#Couldn’t include bache sorry

[oldeubagel]

The RightZkeepers 🏳️

[quickspinner]

As Long As You’re Here

It’s my birthday, and I wanted to throw a little party, so expect to see a bunch of shortish works pop up from me today! I don’t know if I’ll get as many as I was hoping done and posted, but I’m gonna do my best, and I should have at least a few!

I’m starting off with my piece for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers 250 followers celebration! The prompt list was 50 Wordless Ways to Say I Love You and I chose 15. Calming them down when they have a bad dream. 

Since my first LBSC sprint fic featured the introduction of Bach the deaf dog, it seemed only fitting that he be included here as well (but you don’t have to have read Puppy Eyes and Puppy Love to get this).

He woke with a breath, not a scream, but his fist was clenched tight on his pillow and his whole body was shaking. He lay there on his side, exactly as he’d gone to sleep—sleep, because he’d been dreaming, and he wasn’t dreaming now, despite the phantom images that lingered in his mind. He blinked, trying to separate reality from not-reality as his eyes stared into the fuzzy greyness of his dark room. He knew it was his room—their room—but he couldn’t make his frightened mind parse the shadows to confirm it.  

His silent panic only lasted a moment before he felt her weight on him, pressed against his back and half draped over his side, pushing him down into the bed as she flung a small, strong arm over him and around his torso, squeezing tight. 

“It’s okay,” Marinette mumbled in his ear, clearly still fuzzy with sleep herself, but present enough to know something was wrong. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay, Luka.” 

Luka locked his hand around her arm and pulled it tighter around him, and she shifted a little more on top of his side, making soothing sounds as she came a bit more awake, stretching out her body to apply as much pressure along his as she could. “I’ve got you, I’m here,” she repeated over and over, peppering little kisses into the side of his face as he tried to slow his breathing, blinking rapidly. He was afraid to let his eyes really close, afraid of falling back into the nightmare that still sucked at the edges of his consciousness. 

He shifted to roll over, change his position enough to throw off the last bit of sleep, and Marinette raised up enough to let him roll to his back beneath her before laying on top of him again. Luka wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. His foot nudged something at the foot of the bed, and then Marinette squealed as a huge pale shape loomed up over the both of them, and suddenly Marinette nearly disappeared under thick white fur.

“Bach!” Marinette screeched uselessly as the big dog flopped on top of both of them, and Luka shook at the bottom of the pile with weak laughter. Bach’s bulk combined with Marinette’s was actually helping him, the pressure along his body and the absurdity of the situation both doing their parts to calm Luka’s panicked body, though he could have lived without Bach’s rough, clawed feet pressing into him. Luka freed a hand and reached up over Marinette’s back, finding the body under the fur and running his hand up until he found Bach’s head. Luka ruffled the big dog’s ears reassuringly, and then slid his hand back down to push on the dog’s shoulder. “Off,” he grumbled. Neither of them had ever been able to break the habit of speaking out loud to Bach, even though he’d been deaf since they’d gotten him as a puppy. The shoving conveyed the message, though, and Marinette sighed in relief as Bach rolled off of her to loll belly up across her side of the bed. 

“Rude,” Marinette muttered with a sigh, dropping her head back on Luka’s chest as she reached over to rub Bach’s tummy. “You’re not staying there,” she told the dog, and then turned her attention back to Luka, reaching over him to turn on the nightstand lamp. 

Luka squinted against the sudden light, but kept his eyes fixed on Marinette’s concerned face, haloed in sleep-tousled hair. She stroked his cheek as she examined his face. “You okay?” she asked at last, and Luka nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and added, “Bad dream,” rather weakly.

Marinette lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t say.” She hitched herself up his body until she could kiss him, and Luka sighed into it, closing his eyes as her fingers slid gently through his hair.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, and Luka shook his head slightly.

“Same old same old,” he muttered. “It wasn’t really a bad one. It’s already fading.” It was, too, blurring the way dreams do. Some of them remained sharp and frightening, and haunted his sleep for days, but this one seemed willing to let go easy. His heart no longer pounded, and his breathing was almost back to normal. Marinette was here, solid and warm and real, and he hadn’t lost her, she hadn’t left him. Of course she never would, but that didn’t stop his stupid subconscious from— 

Marinette nudged her nose against his, reaching up and rubbing his shoulders with firm, deep strokes that helped calm him further. “Stop it,” she scolded softly. “It’s okay. Do you need to take a walk?” After a moment of thought, Luka shook his head. 

“I think I’m okay. Just need the bathroom.” 

