit (Platonic Demus)

TW: None that I know of, feel free to inform me.

Summary: Janus decides to play "prince."

Inspired by @aidensm8's work in the request they filled for me. Also loosely inspired by some of the drawings @reddstardust made in response to aiden's work as well.

Link to post.

Ah HAH! I found it! Link to original ask.

The darkside’s corridor had been quiet recently, annoyingly so in Remus’ opinion. It’d been quiet in general since Virgil left and the terrible trio became a dinky duo, but now that Janus split his time between the sides, Remus had found himself increasingly uno. It was usually fine, he had the entire imagination to keep him busy and entertained, after all. He could make sides if he wanted to. But… it wasn’t quite the same. That was probably the only reason he had bothered to hang around at all when Janus went on another tirade about how insufferable and brainwashed the lightsides were, how Roman was being pushed, blah blah blah. After the last video release, the dialogged had temporarily shifted. That had gotten Remus’ attention. It seemed that Roman had rejected Janus, not just chosen someone else’ way over the deceitful side’s own, but outright stood against Janus even when the others folded around him. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad.

All of Janus’ plans had been for Roman’s sake.

And in three miscalculated moves, Janus had managed to push away the one side he sought the approval of.

“Do you think this will work?” Janus asked, tugging at the yellow sash hanging off his shoulder again.

“Oh, definitely not,” Remus said flatly, flipping through an upside down fairytale book on the couch with a bored expression on his face. The duke had been forced to hear about Janus’ plans to woo—“reconcile” with Roman for days and at this point it was honestly slightly obnoxious how invested Janus was. “But it’s just the right side of disgustingly cheesy that Roman’s sure to love it even when you inevitably fall on your face.”

“I will!” Janus “I- I mean I won’t! I mean-!“ Janus shoved his face in his hands with a groan.

Remus quirked an eyebrow in the snake’s direction, watching the self-proclaimed “Lord of Lies” try and compose himself. Thankfully, Remus did know what he meant, even when Janus wasn’t sure of it himself. It was one of his special skills as the bestfriend™.

“Look, J, I’m going to tell you this very clearly and carefully, as your friend,” Remus said, pushing up into a sitting position from his previous sprawl across the couch. “Your plans suck.”

"Excuse you?!" Janus nearly shrieked in retaliation to Remus' brand of hard truths. “They do!… not!”

Remus couldn't have stopped the subsequent string of chuckles if he wanted to. That was the biggest lie he'd ever heard Jan tell and Remus had heard plenty over the years given how rarely the two were ever apart. The darkside pair just meshed well. Janus was the liar, sure, but Remus was the secret keeper. Even if Roman struggled to understand Janus, Remus never had. The snake couldn't hide from him, even when he wanted to. It came with Remus' position as the holder of intrusive thoughts; he got a front row seat to every dirty little secret the others tried to lock away and bury in their little shame closets. What they didn't realize however, was that Remus had the master key. Remus quite literally was the little hint of truth behind every one of Janus' lies. The truths that Janus tried to tug and weave and bend around the others to get his way.

Remus was the keeper of the blatant, harsh, and often downright uncomfortable truths, not just what the sides tried to hide from Thomas, but also what they tried to hide from each other. It was a lot like the story The Giver. Someone had to hold all of the knowledge the little utopia unit tried to hide from and Remus had been designated. Though, he usually thought of himself more of a receiver than anything. Roman was the giver of the pair. The giver of dreams, wishes, and fantasies. Remus was more like a radio with the dial gummed up and stuck on where the power switch had broken off ages ago. Not that all of the secrets were so bad to tune into, some were sweet, some were shy, and a few were even downright adorable, but more often than not, secrets were kept that way for a reason and the Deceitful side had the most secrets of all.

They worked because Janus could never ever keep a secret from Remus and likewise, Remus would never ever tell.

The Deceitful side trusted him, was the only one to trust him and Remus was adamant to keep that trust. Remus locked it in a little box and kept it close, in the few little hideaways he had. In his pockets, within little small nooks of the imagination, and under the bed on the nights when Thomas’ thoughts turned up to an 11 and even Remus started to wonder what he still had left to give.

He had that.

A tiny little secret of his own.

Most of the time, it was enough.

"Your. Plans. Suck." Remus emphasized, slowly, pushing up from the ratty sofa Janus had sewn back up after Remus’ countless escapades over the years. Janus complained about it every time. He cited everything from the loose springs, and flattened stuffing, to the threadbare upholstery and warped base. He always told Remus just to replace the broken thing, but that never stopped careful fingers in yellow-clad gloves from systematically putting the thing back together again each time, always working away at it before Remus could even consider replacing the old lump.

That was his friend’s best and worst trait after all. Janus could not let things go. He wrapped and coiled and held on to any little scrap that he could get a hold of. His problem was that when he panicked, that coil became a death grip.

That's how they lost Virgil.

And that's how Janus was currently losing Roman.

"My plans are ama--mph--" Janus glared at Remus with fury striking like lightning in his eyes after Remus willed a zipper to appear across Janus' lips to force them shut, fully closing even the snake side.

Even best friends needed a taste of their own medicine every now and again, lest they forget how bitter it can be.

"Ah, ah, ah my sweet snoot," Remus nearly sang as he skipped over to his favorite danger noodle and reached out to boop Janus' nose. "It's my turn to talk now.

“You went in and pretend to be Patton, just to have him show up on you and made Thomas want to tell the truth more. Even then, you had almost had Roman on your side, but got so focused on semantics, you missed the actual benefits. You reviewed, revised, and waited to try again after deciding Logan and his facts were the problem, right?

“Then—“ Remus started, holding his mace up threateningly as Janus made some displeased, but muffled noises from behind the zipper, likely some kind of litany of curses. Had Remus not been prepared with his mace, the other side likely would have already tried to strong arm him into getting rid of the bound. “You tried to play Logan and just… ugh, Janny you are not allowed to act anymore. That was a terrible performance. Anyway! The trial starts and you get into it and try to defend what Roman wants, right?”

Janus’ incomprehensible complaints cease, only for him to squint at Remus suspiciously and give a slow nod.

“Wrong!” Remus proclaimed, swinging his mace toward the snake and stopping so close to his face, the metal spikes brushed some of the bangs hanging over the bridge of Janus’ nose. “Instead, you got carried away again. You got caught up in semantics and made it about who Thomas is as a person rather than what would be the better choice to make.

“In short, you made it all about you. Again,” Remus said, letting his morning star drop as the energy was sucked out of him with his rant. “Sure, you won the argument, but you lost what you actually wanted.”

Remus wasn’t usually one to insert his opinions on things, that was more Janus’ thing and, gosh it was exhausting. How did the snake even keep up with just… caring so much about everything?

It seemed Remus wasn’t the only one suddenly exhausted though, because after rubbing some of the strain out of his own eyes, the duke watched Janus slowly slump backwards until he was all but sitting on the arm of their scrap couch. He wasn’t fighting the zipper any longer, his extra arms were tucked away and his normal pair were laid listlessly on his lap now as he stared down at his own yellow gloves.

“How was my brother meant to make any other decision when you put what Thomas wanted, against who he wanted to be? I wouldn’t care, indulgence is my territory. But Roman’s job is to be the dream, the ideal. You should know that.”

When Janus finally looked up at Remus, he just looked sad.

He looked pale, his eyes were shiny, and all the regality he tried to hold himself with in that dupe prince costume just fell away from him as he pressed his palms to his temples.

Remus finally let the zipper fall away into nonexistence.

He wasn’t done yet.

“Look J, I know you had good intentions.”

“But?” a slightly rough voice asked from a newly freed mouth as a yellow glove brushed the remaining ghosting sensations of the enclosure away.

Remus sighed, already imagining the hoard of grotesque creatures he’d be battling through in the imagination after this “talk.” He needed something to balance out all of the gross feelings and shit.

“But I don’t think Roman or Thomas would have chosen the wedding if you hadn’t gotten side tracked. You tried to prove you’re ugh ‘goodness’ by arguing you’re a part of Thomas. Your whole argument backfired and made him question if he’s any good. What else did you expect but for him to try and prove he is? Not to mention the after incident.”

“That was meant to be an apology,” Janus murmured miserably. “I had taken Logan’s place with the intention of leading Roman to work out his own mistreatment.”

“But you showboated.”

“I-“ Janus started, clearly ready to argue again, but stopped himself with a single look from Remus. “…I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Did you now?” Remus snorted. “Sure, going and pretending to be the nerd I get, but why change went Patton went full kaiju? You could have kept up the act and stood alongside Roman. It would have been an all around win for the lightsides as everyone would think Roman and Logan worked together to reign in one of their own.”

“I… I just wanted….”

“You wanted to be accepted. You saw an opportunity to be the hero and you took it, not caring who you hurt along the way. First you took Patton’s role as morality, then you took Logan’s role as logic, and to round it all out, you took Roman’s role as Thomas hero. That’s your problem.”

“Is wanting a place at the discussion table so bad?” Janus asked with a sigh, folding his arms in his lap.

“No, but taking it is,” Remus said, tugging the tiny chain that typically held Janus’ cape to his shoulders. It was currently re-purposed to secure the cape into a makeshift sash.

“Because that’s not a hypocritical statement at all, coming from you,” Janus replied swatting at Remus’ hands that still fiddled with his sash. “It’s not as if you, oh I dunno, knocked out Roman and took his spot during your entrance or anything.”

“True, but when I did it, I made Robro their hero.” Remus said, letting himself fall back onto the couch lazily as Remus saw the first sign of real recognition budding within his friend’s heterocromatic eyes.

“He is their hero.”

“Does he know that?”

“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him so.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

###

Roman groaned and carefully maneuvered his skirt from the grasp of yet another birch tree. It was fair to say that the photo shoot wasn’t exactly going how he had pictured it when he had chosen a full gown paired with an outdoor setting. He knew there must have been a reason why the others had all chosen knee length skirts and stayed indoors. Instead of just taking a picture, Roman had to build a scene. He had to wow his audience and every part of the image had to be carefully designed. He just… hadn’t exactly thought everything through. Roman had imagined something more along the lines of sweeping gracefully through the forest as the gown swished around him as his every movement was made even more graceful by the gentle sway of the fabric.

He hadn’t accounted for how often his outfit would catch on the branches and foliage around him.

It wasn’t fair.

Disney princesses usually seemed to magically get along with the flora and fauna around them, long skirts or not, unless they were being trailed by some evildoer of course, but that didn’t count. Roman was by himself at the moment. On break from getting frustrated one too many times as his own outfit betrayed him during the photo shoot. The photographer and set designer needed some time to reevaluate the next set and Roman needed some time to clear away his current frustration.

So, into the woods he went. He carefully lifted his skirt to protect it against nearly ripping for the fourth or fifth time today as he gingerly stepped around branches, dearly missing his boots as stray twigs tried to impale themselves into his sandled feet. At least his hair wasn’t so long that it would get unexpectedly tangled in the branches above, but he did have to pick some burrs off of his bolero already after he had tried to catch himself on a bush during an unfortunate stumble. The maneuver saved his outfit from getting muddy, but he didn’t make it unscathed.

Roman had dreamed of being on the cover of magazines his whole life. Though, in those dreams it was usually due to a movie deal but he had never been opposed to the idea of modeling like some of the other sides were. Logan found the idea of it mindless, Virgil was anxious about the attention, and Patton wasn’t fond of the rumored cutthroat environment. Still, Roman had thought it seemed so glamorous. However, he hadn’t taken into account how much work it was.

Sure, it seemed simple. Pose and shoot, right? In reality though, it was tedious work as the photographer rapidly took hundreds of pictures at just slightly different angles so they could all be evaluated later for the “best” ones. That meant not just holding a pose, but also holding an expression. Roman felt like his acting skills were being put to fill use as he tried to strike the idea of power into each click of the camera.

Absolutely nothing about this had been simple though.

Roman found himself sighing and leaned against one of the scattered trees for moral and physical support after carefully maneuvering his gown around it. He would be fine. He was royalty after all and the first rule was to never let them see you cry. It would all be okay once he took a chance to catch his metaphorical breath. Though, the literal sense wasn’t a bad idea either. He imagined the breathing exercises that Virgil had gone through with him when the prince accidentally shown up at Virgil’s door in a less than royal state after the whole wedding debauchery and name reveal sham. The near panic attacking pulling him there unwittingly.

It was… it was nice. Roman and Virgil had been getting along better than ever after his own acceptance video, but it was like a new wall had broken down around the pair. Virgil had stationed himself as Roman’s personal bodyguard since the events that need not be named and… it was nice. A little lonely, but he appreciated everything that the anxious side was doing for him and especially appreciated how he kept between him and the-side-who-probably-lied-about-his-name-anyway.

Roman didn’t think he was ready to open up that can of snakes quite yet.

Hey Princey, it’s going to be okay, yeah? You’re better than this… and him.

The words rang around Roman’s skull once, twice, and then he straightened his shoulders. Even when Virgil wasn’t around, he was right. The prince could practically feel the anxious side aiming a smirk his way from somewhere in the incomprehensible distance. Still, it was good to remember.

He was better than this.

He was going to march right back to that photo-shoot, take some fabulous as fuck photos, and then march home with his head hell high because he was going to look damn good in the final set!

Hiking up his skirt again, Roman prepared himself for the trudge back, feeling ready to take on the world once again, except—

—except something caught his eye.

Well… there was a well… a literal one out in the distance. It was old looking, some of the bricks were broken or even just missing, and there seemed to be this misty haze that hung around it, a little thinner than full fog, but something about it felt slightly… otherworldly? With only a moment of hesitation, Roman found himself taking a step towards it and then another, and then another…

…the others would be fine without him for just a few minutes longer, right?

It was such an oddly beautiful scene, broken down and uncared for, but there was still something just so striking about it. Plus, how many chances would be get to interact with a real life well? This could be a great location to take some shots and he’d be remiss if he didn’t take advantage of it!

There was also one other advantage to it as well. It wasn’t often after all that real settings lended themselves so pefectly to the Disney aesthetic. Mind you, Snow White was by no means his favorite movie. The plot-line was a bit... outdated. Still, he admired the film for everything it represented as the first Disney classic of the golden age, the film that really started it all! Snow White was a marvel of animation for its time and the well song was the sound engineers of the time showing off.

He could respect that.

Roman crept closer, one careful step at a time until his toes of his sandles nearly touched the stone. He, ever so gently, let himself kneel down slowly, until his knees began to rest upon the well’s edge. He carefully let his shoulders relax as he watched the light reflecting in the water’s slightly cloudy surface. It was just for a tiny bit longer, after all. He let his hands slowly unclench from around the skirt as the velvety material draped and flowed around him. It was nice to have something else bear the weight of the heavy material for a little while.

“Make a wish into the well,” Roman whispered, letting his fingers trace over the loose stones circling the murky opening. To be fair, it was the tiniest bit more decrepit then the one pictured in the film. He sighed and slowly let his form drape across the layered bricks as he let one hand hang over the side as his fingertips danced across the water’s surface. “That’s all I have to do, huh?”

“And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true~”

The sweet bell chime of Snow’s voice only sang the next line within Roman’s own mind, but it was enough to spur his continuance.

“I’m wishing~” Roman quietly sang, trying not to feel too silly as his voice carried to no one at all. At least Snow had some animals to sing to. He had nothing but the ripples of a moss covered and slightly over-flooded well that had certainly acted as a catch all drainage for the recent string of storms.

Roman tried not to empathize with the stacked pile of rocks.

He wasn’t sure if it was the well or his own internal imagination still remembering the movie, but he could almost hear an echo reply back with, “I’m wishing”

“For the one I love, to find me,”

“To find me”

“Todaaay.”

“Todaaaaay~” came a smooth voice behind Roman’s back, causing the royal side to literally jump up and onto their feet from their previous position lounged across the well edge.

“Deceit,” Roman glowered, hiking up the lengthy gown to take a couple cautionary steps backwards. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he was seeing. There Janus was, decked out in an outfit modeled after his own typical princely gear, right down to the sash that was—wait—was that his cape?

“Not today,” Janus said simply, taking slow steps forward until the fake prince came nearly nose to nose with the real one. “Today, my darling, I thought I’d try something new, just for you.”

And then the humming started.

“Now that I’ve found you, hear what I have to saaay~” Janus started, singing along to the familiar tune. “One song,~”

“~Ever entreating, constant but true~”

A gloved hand tried to weave its way between Roman’s fingers as the other hovered just to Roman’s side and would have been only a moment away from resting against his hip, had he not jerked away the moment those gloves touched him.

“There’s nothing ‘true’ about you!” Roman yelled, not caring anymore that the edges of his skirt swept the soil beneath him as he pulled away.

Roman had planned a second round of photos after his break, but couldn’t stand the thought anymore. No, Janus had ruined this for him, just like everything else he had systematically ruined in Roman’s life recently.

Roman was about to start again, blaming the Deceitful side for this, for mercilessly pushing and shoving his way into Roman’s space, his things, his life, except—

—expect he had this look on his face. Big, mismatched eyes stared back at Roman, wide, and shimmery and open. Roman had to remind himself that the hurt shining his way was probably just another trick, just another ploy to manipulate the prince again.

...Okay, not even Roman totally believed it.

“What do you want from me?” Roman whispered, he didn’t know if he was asking the other side or himself from how quietly his voice whispered the words.

“I just want one.”

One what?

“One chance,” Janus said, taking a slow step forward toward the prince. “One opportunity to apologize properly.”

As Janus moved forward, one of Roman’s feet took a preparatory step backwards for balance, ready to move, ready to defend or flee. But Roman stayed rooted in place as the snake in princely garb moved closer.

“One day, that I can pretend that my actions and intentions had aligned, my dear,” Janus said, only stopping once his chest nearly brushed against Roman’s own. “One day, to pretend that I was your savior.”

“I don’t under—“ Roman muttered, before he could curse himself for engaging with this at all. His brain was just the smallest bit frazzled from the proximity and Janus had no shortage of charm in the way he could deliver a line.

“Shhhhh,” Janus hushed gently, tugging the yellow gloves from his hand before he reached up to trace his thumb against Roman’s cheekbone. “Can’t we just have a fantasy for a little while my prince? Just this once?”

Roman swallowed as Janus leaned further into his space.

“Fantasy is my specialty, I suppose,” Roman muttered, clinging to the fact that the sweet talk was simply to get him to conjure some kind of indulgent daydream rather than trying to lead Roman to some other kind of nefarious goal. “What kind of fantasy were you looking to dive into?”

“I want one where I gave you your happy ending in the way I intended Roman.”

Roman just stared, his jaw dropping slightly at those words.

Janus didn’t flinch, didn’t throw his voice, or quirk his eyebrows, or any of number of little tells that the Deceitful side expected the others to pick up on in conversation. No he just met Roman’s stare with something heavy behind those heterochromatic eyes.

“Please Roman? I know it’s selfish to ask, but we both know selfish is what I am. Just let me be one today. Can’t we pretend for just one day?”

“What ‘one’ do you even mean?” Roman huffed half-heartedly. Even he could feel the fire slowly extinguishing in his chest as the conversation continued. “Who are you today then? The liar or the saint?”

Janus paused a moment, his gaze unwavering from Roman’s own face. Roman watched the scales on his neck glimmer in the sunlight as he swallowed, before taking the last final step into the prince’s space as a gloveless hand sat itself on Roman’s hip.

“Neither today my dearest,” Janus said with a cocky smile as he used his free hand to brush Roman’s fluffy bangs from his eyes.

“Today, I simply want to be the one in your fantasy.”

#roceit #sanders sides #fanfiction #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #disney themes

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Written for Jurdan Week 2020, hosted by @jurdannet | Day 4- Song Crossover (Adore You by Harry Styles requested by @mysweetvilllain )

Chapter Rating: M

CW: mature themes, explicit descriptions, vulgar language, eventual explicit content.