Marinette snorted. “No way. Me first.” She kissed the tip of his nose and got off of him, lingering by the side of the bed for a moment to make sure he was okay without her before making her way towards the bathroom. 

Luka sat up slowly and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Bach lifted his head and made an odd-sounding whine. Luka grinned, reaching over to rub the still-exposed belly. “Spoiled,” he muttered to the dog, whose head flopped back happily, tongue hanging out of his mouth in a doggy grin. Luka rolled his eyes and gave Bach one last scratch before turning to swing his legs off the bed. He sat there for a moment, focusing on his breathing, trying to still the tremble that wouldn’t quite leave his hands. He felt the shuffle on the bed behind him and then a warm, furry weight pressed up against his back. When Luka didn’t move, Bach lurched up to a sitting position and leaned on Luka’s back, propping his chin up on Luka’s shoulder. Luka leaned back into Bach’s sturdy frame, appreciating that even deaf, Bach had enough perception and empathy to know Luka needed him. 

Bach licked his ear.

“Ew, no,” Luka laughed, shoving the big dog away. “Gross. I love you, bud, but keep your slobber to yourself.” 

“If only,” Marinette groaned, reappearing. She came and flopped back down on the bed, putting her arms around Bach despite her harsh words when he moved to greet her, tail wagging. “You’re such a good boy, you suffocating, slobbering bigfoot disguised as a dog.” 

Luka laughed as he got up and took his turn in the bathroom, pausing after he washed his hands to grab a cloth and scrub off the dog slobber before he went back to bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and then hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of fear at the thought of going back to sleep. 

Then Marinette was there against his back again, her arms around him as she kissed the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” she told him, running her fingers lightly down his arms. “I’m here. I’ll be here every time.” Luka closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. He tended to run hot at night and her fingers were a pleasant coolness trailing over him in the gentlest of caresses, over his arms and his back, until he reached behind him to pull her around and tug her into his lap. He put his arms around her, and laid his head on her shoulder, and she continued her gentle touches, over his face and neck, running her fingers through his hair, quietly murmuring promises that she was here and she always would be. 

He didn’t realize he was dozing off until the light scrape of her fingernails down his spine startled him. “If you’re ready to go to sleep,” Marinette teased gently, “then we should both get back in bed.”

“Right,” Luka sighed, releasing her so she could stand. He stood as well, to manhandle and shove Bach back down to his place at the foot of the bed. The dog let out a quiet, indignant woof before settling. Marinette got onto the bed and crawled back to her side and Luka slid into bed next to her. She let him pull her close, snuggling against his chest and laying a soft kiss on his heart, and Luka soon drifted into a much more peaceful sleep. This time it lasted until Bach climbed back on top of them, wagging and snuffling, to demand his breakfast.

[frogsmulder]

The Seeds of Us

@baronessblixen I actually wrote it! although I’m not sure I quite did it justice; set just after they move into the unremarkable house; about 1300 words; rated t; also tagging @today-in-fic

It was early March and the fresh warmth of the sun on the springtime flowers was equaled by the warmth of Scully wrapped up to her nose under the duvet. The tip of it twitched against the cover and her eyes fluttered, waking up. Everything was soft. It had been almost two years since she had woken up in a comfortable bed and she didn't want to get up just yet. So, she snuggled further under the covers, her hair was fanning out across the pillows in a scruffy mess that retained the memory of hands scrunching through it the previous night.

She quietly hummed, "home," still not quite believing it, and smiled.

It was then that she heard movement downstairs and some old music pump through loudspeakers. Heavy guitar chords and drum beats flood the house, sound waves crashing only slightly muffled into the bedroom. Scully sat up, bemused. The sounds were quickly followed by Mulder's voice resonating through the walls.

"Da Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Nah! Brrp Brrp Brrp! Da Na Na Na..."

She had to bite her lip to stifle a chuckle.

Pulling on Mulder's t-shirt from yesterday that was strewn on the floor, Scully made her way downstairs. She was greeted by Mulder and the vacuum cleaner humming along to Should I Stay or Should I Go as they swept their way around the kitchen. Quietly laughing to herself, she held back for a while, watching him dance about barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt. She tilted her head to the side, admiring the view. He did look good in jeans.

Mulder abruptly turned around and she caught herself irrationally blushing.

"Oh hey!" he beamed and switched of the hoover. "Sorry, I was unpacking some of the boxes, and there was some mess, and I found a box with all your music in and... Did I wake you?"

Scully smiled and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him. "No, it's good."