Summary: Two vindictive assholes. One shitty apartment. And a vow to get under each other’s skin. Stuck in hate together twenty-four-seven, this can only end in a crime of passion.

Next Chapter | Fine Line Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 1- Adore You (Verse 1)

[Cardan POV]

The minute I walk into the kitchen, I know I’m fucked.

She’s sitting there on one of my bar stools, at my island counter, eating my strawberries straight out of the plastic container. I say “my” because I’m still in denial that I have to share this shit-hole with anyone. Especially her.

When I put the ad up online, I was skint and desperate. I would’ve taken anyone short of a serial killer, really, but I was hoping for normal. Or at the very least, boring. It’s just my luck that the only person who responded to the ad was someone so insufferable.

We were civil with each other for all of a day. Three weeks had me almost driven to moving out. Me. Moving out of my own damn apartment because even that is easier than living with Jude Duarte.

That’s when corona hit, so I guess I’m stuck.

It’s been a fortnight of isolation. Putting up with her unmitigated bullshit. Her ceaseless presence and mulish disposition. Our constant butting heads.

On a good day, I give myself over to the ashen taste of resignation. On the bad ones, I want to throw myself down the stairs just so I can spend the night in hospital.

Anyways, I’m fucked because my wretched flatmate is sitting there in her baggy black sweatpants and oversized hoodie. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, giving me a plain view of those stupid rainbow socks she’s always wearing. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Everything about her sets off a tick in my jaw.

Except the way she eats strawberries.

Her full pink lips wrap around one now and—fucking hell. I swear my cock twitches. When she sinks her teeth in, those lips come away red-stained and glistening. A line of juice dribbles down her chin as she chews. Then, she pops the stem into her mouth and eats that, too.

I find myself imagining her on her knees, strawberry lips wrapped around something else of mine. The way the back of her throat would feel as I ram into her mouth—

I blink. My lip curls. I need coffee, and maybe a cold shower.

The former is closest, so I stop standing in the doorway like the twat that I am, and walk into the kitchen. Thankfully, she’s got earphones in and is so immersed in whatever the fuck she does on her laptop all day that she hasn’t noticed my blatant ogling.

If she notices me at all, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Good. It’s better this way. The less we talk the less we end up screaming at each other. It’s only happened twice. The neighbors came round both times.

I pull a mug and the instant coffee down from a shelf.

It irks me. Just last night, I was standing in this very spot, doing everything in my power not to lose my shit after finding a pile of her dirty dishes in the sink. For the third time this week. She always says “they’re soaking”, and I always end up doing them later anyway, because I can’t stand the mess.

She does things like that a lot. Dishes and crumbs and wrappers. Stealing my food. A week ago I found a pizza crust jammed in between the cushions of the sofa. She denies all accountability, of course.

Not to mention, she sets her alarms for the ass crack of dawn. She’s such a heavy sleeper that I’m invariably wide awake well before she is, listening to the incessant shrill of her phone through the walls as she hits snooze, over and over.

I’m certainly not without my faults, of course. I know she hates me just as much as I hate her. She’s told me as much. Which is why I’m miffed that suddenly, without any warning, I want to fuck her into the kitchen counter.

There’s a spoon in the drying rack and I use it to stir my coffee.

Nicasia hated me, I think to myself. She loved me once, but she hated me for a while before she did anything about it. Then, I stop. Because I don’t want to uncork that bottle today. Point is, maybe it’s not completely out of left field. To want someone right when they’re giving you the very least of their attention.

I tap the spoon against the lip of my mug. Usually, I’d retreat back to my bedroom at this point. Instead, I throw the spoon in the sink and turn around to lean against the counter.

She’s still sitting at the island, honed in on her computer. I can hear the thin, metallic wail of a guitar coming from her earphones. She bobs her head slightly to the beat.

It’s not as if she isn’t attractive. In her own, unique way.

She’s strong. If I didn’t hear her pummeling that blasted punching bag she’s got hanging in her room every night, I’d have known she boxed just by the way she looks. She’s got a fighter’s build about her. It lives in her shoulders, in the barrel of her chest. As if every line of her was made bold and unyielding. With intention.

Again, I have to stop my own wandering thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my dead end job that has me editing bad romance novels for a living is starting to go to my head.

It pays the bills until it doesn’t. And then it rots my brain. Maybe I should quit.

Still, I tell myself it’s the quarantine talking. That if I wasn’t trapped in here with her, I wouldn’t find anything about her attractive. That I’d probably be willing to whore myself out for one cigarette right about now. And I don’t even smoke.

But then she looks up at me, mid-bite. Those honey-brown eyes are wild. They threaten to cut straight through me. She squints, accusatory. Chews her bite, slow. Swallows.

My mouth goes dry as the fucking Sahara.

“What are you staring at?” she demands, glare blazing.

Apparently, I’m in the mood to walk that fire, because I take a sip of my coffee and say, smug as I can, “You.”

Sometimes, it’s better to be completely honest with Jude. The truth always seems to appall her far more than any lie ever could. As if she expects everyone to be deceiving. Or maybe it’s just that my truths are so outrageous to her that she doesn’t believe them.

I wouldn’t blame her there. I can hardly admit to this truth, myself. Whether she believes me or not, though, it gets under her skin.

“Right,” she scoffs. “Is it because I’m pretty? Is it because you like me so much?” She bats her lashes at me, mocking. I am stunned by the fact that, for a moment, I wish it was real. That I’d gladly lose myself in that look if it came from her eyes in earnest.

Then I shake my head. I sound like the biggest shit-for-brains. It’ll take more than a few eyelash flutters to make me surrender.

“Oh, no,” I say, trying to match her taunting tone, “I don’t like you. I adore you.”

That makes Jude roll her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You’re probably plotting ways to stick me in my sleep or something. Fucking psychopath.”

It’s that last part that makes me take a step toward the island, lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter so I’m nearly in her space. She doesn’t draw back. Just gives me a scathing look from over the top of her screen.

“If I’m ever depraved enough to stick you,” I tell her, smirking, “I guarantee you won’t be sleeping, love.” Which may come off as anything from perverted to downright murderous, but I don’t care. The face she makes is worth it.

It’s all jaw dropped, vicious gaze, blush creeping into her cheeks like red smoke. I’ve never challenged her before. It makes her look at me like she despises me. Like the only thing she’ll ever do is despise me. I don’t know why that eggs me on, but it does.

“Would you look at that,” I hum, “You’ve got the face about right, too.”

Her nostrils flare. Jaw sets. There’s a lovely shade of puce coming up on her already heated cheeks. She’s absolutely livid, and I can taste it in the air between us. It’s like static on my tongue.

That’s when something cold and slimy hits me dead between the eyes. Jude’s half-eaten strawberry plops to the counter. I’m so surprised I almost laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says with as much derision as I feel coursing through me.

Part of me wants to give into that anger. Sling a string of curses at her. Throw the strawberry right back in her face. Those things won’t annoy her half as much as what I actually do.

Keeping an unbothered expression, I pluck the strawberry off the countertop and pop it right into my mouth. Stem and all. I lick my fingers for good measure. All while keeping direct eye contact with the little menace sitting across from me. Her gaze flits to my lips. So I swipe my tongue over them. She blinks.

“Delicious,” I say.

She looks just the right amount of scandalised for me to straighten, take my coffee back up in one hand, and saunter out of the kitchen. I don’t say anything about the strawberries. Or how stealing isn’t a very good exercise in courtesy.

We’ve never been courteous with one another, anyway.

When I’m back in my room I lean against the closed door and scrub a hand over my face. My heartbeat is raging since I did not.

Sometimes, I think the irritating things she does are all on purpose. Just to get under my skin. I rarely give her the satisfaction of knowing it works, but I don’t like letting her trample all over me, either. It gives me an oily feeling. Like I’m back to being under someone else’s thumb, and I hate it.

But that—whatever that was—felt more like fighting back than I ever thought I’d have the balls to do. I feel more alive now than I’ve felt in months.

Maybe that makes me a bastard. C’est la fucking vie.

I start shucking off my clothes, throwing them into the hamper in the corner, one by one. My bedroom is mercifully en suite. If I wanted to, I could live in here for days at a time without leaving.

I don’t know why I ever bother.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I stand there under the cold stream, I think about how dangerous it is, this game I’ve entered. Flirting with Jude to get a rise out of her is one thing. That’s clear cut. A direct retaliation.

It’s another thing entirely if part of why I’m doing it is to take the edge off of my own perversions. I mean, what kind of sick fuck has sex fantasies about someone they hate? Someone they’re stuck in isolation with, twenty-four-seven, for the foreseeable future? Someone who hates their guts, too, and could probably easily take them out if it came to physical blows?

I guess that sick fuck would be me.

It’s a fine line to walk but there’s no turning back. I’ve already begun.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So I guess I’m hopping on the quarantine fic bandwagon 😅 this is definitely not what I expected to come out of this song crossover prompt, but I kind of like it? It’s (very loosely) based off of Adore You by Harry Styles- the threads are there if you look for them 😉

I’m planning on making this a 12 part series (one chapter for each song on Fine Line) so if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this, or to my Jurdan Forever tag list, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you!

-Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Fine Line (album) by Harry Styles, Adore You (song) by Harry Styles

Tag List: @velarhysismine @knifewifejude @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @clockworkgraystairs @thesirenwashere @judexcardanxgreenbriar @nite0wl29 @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @whocares-idont @babycardan @mysweetvilllain @aesthetics-11 @storiesandschemes @jurdanhell @poeticbrownmermaid @thechainofiron @random-llama-socks @villanellevi @lady-thea-of-narnia @b00kworm @flowersinvegas @vanessa172003 @cardanstrickytail @queen-of-glass @doingmyrainbow

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

A continuation of NHS being revealed as half-demon after the Sunshot Campaign. Since I don’t think we ever see any demons in mdzs, I tried to borrow from Scum Villain for the general attitude towards them

With a frantic nervousness he could not quite contain, Nie Huaisang rearranged his hair once more, only for it to come out as ridiculous as everything he'd already tried. He'd spent hours on this, desperate attempts to hide what everyone would know was there anyway. He was tempted to beg his brother to buy him some white powder, even though he'd already tried that back in Qinghe, with little success. The mark on his forehead had shined through the makeup, bright red.

A stupid hairdo really was his only chance to keep it away from prying eyes, but to show himself looking so stupid, and in Carp Tower of all places was…

Catching a glimpse of himself in the copper mirror he'd been using, Nie Huaisang let out a frustrated groan. After being teased for years over his vanity, his own reflection was now so hateful to him that he grabbed that innocent mirror and threw it at the inn's wall just as Nie Mingjue entered the room.

His brother gave him on long, unimpressed look before picking up the mirror.

"Do your hair properly, and do it quick. I'd rather not be late."

"I'm not going," Nie Huaisang announced, but he still started combing his hair in a more acceptable fashion. "What's the point anyway? If I'm here, it'll just make everything harder."

Nie Mingjue handed him back the mirror, but stole the comb from his hand and sat behind him. Nie Huaisang couldn't help a shiver as his brother started brushing his hair, then separating some strands for the rest so they could be braided. It had been years since Nie Mingjue had done this for him. He had never thought to miss him, too proud of finally being old enough to do it himself, but there was a comfort in being taken care of in this way.

"You have to be here," Nie Mingjue said as he started braiding. "You are not a danger to anyone. One incident doesn't make you dangerous."

"There could be other incidents," Nie Huaisang muttered. "If you got hurt again…"

"I won't."

In spite of his mood, Nie Huaisang snorted at hid brother's assurance. At the same time, if there was one man capable of making such a promise, it was Nie Mingjue. The only people who had ever managed to hurt him had been Wen Ruohan at the height of his power, and one lucky yet impossibly unfortunate Wen cultivator whom Nie Huaisang had promptly…

He shivered at the memory. It was still unclear to him where that power had come from, or how he had unleashed it with such rageful precision. But it had been there, and he could still feel it thruming within him every time his emotions grew too strong. So far, it had never exploded again. It might, though. Nie Huaisang had spent the last few weeks in fear of himself.

"What do you think they'll say?" Nie Huaisang whispered.

"Nothing if they're smart," Nie Mingjue barked, starting another braid and pulling a little too hard. "You've done nothing wrong. You did not harm anyone on our side, that's more than Wei Wuxian can say."

"But Wei Wuxian is human."

Nie Mingjue's hands stilled on his hair. They both tried to avoid a certain word when they spoke about the matter, but avoiding it didn't change the truth.

"You're human too," Nie Mingjue claimed, his hands resuming their movement. "Human enough, and raised as one. You are Qinghe Nie's second master, you are my heir until I get children. You are one of us, and anyone who attacks my brother will have to deal with me."

That was exactly what scared Nie Huaisang, although he judged it wiser to keep quiet. But in protecting him, Nie Mingjue might be endangered, and it was the sight of him wounded and bleeding which had awakened Nie Huaisang’s nature. They had been lucky the first time, the people he had slaughtered had been enemies to all. But if someone else harmed Nie Mingjue, if Nie Huaisang became enraged and killed allies…

The Great Four Clans rarely had dealings with demons, but smaller ones situated in wilder places did, and bore them little love. They would take offence to seeing a member of this despised race treated as an equal, as a superior even. It would create trouble. After all they were cultivators. Bickering over imagined slights was what they all did best.

"I really think it'd be best if I didn't come," Nie Huaisang repeated.

"They have to see you're not dangerous. And I cannot leave you alone. I'm not taking that risk. If some idiot decides to attack you while I'm gone, you'll end up dead or in serious trouble."

Nie Huaisang sighed but did not insist, and allowed his brother to finish doing his hair in silence. When Nie Mingjue was finished, he checked himself in the mirror. The braids were elegant, almost dainty, just the way he liked to do them for himself and which got him scolded sometimes… But all Nie Huaisang could really see was that burning mark on his skin, like the brand of a criminal.

It was going to be one very unpleasant conference.

Officially, the reason so many clans, large and small, had made it to Lanling on such short notice was that with the war over, many matters needed to be settled. But even a fool would have noticed how conversations dropped the instant Nie Huaisang and his brother entered the halls, the way everyone's attention turned their way. It was not exactly new of course, because Nie Mingjue was the sort of man who nobody could ignore. If Nie Huaisang tried very hard, he could pretend it was his brother they were looking at.

“Stay close,” Nie Mingjue ordered as they walked to greet their host. “Don’t make waves.”

The same orders as always, and it comforted Nie Huaisang a little. He could tell himself everything was the same, that nobody was staring at his forehead, that they weren’t whispering about him with expressions going from fear to disgust. Maybe he should have come with that stupid hairdo he’d tried, just so people would at least have a better reason to stare.

Still, among all those faces turned on him, at least one broke into a smile. Certainly Wei Wuxian was the center of enough fear and suspicion that his support would mean little, but Nie Huaisang still felt relieved. At least one person out there treated him normally. Two people in fact, since Jiang Cheng, noticing his brother's smile, gave Nie Huaisang a stern nod. Coming from him, it was the equivalent of shouting Nie Huaisang’s name while waving at him. And Lan Xichen had promised his support of course, as had Jin Guangyao, and… And there was Mingjue at his side of course.

Nie Huaisang wasn't alone, and as long as he ket his calm, everything would be fine.

When they arrived before Jin Guangshan, both brothers bowed. Nie Huaisang made an extra effort to keep his movements graceful, as much as a woman's, hoping to demonstrate how utterly harmless he was even though two dozen cultivators of all ranks could testify otherwise.

"Sect Leader Nie, it is a pleasure to have you here," Jin Guangshan announced, lying through his teeth as always. Nie Huaisang rarely minded politics, but even he had to notice certain things. Then, to his shock and horror, Jin Guangshan looked at him, and smiled. "Second Master Nie, I'm glad you could make it as well."

Nie Huaisang’s mind went blank at being addressed this way. As far as he could remember, Jin Guangshan had never said a word to him before, rightfully judging that the bastard second master of Qinghe Nie was beneath his consideration. It took Nie Mingjue elbowing him in the ribs to get him out of his daze, pushing him to mumble some words of thanks for the warm welcome.

Thankfully Jin Guangshan did not push for more conversation at that moment, and they were able to go take their seats. A few more sects arrived after them, but soon enough everyone was there and the debates could start. Usually Nie Huaisang paid little attention to those conferences. If at all possible, he liked to bring a book to keep on his lap, hidden from other cultivators and from his brother. Otherwise he daydreamed, or observed the outfits of other guests, hoping that soon enough he’d have a chance to complain about them with Jiang Cheng. But that day, Nie Huaisang forced himself to listen to that tedious, boring litany of territory disputes and petty problems. Through it all, he could still feel eyes on him.

After a while of nothing but insignificant arguments, Nie Huaisang started relaxing a little. Nothing important seemed to be happening, and there was still time to look around and be judgmental of at least some outfits. He looked around for Sect Leader Yao, always certain to provide a few faux-pas to laugh about with Jiang Cheng. Indeed, that day the insufferable man was wearing an outer robe with a most atrocious pattern, and…

“It has been hard enough to fight off demons in the past,” a voice said, instantly drawing Nie Huaisang’s attention back to the conversation. “How are we going to deal with them once they learn that some major sects are willing to offer them help and protection?”

Nie Huaisang felt his stomach flip at the accusation, one rather more direct than he’d have expected to hear, but did his best to keep his composure when all eyes turned on him again. He looked for the man who had spoken, and found that it was someone he did not know. A small, outer sect then. Judging by where he was seated and the look of horrified embarrassment on Jin Guangyao’s face, he must have been linked to Lanling Jin to some degree. Nie Huaisang looked at his brother who ignored him, as if none of this concerned them.

“I’m sure nobody here would offer assistance to demons,” Jin Guangshan assured that sect leader, and he too made efforts not to look at Nie Huaisang. “It goes against the principles of every decent sect to collude with those creatures. I know what stories you might have heard, Sect Leader Ling, and I assure you they are being investigated, but demons are still not tolerated anywhere.”

“And yet there’s one sitting among us right now!”

Nie Huaisang tensed, and looked down at his lap, hoping against all hope that if he lowered his head enough, the mark would become less visible. Next to him, his brother chose instead to sit straighter, if such a thing were possible.

“I will hear no idle accusations made against my brother,” Nie Mingjue warned with worrying calm. “Nie Huaisang is a member of Qinghe Nie and will be treated as such.”

“So you do claim that creature as your own blood?” Sect Leader Ling asked.

“If Nie Huaisang did any evil, the principles of Qinghe Nie would dictate that he face justice for it. Those same principles also state that no injustice will be tolerated against the innocent. Unless he starts acting in a way that demands punishment, my brother is my brother. The details of his birth do not change that.”

“You will protect a demon!”

“Only if anyone is foolish enough to threaten him without cause,” Nie Mingjue said.

Whispers rose from amongst the assembled cultivators and Nie Huaisang wished he hadn’t come. In his absence, Nie Mingjue’s words would have had more impact, people would only have thought of Nie Huaisang as the short, foolish boy who always trailed behind his brother and laughed too loud sometimes. But being there, it was impossible for them not to see the mark on his forehead, and thus it was impossible not to see what he was.

In his absence, Nie Mingjue’s words would have come off as legitimate protectiveness. Instead, they were taken as arrogance, as rebellion even. For the leader of such a great sect to show himself with a demon at his side…

“No one is threatening anyone,” Jin Guangshan intervened with a good natured laugh, as if he were merely breaking a squabble between children. “Sect Leader Ling’s concerns are not baseless, but Sect Leader Nie is right as well. As I understand it, there has only been one incident involving his brother, and it was in legitimate defence, wasn’t it?”

He looked at Jin Guangyao who smiled at his father and nodded.

“There was an ambush, and Nie Huaisang saved many lives by defeating some Wen cultivators who had previously escaped capture,” Jin Guangyao stated. “I am sure all of us who were present that day are very grateful for his quick intervention and we do not care how he happened to protect us.”