He cupped his hands over hers on his rough cheeks and sighed. She understood completely what he was saying. It was strange finally living together, owning a house together, doing the things that normal people did after all this time. She frequently caught herself pausing in the moment to appreciate the sublime gravitas of normality. It was utterly, intoxicatingly thrilling.

She grinned. "I know."

Mulder laughed and nipped at her– his– t-shirt neckline, teeth scraping just inches from her skin. Scully erupted in a burst of small giggles that crescendoed when he lifted her up. She slapped his back to put her down and he did so, but on the countertop, and kissed her cheek.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, breathing, "I'll get you back."

"I look forward to it," he chuckled.

His hands rested on her bare thighs, thumbs drawing circles higher and teasingly higher until he reached the hem of his shirt, which admittedly on her was not that high. She could tell from his eyes, intently focused on hers, that he was unaware that his hands were making a journey, that he just needed her close and the physical evidence at his fingertips to prove it. He looked at her quizzically like she was a fresh mystery, more brilliant than anything they had seen before, forming a question in his mind.

She shifted involuntarily beneath his touch and raised her eyebrows, prompting him.

"I have to ask," he eventually said, resting his hands on the dip of her waist. "The Clash? It doesn't seem like your thing."

She frowned at him. "What would be my thing?"

He shrugged. "Bach? Mendelssohn? ABBA?"

Bowing her head, she huffed a laugh. "I was going through a phase."

"A phase?"

Mulder lifted her chin with his finger, wanting to see every moment of her revelation.

"I guess you could call it that."

"And this phase included punk rock?"

She bit her lip. "No. Well, yes. Sort of. It was my first year of college..."

"Ahhh." Mulder grinned in recognition, eyes widening, gleaming with curiosity. She could feel herself heating up under his gaze. "Was this phase perhaps one of rebellion? Sex, drugs, and Rock n Roll?"

"Tell me you didn't have a similar phase."

He paused, thinking back to his years at Oxford.

"Exactly," she smirked.

"Okay, fair enough–" he stepped closer between her legs– "but I'm still intrigued by this young, punk Dana. Who was she?"

Scully picked some imaginary lint off of his chest– her need to touch him as equal to his, creating any old excuse to do so whilst her mind wandered back.

"Well, she still did her essays before she went out, but she also used to back-comb her hair and have a belly ring. I even saved my waitressing tips to buy a leather jacket."

Mulder mock gasped at the shape her unruly behaviour formed, the distinctive mark to rebel within the confines of a safe structure entirely and purely the Scully he knew. It was like seeing the seed of the woman she was today grow in the rich soil of all those past choices.

She gave him a shy smile. "You know, it wasn't much, but it felt like a lot at the time."

Mulder captured her soft lips tenderly, smiling against them when she gasped. She laughed at the surprise but pulled him closer, locking her ankles together behind his back. Her hand held his cheek when she pulled away, keeping him close as their foreheads continued to kissed where their lips had broken apart.

"What about young, rebellious Mulder? What was he up to?"

"Nothing nearly as exciting. I still did the club scene, but I was better at getting warnings for trespassing."

Scully rolled her eyes, drawing closer to him until she was pressing her lips chastely to his, just to feel them. She gently let go and rested her head against his chest, chuckling.

"I had a friend that this song reminds me of. I used to sit in her room and listen to this album, sharing cigarettes and dancing."

"Is that why you bought this record?"

"No, this is the actual record."  Scully shook her head and couldn't help but smile. "She gave it to me when we graduated."

"She must have really liked you."

"Hmm... Isn't it strange how far we've grown apart from our old selves? All the people we've left behind? Jane probably has a family now and I only know a 20-year-old version of her from college."

"Jane? Her name was Jane?"

She pulled back, eyeing him defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

He laughed and shook his head, softening her brow with his response.

"I do know what you mean. But I don't think that changing is necessarily a bad thing." Mulder pressed his forehead to hers and moved one hand from her waist to curl around her small hand. "We are constantly evolving and that's the beauty of it."

He slowly closed his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of Scully, knowing that this version of her was also a seedling, slowly maturing into a future Scully, and she had chosen him as her witness of that life journey. But the completeness of the moment, her in his arms in their house, was contently overwhelming.

Scully's eyes fluttered closed too and she hummed off-key to the music.

"Mulder, are you slow dancing me to The Clash?"

He grinned, eyes snapping open to see her smiling too.

"Wanna stop?"

She opened her eyes and saw everything in his.

"No."

[igiturr]

Ok so I decided to make a three part ficlet for this.

This one is basically how I headcanon Will's relationship with music.