He said that with such conviction that Nie Huaisang himself would have believed him, if he hadn't seen how even Qinghe Nie disciples avoided him since that day, how servants at home refused to approach him. Even Lan Xichen had flinched when during a conversation Nie Huaisang had carelessly touched him, as he always did. The only person to show no disgust was Nie Mingjue, but even that might still change.

"Isn't that just the same as admitting he's dangerous?" Sect Leader Ling objected. "He's had his first taste of blood now. I've fought enough demons to tell you once they learn to kill, there's no going back. It's their nature, they are vicious."

Had the situation not been so dire, Nie Huaisang might have laughed. He had never liked violence much, and now less than ever. He still shivered in horror every time he thought about that incident and the things he'd done.

And yet, part of him did not hate it as much as he should have. Blood and death still made him faint, but the thrill of having protected his brother, of being the stronger one for once, of returning the favour at last after a lifetime of hiding behind Nie Mingjue at the first sign of trouble…

But that did not make him a monster, did it? It was normal to wish to protect his brother, it did not make him bloodthirsty and wild, did it?

On the other side of Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen rose from his seat, calm and elegant as always but with a rare hardness to his smile.

"Sect Leader Ling, do you really wish to bring people's nature into this?" he asked. "The nature of humans is to be weak and die early. Yet as cultivators we all seek to avoid that fate, to reach great strength and acquire immortality. If we can go against our own nature and be accepted and encouraged by our peers, Nie Huaisang should deserve the same chance. I have known him for years and never once saw him act with cruelty. My uncle taught him and never saw a trace of evil within him, or he would have taken appropriate measures. Is there anyone here who has reproaches to make, not on what Nie Huaisang could do, but on what he has already done?"

As he sat down again, silence fell all around. Nie Huaisang could have kissed Lan Xichen for defending him this way, and he saw his brother relax a little as well. No matter how strong it had become, Qinghe Nie was still a butcher's sect. But Gusu Lan had a spotless reputation for purity and righteousness, so its leader's defence of Nie Huaisang hit differently. Even sect leader Ling appeared more hesitant after this.

“I have said what I had to say on this matter!” he claimed, glaring first at Lan Xichen, then at the Nie brothers. “Give a demon all the chances you like, if you think it can become other than what it is. When it turns against you, do not come crying for help.”

Apparently satisfied with his intervention, sect leader Ling allowed the matter to be dropped. There was a moment of awkwardness as no one could quite figure out how to go on with the conference after so much tension. But quickly enough sect leader Yao, bless him, appeared to remember that he had no sense of shame and simply started complaining about a dispute he had with a neighbouring sect. Everyone was forced to listen to that annoying man, while Nie Huaisang allowed himself to relax and risked a glance at his brother. Nie Mingjue still looked deeply unhappy, but he managed a tense smile when their eyes met.

The situation wasn’t ideal, but they could do this. They still had friends, and even if they ended up losing those friends, they would at least have each other.

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #jin guangshan #mdzs #jau writes #demon nhs #100% my motivation to write this was the idea of nhs trying on increasingly stupid hairdos to hide his demon mark #the rest is just decoration

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happymetalgirl · 4 years

Text

September 2020

As quickly as I caught up, I fell behind, and I’ll explain it all later, but that’s why some of the review blurbs here are really short while others are much longer. I still tried to make the shorter ones as expressive and dense as possible, even though I personally don’t like that approach so much. Anyway, September 2020, still a hellhole.

Faidra - Six Voices Inside

Drawing very obvious influence from Burzum’s Filosofem for the ambient portion of its sound, Faidra’s atmospheric black metal debut manages to marry both the snow-hazy ambience of Norway’s second wave with today’s more full-bodied naturalistic ambient black metal in a ceremony rather respectably elegant for a debut.

7/10

Heathen - Empire of the Blind

One of the more anticipated thrash metal releases of the year, Heathen’s more intensely melodically focused and unbalanced approach only drags their lethargic Testament-sequel brand of melodic thrash down, as Empire of the Blind trades out the genre’s hallmark spitfire aggression for dull guitar leads and uninspired operatic vocal lines that leave only a desire for the former.

5/10

Oceans of Slumber - Oceans of Slumber

A demonstrably competent, but woefully soulless and bloated display of neo-classical prog metal chops, Oceans of Slumber’s self-titled fifth LP is one of many of the genre’s avatars for much of its impressive face-value and numb delivery.

5/10

Corey Taylor - CMFT

We all knew this day would come, the charismatic Slipknot and Stone Sour frontman has finally released a solo album. And you could tell from the rollout with the star-cameo-studded music video for the lead single, “CMFT Must Be Stopped”, that Corey was going to lean in on it. But honestly, for as much natural swagger Corey Taylor can wield and showcases on the track, his straightforward rock songwriting that has graced Stone Sour’s discography is astoundingly weak, and this song’s more exuberant egotistical indulgence amplifies it rather than remedying it. It’s definitely one of the worst singles I’ve heard all year, especially for a project so highly anticipated as this, and there’s really no excuse for it to be this bad. If the general goal of a solo project is to transcribe your creative DNA onto an album as authentically as possible, and if this is an honest portrait of Corey’s creative core, it really just affirms for the many people annoyed by his media omnipresence that his main talent is just being the great big mouth. It should be obvious, but I’m not saying this to disparage in any way his massive contributions to the legendary legacy of Slipknot or even the genuinely important role he’s taken up as metal’s de facto representative press secretary. It’s not unheard of, and probably more normal than the opposite, for group-embedded artists to struggle to get a strong solo venture going. Thankfully, the lead single is the lowest point this album stoops to, but with its generic 80’s hard rock and glam anthems, it frequently gets pretty damn close. And look, I can tell it’s an album that’s supposed to be more about having a good time than any of that other artist DNA shit I brought up earlier, but its only routes there are through cheap imitation of other artists’ styles, and this still wouldn’t be anywhere near my first well of songs to draw from if I were making the most drunken of tailgater playlists.

4/10

Skeletal Remains - The Entombment of Chaos

Relatively new on the wider death metal scene, the Californian four-piece show once again, on their fourth album, why there remains such an appetite for old-school death metal with effective beating sessions and shredding clinics like The Entombment of Chaos.

7/10

Messiah - Fracmont

Originally part of the movement of early intensifying that inched fast, heavy, growly metal closer and closer to, and eventually over, the line that would separate thrash from what would become the vast world of death metal before their lengthy disbandment, Switzerland’s Messiah are fortunate to return to a world still hungry for new and old flavors of death metal with the stylistically and compositionally vintage (if not rusty) but somewhat technologically updated death-thrash of Fracmont, but they will need to do more than just pick up where they left off and acclimate their approach to the modern era if they intend to stick it out in today’s harsher death metal ecosystem.

6/10

Stryper - Even the Devil Believes

The Christian glam metal outfit have really leaned into the power metal glory that their high-soaring brand was always kind of adjacent to over the past few albums, and to their benefit, and despite what their goofy striped outfit look back in the day would have led you to predict, the steadfast veteran Christian rockers have aged far better than most of their 80’s hair metal contemporaries. Nevertheless, the walking oxymorons’ cheesy, on-the-nose, and occasionally preachy lyricism remain a pesky turn-off to both the religion they espouse and the medium they evangelize through. Frontman Michael Sweet took a bit of a misdirected offense from another reviewer who pointed out exactly this about his band’s new album, taking some media time to play the insufferable persecuted god-fearing follower of Jesus that so many Christians so delusionally imagine they are as a majority religious group with more political power than any other. Now with Michael Sweet claiming that his band has it so rough because they’re openly Christian, I say it really comes down to how you present it, and he especially presents it kinda goofy. One of the songs I’ve been getting energized by a lot on my workout playlist is “Devil’s Den” by Impending Doom, an also openly Christian band. And apart from the nasty 8-string groove, the song’s central refrain “slaughter the demons that are clawing on my brother’s back, until my brothers fight back” about support through spiritual struggle against one’s vices is a thrilling lyric that frames that aspect of Christian spirituality in a much more relatable and sympathizable manner. I’m not expecting Stryper to go into gratuitous deathcore brutality to deliver their message, but they can’t be mad about receiving criticism when they haven’t evolved the 9th-grade-reading-level lyricism that was begrudgingly accepted in the 80’s. Sociopolitical stuff and frontman antics aside, Even the Devil Believes is an instrumentally solid, but exceptionally lyrically corny record full of Bible verse quotes and Sunday School rhymes. I’ll highlight the song “Do Unto Others” for beating the odds on this album with its invigorating sing-along power metal melody, but that song is perhaps the sole reason my feelings in this album are more neutral overall instead on negative, while the vast majority of this album is just begging to be instrumental or at least tuned out.

5/10

Mastodon - Medium Rarities

Mastodon really could have just saved the earth-quaking opening single for their next album or released it as a stand-alone single instead of with the other forty minutes of entirely unnecessary of instrumental versions and live cuts among the other worthwhile material to compile for an album like this.

Fallen Torches/10

Ihsahn - Pharos

The now prog-immersed enigmatic Emperor frontman put out a pretty solid EP earlier in the year, but I was still hoping that Ihsahn would come through with a more essential addition to his solo catalog, and even if it’s a small one, his second EP of 2020 is that addition. Pharos is a succinct, five-song display of proggy melodicism much more confident and infectious than the still-respectable Telemark, further bolstering Ihsahn’s prog credibility and proving to anyone skeptical that he was all esoteric experimental bark and no substantive bite that he indeed has the songwriting chops to thrive in the genre.

8/10

Uniform - Shame

The New York duo’s sardonic and noisy industrial metal neither progresses nor regresses on their fourth album, Michael Berdan’s nasty vocal delivery and the backing industrial instrumentation lose steam and effectiveness rather quickly and the numbing experience ends up being over before you know it for the wrong reasons. It has its moments, but they are brief and few in number.

6/10

Cloudkicker - Solitude

Through an eleventh album under the name of his occasionally djenty instrumental prog studio project, Ohio virtuoso Ben Sharp once again flexes his technical and compositional prowess in an entertaining rather than self-congratulatory manner.

7/10

Marilyn Manson - We Are Chaos

This was a bit of a weird one, and it definitely caught me off guard for a few reasons, mostly for how it flows and for my own not hearing the title track previously when it was released as a single. The iconic 90’s boogeyman of the religious right wing in America is on his eleventh album now and (I mentioned it when I reviewed his tenth album, Heaven Upside Down, in 2011) it seems like people are finally accepting that the Antichrist Superstar’s fire-stoking strategy of blasphemous industrial metal last century was something that served its purpose for a time that has now passed. With Manson now on the more mortally introspective side of 50, the more measured rock of the latter portion of his catalog is starting to outsize what so many see as his grotesque golden age, which has seen him dip occasionally into the sounds of his beloved trilogy, but mostly dabbling in glam and indie rock sounds to find a late-career footing to sustain him. And on this album’s collaboration with country outlaw Shooter Jennings, I think the aging provocateur has found a direction that could be promising. Now I say it that way because I don’t think they gave us more than a tantalizing taste of it on this album, but I would love for Manson to further pursue what he and Jennings pull off together at the beginning of We Are Chaos. It took me a little while to warm up to the hammed up spoken word intro and industrial rock body of the opening track, “Red, Black, and Blue”, but I do think it does kick the album off well, albeit deceptively. It’s easy to forget how well Manson can hold himself on a ballad, not just on his meditation on his own aging during “Running to the Edge of the World”, but also on several cuts in his famed trilogy like “Lamb of God”, “Man That You Fear”, and “Coma White”. But after the somewhat tame fire of the intro track, Manson jumps straight into three songs of completely unexpected indie rock balladry that capture his mission to soundtrack every listener’s individual apocalypse at this time. Going through a lot of changes in life myself, I had a bit of unexpected catharsis with these songs that I think I’m going to be unable to dissociate them from with future listening. Unfortunately, Manson doesn’t re-engage ballade mode until “Broken Needle” closes the album, with the middle portion of the album having some good moments of industrial rock swagger, like “Perfume” and “Infinite Darkness”, but also some songs like “Half-Way & One Step Forward” that are just too dry on energy to be worth the time. But overall, I think the brightness in this album’s best spots make it well worth more than just a cursory listen, and I just hope that this album is a turning point for Manson and a step toward finding his groove without the flagrant heresy that built his youth.

7/10

Derek Sherinian - The Phoenix

Meandering through a generic prog rock instrumental wasteland and picking up the occasional morsel from between the dried out cracks of desert floor, The Phoenix is barely even a hearty display of the prog metal skill and street cred we all know the talented keyboardist to have.

5/10

Napalm Death - Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism

British grindcore legends Napalm Death need no introduction at this point, and with plenty of excitement behind their most lengthily-awaited LP after 2015’s well-respected Apex Predator - Easy Meat (and the sizzling appetizer the Logic Ravaged by Brute Force EP gave us), the band’s fifteenth full-length onslaught of deadly grindcore, Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism is a satisfactory dose of the band’s usual black-pilled rage against political and societal ills at most, with a few odd, to say the least, stylistic choices to say the least that beg the question of why this took so long.

6/10

Finntroll - Vredesvävd

While its adherence to the band’s boundaries within the niche genre they occupy makes it unlikely to take its established Finnish masterminds to any new heights, Vredesvävd is a professional, yet still fun serving of Finntroll’s black-metal-flavored folk metal brimming with energy and optimism.

6/10

Proscription - Conduit

Another Finnish outfit making their mark on 2020, Proscription still have some important ground to cover in ironing out and more specifically differentiating their blackened death metal sound, but Conduit is hardly a timid debut, providing a solid foundation for the four-piece to build upon.

6/10

Carnation - Where Death Lies

Not the faintest hint of a dreaded sophomore slump can be heard on the Belgians’ unflinching, merciless follow-up to their sizzlingly nasty 2018 debut album, Chapel of Abhorrence. Where Death Lies is as unyielding of a continuation as it gets, and in the best way such a straightforward trajectory can be. Nothing but skin-shredding, means-tested death metal in its most fibrant Floridian Form from front to back, Carnation showcase their skills from groove to solo in another stellar all-around display of force that provides a perhaps necessary reminder to the fans and critics annoyed by its ubiquitousness of the raw power that can come from unadulterated death metal.

8/10

Fit for a King - The Path

Fit for a King deliver perhaps the most convincing pathos yet for their more brightly melodic brand of Architects-like metalcore on their sixth album, putting on an exquisite balancing act that could sway even the most stubbornly cross-armed observer who likes the breakdowns but hates the clean singing.

7/10

Kataklysm - Unconquered

Kataklysm’s 2018 album, Meditations has ironically stuck out to me in retrospect because it was the shortest full-length review I had ever done, simply because there was so little to say about the unmemorable melodeath on that record. The band have definitely bounced back with some potent fire in their belly on the metalcore-infused Unconquered. Boasting more infectious grooves and more crushing breakdowns with a notably greater sense of urgency behind them, it’s still a pretty unambiguous and unambitious record, but it makes a far more convincing case for itself.

7/10

The Ocean Collective - Phanerozoic II: Mesozoic / Cenozoic

After a largely forgettable preceding act from all the way back in 2018, The Ocean Collective Return much more revitalized and sufficiently warmed up for a much more engaging 51 minutes of progressive metal that checks both classical and modern boxes.

7/10

Fires in the Distance - Echoes from Deep November

The debut album from the Connecticut four-piece offers a rather compositionallly directionless and standard take on the death-doom it offers. Even while taking a melodic approach very similar to that of a Khemmis or a Spirit Adrift, the attempted soulful guitar leads come off as aimlessly noodly and unplanned as the structures enclosing them, whose dynamic shifts feel more like repeated defibrillation attempts for unlively songs.

5/10

Darkcluster - Spirit of the Void

The debut album from this Canadian one-man-band studio project makes its intent to fill the sci-fi extreme thrash void that Vektor might not get to return to in the wake of the revealing David DiSanto’s domestic violence toward his girlfriend, and while Darkcluster’s mastermind clearly has the technicality down, the atrocious vocals across the rather lengthy and largely compositionally aimless project greatly hold this album back.

4/10

Swine of Dissent - An Uprising

A safer and more measured, but more successful black-metal-flavored thrash debut record, Swine of Dissent still have some work to do on the compositional floor as well, but with not as many glaring flaws, they have enough to start with and move forward with this type of thrash metal.

5/10

Gazpacho - Fireworker

The artsy Norwegian outfit returns to the more sprawling prog rock that hooked me into their music on Night for their eleventh album, but Fireworker is far from the kind tepid, nostalgic return to normal that a late-stage revisiting of older styles often suggests of other acts. Elevating their already lofty sound and massive scope to new cinematic, choral, orchestral heights with astounding ease, the soulfulness contained within the band’s clinical execution of such a daunting series of tasks makes Fireworker their most accomplished and enrapturing work yet.

9/10

Sumac - May You Be Held

While far from fatal, after the enthrallingly eccentric and humblingly heavy sludge experimentation of 2018’s Love in Shadow, the slightly tempered creativity and muddied production of May You Be Held is a mildly disappointing fourth LP simply for how high its creators have set their own bar. Nevertheless, Sumac continue to impress with a noisy, explosive, yet hypnotic approach to post-metal that thrives in the band’s love to draw outside the lines and with a deluxe box of crayons.

8/10

Obsidian Kingdom - Meat Machine

Priding themselves on their eccentricity, Obsidian Kingdom come through with one of the most stylistically diverse, genuinely experimental, and entirely entertaining sludge albums of the year, if not recent memory. Taking the thunderous sludge of Mastodon and going at it with the mindset of a band like Sumac, the quirky Catalans pack operatic vocals and even Slipknot-sequel passages into the intricate compactor that is Meat Machine, and it’s a feat they can certainly take pride in.

8/10

Deftones - Ohms

Coming from a big fan of both Gore and Koi No Yokan, Deftones’ plunge deeper into the elegant shoegaze of this later stage of their career on Ohms was bungled far too much by a lapse in the critical compositional organization that has allowed their ventures into spacey alternative metal territory to succeed.

5/10

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

Agent of Hope - 27

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Errors (trying to stay awake to switch to night shifts), pain, detailed violence, quite nasty hints, angst, fluff, sadness, basically everything horrible you can imagine. A/N: You’ll find the previous chapters through my masterlist. Lots of love for liking and reblogging!!

27 - Kick Ass and chew Bubble Gum

It’s a tension at the back of your knees. It’s muscles itching to work overtime – fight or flight. It’s a sour taste at the back of your mouth at the point where no amount of water can wash it away. Still it doesn’t matter because what you’re doing, your mission of sorts, is going to be worth everything.

It’s taken much too long to get to this point where your walking up the dusty lane towards an inconspicuous house in the outskirt of…where’s this again? Somewhere in Sierra Leone. You had known, memorized the town’s name as well as anything else. Memorized the plan. Now, however, it’s replaced by a memory of something that hasn’t even happened yet, making your skin crawl as cold shivers run down the spine. Red sand clings to the boots (much too warm for the temperature). Like blood.

“Something nice…” you mumble, grasping at a flicker spark of joy before it’s swallowed, “…something nice…”

Red like fiery hair. And suddenly, it’s possible to recognize the blue of the sky in the teasing sparkle of a pair of grey eyes capable of looking into your very soul, making you feel safe and at home. The churning lead in your guts lessens. Now you can let the shoulders sink and even look up towards the goal: a heavy door painted green behind which Rumlow waits.

… Rumlow …

Every single note and stick-figure drawing Brock has received from [Y/N] is kept in a tin as evidence. At first her replies had been brief, hesitant in the wording and quite confrontational…but that was to be expected. She has still to admit her feelings for him, but it’s obvious as the communication extends how she recognizes the true nature of the Avengers. Why spend resources on catching someone, when they are willing to come on their own.

Brock isn’t a fool. Far from. There’s always the risk of a double-cross, his own plan mirrored to out him or more of Hydra. And regardless of the reasoning for [Y/N] to come today, she will have to be processed and vetted before he will allow himself to trust her. But it will be much easier this time.

Watching the screen, the ex boyfriend sees the hesitation melt away from the figure to be replaced with resolution. Come to me, baby. All the other screens show…nothing. No, would-be heroes. No pesky Mister Rogers with a shield and the American flag so far up his ass that he can’t relax. No red-head traitor. All alone? It’s hard to believe, so Brock doesn’t, flicking a switch instead that light a tiny, orange diode in the two free-rooms, as the team have started calling the scan-blocking basement sections. On your marks.

There’s a muted sound of footsteps outside preceding the knocking on the door. Twice, a pause, and once. Good girl.

He’s smiling as he unlocks and pulls the door aside just a crack to see the nervousness on [Y/N]’s face, but it’s not enough to drown the stubborn set of the jaw or the air of…excitement? Eager to come home?

“What’s a girl like ya doin’ in a place like this…?” Such a cliché, but it rolls off Brock’s tongue with a neat drawl.

The hint of an eyeroll also hints at times passed. “Girl’s just wanna have fun. Nice decoy to free me up from ‘em.”

Them. Not Natasha or Steve or whatever. “Only the best for ya, as always.” She has said the password but hesitates to enter when Brock opens the door fully. “C’m’on in, babe.”

“How long we got?”

“They’re smart, but th’ain’t that smart…I’ll guess an hour.” There’s a tickle of something he can’t place in the woman’s smile. “The cool air’s escaping, get it.”

Like in a dream, she really does step over the threshold, carefully keeping a bit of distance between them. I should’ve expected that. It still gnaws inside Brock, tugs at the side of him that needs the bitch to understand, to accept her place. But he bites it back. All the anger and possessiveness is shoved deep down somewhere dark because he knows he’ll bring her to her senses. Soon.

Brock casts a brief glance to a screen out of the girl’s view showing a mix of live feeds from local and global news stations, a few of them covering the draught and the lack of safe drinking water while the majority heralds the wedding of some celebrity. No breaking news. It’s not typical of the Avengers to work quietly, especially not if the glorified tin can is flying around blasting rock music. Well…at least one of those idiots has style. Haven’t they taken the bait?

“All alone?” There’s an air of something studied mixing with the playful tone. “I’d half begun to think I was –“

“Shut up.” Thankfully, [Y/N] does as told, body ripe with fear to the point where he almost can smell it. “Why’re ya here? Really?”

“Really?” Perfect confusion. Innocence. “’Cause we’re not over yet, Brock.”

Something beeps from the console of screens and the hydra agent is about to turn to see what has caused the alarm to go off when [Y/N] reaches for him. Such a simple gesture, still it sparks an old habit in the man and he takes the hand in his for a long second – one he would wish could last forever. But he has to let go, hand slightly sticky from her sweaty touch. Another alarm begins, and he can hear the sound of the agents in the free-rooms banging on the doors though an oceans rush in his head. The world sways, unfocused. What the fuck? Oh, yeah, there comes the sea sickness even if he hasn’t felt it since he was a kid.

“You know,” [Y/N] softly whispers from far away into his ear, “when I said we’re not over…” She has a stronger grip than expect on his arm and shoulder, somehow forcing him on his knees. “I should’ve said I’m not done with you, Rumlow.”

The world might be reduced to a stormy sea, but he can still feel the nauseating pain as the shoulder dislocates. I’ve had…worse. That much is true. It’s not even the pain, really, making him sick to the stomach, rather the knowledge of what [Y/N] wants to get even for.

“[Y/N],” he slurs, the tongue too thick in the mouth, “I-I-I…lllo’ ya…” That lands his face pressed onto the dirty floor at an uncomfortable angle. She’s…holding my ass…

“No, Rumlow, you don’t love.” There’s a sound of metal against metal. “Let me demonstrate what you do.”

… Romanoff …

“Damn, sweetie…”

Even Nat is impressed, and slightly grossed out, at the creativity her girlfriend has shown. So much so, she almost feels sorry for Rumlow who’s passed out on the floor in a sticky pool of almost every bodily liquid of his own. Well if almost means not at all.

Sam had taken one look and then gone outside to hurl, and even Thor looks shocked. “My lady, your enemies will surely know not to stir your wrath from this day forth.”

“My track record with coping mechanisms isn’t great…so…” Tony can’t look at it either, but at least he hasn’t lost the bad humour. “Let me know if’t works, ‘kay?”

“Oh, it feels very…cathartic…” [Y/N] looks at the guy with a distanced calmed.

Too calm. Cathartic or not, this will undoubtedly have consequences both legally and emotionally for Rumlow’s former prisoner. None of it can be explained away as self defense. It can’t be by the time the person is face down, ass up, and the metal sheathed where the sun don’t shine.

“I’m gonna take her to the quinjet, you guys stabilize him and see if he can talk…ever…”

And so Natasha leaves the men behind, steering a dazed woman by the arm across the uneven terrain through a patch of dried out shrubs behind which the plane is waiting.

Once onboard, she observes the mechanic reactions as [Y/N] complies with every order without uttering a single word. Come back to me, baby. The former assassin can only hope that the words reach far enough, somehow breaking through the shell her girlfriend’s mind has build in record time to prevent any of the grotesque happenings from settling. Eventually the good advice of reason are spent, leaving nothing behind but an insufferable ache.

You were doing so well, why did I let you go? “I’m sorry, love,” Nat whispers hoarsely, fingers stroking the blank face, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been here. It’s my fault, please come back. You can get through this too, alright?”

On and on, the pleas dripple out similar to a hushed prayer that knows no end. The tears falling aren’t [Y/N]’s this time because for once Natasha can’t be the strong one. Kneeling before [Y/N], she wraps her arms around the living statue’s waist and buries the face in the heat of the soft breasts where she can hear the heartbeat. Slow and steady as opposed to Nat’s own that beats so frantically, she couldn’t hold her hands still if she tried.

Some things change the very foundation of a person.

In the Red Room, the girls were taught not to show mercy, to follow orders unblinkingly even if it meant the death of an other. Though the first fatalities weren’t at the students’ own hands, they knew what the consequences were once they forced another child to give up or be flunked. The changed had already started. By the time a girl graduated, became an adult though never a woman, the transformation was completed. It was expected. A flinch. A faint taste of regret in the dark of night. Nothing more.

Outside the Red Room, for people growing up in normal lives, only a low percentage of people are prepared for the Graduation, and most of those never have to complete the change themselves. For the lucky ones, violence and unnatural death will not become a habit of theirs.

[Y/N] had been one of the lucky ones until the day Hydra captured her, placing her at the mercy of Rumlow. Her change had been forced upon her, nearly killing her in the process. Perhaps Natasha, the team, even the victim herself had been fools for thinking she would be alright and the metamorphosis never would be complete. My fault. Today had been Graduation, and the ex-Russian brought the student to the test.

“Shhh,” gentle and soothing against red hair, “It’s okay, Tash, I’m here…it’ll be okay.” Gentle fingers cart through the fiery strands, nails scraping against the scalp in a calm rhythm. “I know what I did…I’ll never do it again.”

They’re both crying as they lock gazes.

“Do you know that?” Be honest. “Have you seen it?”

“This is the first time you ask me what I’ve seen.” The smile is gentle and almost reaches the [Y/E/C] eyes. “I have to continue therapy, but yeah…never again.” Soft lips kiss the salty water away from the upturned face. “I’m all yours now.”

… Reader …

Of course the clock isn’t ticking. After ages of therapy, you should be used to that…instead it makes the silence way heavier than strictly necessary. Or maybe it’s because this session is so important? Double session, actually. Pinching your brows, you manage to divert the attention from the missing tick-tock to the bit of dirt under a nail as you wait for the team consisting of a psychiatrist and a psychologist to ask the question they want to. It’s silly really. Anyone can rehearse an answer fitting with the “need”.

“So, how are you feeling, [Y/N]?” one of them final begins, glasses dangling from between to fingers and a pen in the other hand.

You take a moment, do a mini body scan. “Right now I’m nervous…” They both nod at your answer. “Generally speaking…pretty good. Still get the odd nightmare where it’s like I’m back.”

“Back?”

“M-hm.”

They want you to define the term, but it’s fun to see them try to be correct and direct at the same time. “To when Rumlow first held you against your will or…?”

“Or when I took revenge? Both.” You give them time to scribble ferociously before continuing, “I don’t think there’s some specific reason it’s one situation instead of the other…not always at least. And the technique to guide myself away from the nightmare is beginning to work a bit.”

The glasses are pulled down again, so the Psychologist can look at you directly. “Is there a difference in the intensity?”

“No. Both…events were horrible. For different reasons, sure, but horrible. What I did…” Both doctors hold their breaths as you ponder your words. “There’s an explanation for it…but no excuse. I know that.”

With all the nodding they’re doing, it seems only fair if they get a kink in the neck eventually. Sometimes the bobble-heads ask more questions, about the house arrest in the tower or your relationship with the Avengers. They never once get into specific about Natasha and you, although it’s there like some elephant in the room. Even professionals can have issues.

By the time the two hours are up, you’ve got them smiling genuinely. Perhaps, maybe, if you’re lucky…will they clear you?

…

“Who sends letters nowadays?” Tony scoffs, dumping a big, brown envelope on the newspaper you’re reading.

Justice Department! It’s damn near impossible to tear open the thick paper because your hands a shaking so much, and when you finally do, the words barely make any sense, so you don’t protest when the genius billionaire snags it out of your hands.

It feels like forever, longer than the months you’ve waited to hear what the psychiatrist’s and psychologist’s decision is, before Tony finally looks up. “Jarvis!”

“Yes, sir.”

You can’t read his face, allowing the nerves to run amok. “Call the team, Pepper, and Happy.”

“May I inquire as to the occasion?”

“Yeah.” Finally, his face splits into a huge smile. “We’re gonna celebrate.”

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tragicbooks · 7 years

Text

<p>9 surprisingly heartwarming moments you may have missed in last night's 'Game of Thrones.'</p>

Welcome to “A Song of Nice and Fire” Upworthy’s weekly series recapping one of the most brutal shows on TV. Since brutality is not really in our wheelhouse, Eric March has taken it upon himself to dig deep, twist and turn, and squint really hard to see if he can find the light of kindness in all the darkness. He may not always succeed, but by gosh if he won’t try his best.

Here’s what he found on this week’s "Game of Thrones."

FIREBALL!

GIF by "Game of Thrones"/HBO.

For an episode high on characters non-consensually set ablaze, "The Spoils of War" featured a lot of man's-kindness-toward-his-fellow-man. I didn't even have to squint that hard.

Let's dive right in!

1. The Stark siblings reunite!

"You guys are weird." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

After six and a half seasons, thousands of miles traveled, several months of assassin training, two nightmare marriages, and one attempt to kind of become a tree, the remaining three children of Ned and Catelyn Stark finally get the band back together — and it's glorious.

Sure, it's also a little awkward. Bran behaves like the world's most insufferable college freshman home for Thanksgiving who has thoughts about the categorical imperative, while Sansa increasingly suspects that Arya's kill list might include a certain red-headed sister whose name rhymes with Pantsa Park. Arya, meanwhile, is too busy fighting knights three times her size to a draw to really bother with any palace intrigue, stirring up some of her sister's long-buried childhood resentment. But for the most part, everyone hugs and has a nice, easygoing break from the generational trauma they've been subjected to.

And just like at most family reunions...

2. Everyone gives everyone a dagger!

Like a fruitcake on Christmas morning, Westeros' most infamous stabbing implement — the knife that almost ended Bran way back in season one — spends a majority of last night's episode being re-gifted. Littlefinger gives it to Bran, who gives it to Arya, who gives it to Brienne, who gives it back to Arya. Sure, they all have different motives, not all of them 100% pure, but hey, it's the thought that counts!

Judging by Arya's rapid mastery of the weapon, I can easily imagine it making its way into a certain perpetually-on-the-edge-of-cynical-laughter face before too long.

Careful who you pawn that fruitcake off on...

3. A Lannister pays her debt.

What do you know? Cersei actually delivers on her promise to make good on her loan from the Iron Bank.

"Profits. Dividends. ROI." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

That's A+ financial responsibility, even if it involved poisoning an old woman to death to make it happen.

Gotta balance those books!

4. Bran thanks Meera for dragging him thousands of miles through the snow.

Yes, he does so in the most ungrateful, detached way possible and leaves out a few minor details and incidental dead friends, but if we set the bar as low as we possibly can, he does say thank you. Turns out you can be all-knowing and all-seeing and still recall the essential Emily Post.

Anyway, Meera's off the show now probably, so score one for character economy!

5. Jon gives Daenerys a free art history lesson in the dragonglass mine.

Time was, a guided tour of the catacombs beneath Dragonstone would set you back 175 euros and a cooler full of overpriced baguettes, but here's Jon, giving it to Daenerys free of charge!

"I think I'm gonna take a pool day, but you two go ahead!" Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch. It turns out that in addition to enough dragonglass to slay an army of white walkers, the mine contains some seriously spiral-y etchings that conveniently help Jon sell the story he failed to adequately transmute to his potential ally-in-walking-dead-killing a few days (Weeks? Months? Centuries? What is the timeline on this show?) prior. Panicked, throne-room descriptions of ice zombies delivered by a man wearing an IKEA shag rug on his back? Eh. The same story scratched onto a cave wall? That's the sort of thing that gets a dragon queen on board.

Jon wins her over enough that Dany offers her killing prowess — in exchange for your standard pledge of undying loyalty and submission ("Bend the knee"). Unfortunately, there are some plan-hitches even Dany is unaware of.

Thankfully...

6. Tyrion delivers the good news first!

"Also, loooove the sash." Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

Good communicators know how to sandwich bad news in between the good, and that's exactly what Westeros' smartest, most prolific talker does by leading with the glorious capture of Casterly Rock before filling in the small matter of the trapped Unsullied, ransacked resources, and dead allies.

The delivery is so tactful that Daenerys remains cool enough to probe Jon for advice — and seems to take it when he reminds her why people are into her in the first place.

People, that is, like him. He seems into her.

Also, she is his aunt.

Weirdly, we all 'ship it.

7. Jamie casually persuades Randyll Tarly not to whip a bunch of his soldiers.

Look, it really sucks when your exhausted army is moving at a snail's pace, and flogging the slow-moving dudes does seem like the kind of thing that would speed things up, but props to Jamie for urging his co-commander to at least give the guys a stern talking-to before going all "Fifty Shades of Grey" on them.

Later, Jamie, the most morally medium Lannister, continues to get right with his gods by attempting to talk Tarly's son Dickon out of his shell shock. His efforts are nearly undone by Bronn, who not only laughs at the dude's admittedly hilarious name but proceeds to mock his pampered upbringing with a well-/poorly timed poop quip.

But the sellsword rapidly redeems himself because not seven seconds later...

8. Dany goes for a dragon ride!

What good is painstakingly raising three dragons from birth if you're going to sit around and not ride them? To the delight of viewers and horselords alike, aspiring Queen Daenerys finally scratches the itch for the first time since landing in Westeros.

Her first destination? Straight at a bunch of unsuspecting Lannister soldiers (cf. the above "FIREBALL!").

Mercifully, in the ensuing (epically one-sided) carnage...

9. Bronn ditches his sack of gold to save Jamie's life...

"Um ... hm!" Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

...when they and several hundred of their closest foot soldiers find themselves under combined assault from the Dothraki, who apparently brought a teleportation machine over from the steppe (again, I have to ask — how quickly is time moving on this show?) and the aforementioned 50-foot fire monster from the maw of hell. In an act of utter and utterly surprising selflessness, when forced to choose between his spilled gold and the lives of his comrades, Bronn elects to leave the cash money behind and make a beeline for the scorpion in a vain attempt to spear Daenerys' one-woman scaly air force out of the sky.

Indeed, for a supposedly honor-less killing machine, not only does Bronn sniff out the oncoming horde in the first place and trade his pay for the chance to save a couple dozen Ed Sheerans, he (or some guy who really looks like him) also risks involuntary immolation to push Jamie into the most conveniently adjacent river of all time, sparing him an untimely death-by-Drogon.

Give that man his castle, already.

P.S. — While it's not exactly "nice," credit to director Matt Shakman for providing lots of long, lingering shots of Lannister soldiers screaming and staggering around on fire, reminding us that war really, really sucks if you're the little guy — even if you fight for the baddies.

Random Acts of Niceness

Jon, who hasn't seen Theon since all that, you know, stuff went down, demonstrates heroic restraint and refrains from smashing the ironborn lordling's face in. Funny how so many of the nicest moments on this show involve one character not killing another character they emphatically should kill! Take it where you can get it, I guess.

Littlefinger promises to protect all of Catelyn Stark's children, which seems sweet until you remember it's a vow that conveniently leaves out a certain sibling/cousin/bastard who just happens to be out of town giving museum tours at the moment.

Thanks to Stannis, Davos is now an insufferable grammar pedant who knows the difference between "less" and "fewer." Stannis appreciates the congrats.

Whew! Lots to cover on the kindness beat. Join me next week when, hopefully, Jamie finally learns Dickon's name (assuming the golden-armed general hasn't drowned), Sam finally gets to read the long academic tome of his dreams, and Tormund and his wildling brigade report nothing of note going on at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea — false alarm!

0 notes

socialviralnews · 7 years

Text

<p>9 surprisingly heartwarming moments you may have missed in last night's 'Game of Thrones.'</p>

Here’s what he found on this week’s "Game of Thrones."

FIREBALL!

GIF by "Game of Thrones"/HBO.

For an episode high on characters non-consensually set ablaze, "The Spoils of War" featured a lot of man's-kindness-toward-his-fellow-man. I didn't even have to squint that hard.

Let's dive right in!

1. The Stark siblings reunite!

"You guys are weird." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

And just like at most family reunions...

2. Everyone gives everyone a dagger!

Judging by Arya's rapid mastery of the weapon, I can easily imagine it making its way into a certain perpetually-on-the-edge-of-cynical-laughter face before too long.

Careful who you pawn that fruitcake off on...

3. A Lannister pays her debt.

What do you know? Cersei actually delivers on her promise to make good on her loan from the Iron Bank.

"Profits. Dividends. ROI." Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

That's A+ financial responsibility, even if it involved poisoning an old woman to death to make it happen.

Gotta balance those books!

4. Bran thanks Meera for dragging him thousands of miles through the snow.

Anyway, Meera's off the show now probably, so score one for character economy!

5. Jon gives Daenerys a free art history lesson in the dragonglass mine.

Time was, a guided tour of the catacombs beneath Dragonstone would set you back 175 euros and a cooler full of overpriced baguettes, but here's Jon, giving it to Daenerys free of charge!

"I think I'm gonna take a pool day, but you two go ahead!" Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

Thankfully...

6. Tyrion delivers the good news first!

"Also, loooove the sash." Photo by Macall B. Polay/HBO.

The delivery is so tactful that Daenerys remains cool enough to probe Jon for advice — and seems to take it when he reminds her why people are into her in the first place.

People, that is, like him. He seems into her.

Also, she is his aunt.

Weirdly, we all 'ship it.

7. Jamie casually persuades Randyll Tarly not to whip a bunch of his soldiers.

But the sellsword rapidly redeems himself because not seven seconds later...

8. Dany goes for a dragon ride!

Her first destination? Straight at a bunch of unsuspecting Lannister soldiers (cf. the above "FIREBALL!").

Mercifully, in the ensuing (epically one-sided) carnage...

9. Bronn ditches his sack of gold to save Jamie's life...

"Um ... hm!" Photo by Helen Sloan/HBO.

Give that man his castle, already.

Random Acts of Niceness

Thanks to Stannis, Davos is now an insufferable grammar pedant who knows the difference between "less" and "fewer." Stannis appreciates the congrats.

from Upworthy http://ift.tt/2uj5U7k via cheap web hosting

#Upworthy

0 notes