Sorry if my English is kinda weird. Feel free to disagree or add more to this. I hope y'all like it!

------------------------

Will's music taste can be defined by one word: folk. He listens to other genres like country, blues and classic rock, but there's something about the simplicity of the "voice and acoustic guitar" folk music that reaches his heart. Will grew up listening to Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger and Odetta. His political views during his teenage years were probably influenced by Phil Ochs and Woody Guthrie. He appreciates raspy vocals, so different from his own voice, but so similar to his father's. They weren't very close, but at least they shared some form of closeness through music.

Songs have the ability of translating feelings Will can't express. The pain caused by his mother's absence was soothed by Lennon's words in a ballad young Will probably listened far too often. Since they were poor, the awkward boy felt seen whenever working class hero played in his old record player. Music also brought entertainment to his lonesome life as a youngster. Always being the new kid was hard, but at least he could occasionally escape through the stories in Marty Robbins' and Johnny Cash's lyrics. Cowboys, outlaws, tall handsome strangers and boys named Sue whose tales Will knew very well, but unfortunately had no one to share with.

As a kid he had a particular fascination with murder ballads. How could those songs make criminals seem so appealing even though they were, technically, bad people? It was far beyond Will's understanding at that time.

He also listens, to a lot of country music. Like, a lot. More than he'd like to admit. He's a huge Hank Williams fan, but also knows Willie Nelson's entire discography by heart.

Whenever Will is fixing something, bathing the dogs or just chilling at home in cosy weekends, he likes to listen to progressive rock. King Crimson is his personal favourite, but he also likes Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull.

In his happiest days he'll listen to Cat Stevens all day long.

He keeps a respectable collection of LPs that include some rock bands from the 70s like The Doors, The Who and Jefferson Airplane. He remembers his father didn't like "the hippies' flowery" music very much, so he only managed to explore the more psychodelic side of rock once he was old enough to buy his own records. Whenever he's feeling detached from reality - which is more often than he'd like to be - listening to Jimi Hendrix's guitar or Jim Morrison's vocals makes the "ride" less uncomfortable.

When he was in college he listened to Jeff Buckley frequently. It was a specially weird moment in his life since he was starting to navigate relationships and friendships like he never had before. He remembers being very sad when he heard of Buckley's death. After all, his music helped Will overcome break ups and endure the journey towards adulthood.

When he met Hannibal He tried to give classical music a shot, but found it to be too… Too much for his taste. Will's a simple and rustic guy. Bach's suites and Handel's operas didn't really suit his aesthetic very much. But, surprisingly so, Will actually enjoyed Chopin's music. The etudes and nocturnes were soothing enough to calm his head in the middle of sleepless nights. Whenever the monsters of his head disturbed him in the night, he'd listen to the soft piano sounds. It was like a warm, solidary hug that made him company so he wouldn't feel so alone.

Nowadays he listens to a lot of baroque, against his will, since Abigail started to play the flute. Even if it's not his preferred genre of music, he feels a quiet happiness when he hears Abigail practicing in her room. The breathy sounds of the instrument bring him a sense of home, very new, very warm.

Last week Hannibal and Abigail performed a Bach sonata to him. Hannibal played his harpsichord as accompaniment while Abigail demonstrated her musical progress on the flute. Will couldn't help but smile the entire time as he watched the duo he loves so dearly play something specially for him.

That's what music feels to him nowadays.

It feels like home, like family

[lunarnirvana]

Lavender Moon

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Please not read if these subjects upset or trigger you in any way. Heavy themes are present in my writing.

Descriptions of abduction, hospital setting, language, Vomiting, mentions of s*icide, non-consensual drug use, seizure, some descriptions involving gore, blood, injury, reader drugged, mentions of LSD and tripping, anxiety symptoms.

Prompt: Nicole’s Alphabet Angst for 8K - Occult

Summery: Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy… (Full summary at bottom of writing so as not to spoil but if you’re worried about the content I’ll always add the full summary at the bottom! Stay safe)

Category: Angst with some fluff sprinkled here and there (Happy ending)

Word count: 7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU Female Reader

A/N: I hope saying this doesn’t discourage anyone from reading but this is my first imagine! I guess not that I’ve written, just posted. I’m kind of really nervous about putting this out there but why not? Also for future reference I write very intense and real things and I want this to be a safe place for everyone which is why I will try to be as thorough with my trigger warnings as humanly possible but if there is ever anything written that I did not warn you about before the writing I apologize and PLEASE let me know so I can make it a priority to include that warning in the future. Ty and tpwk <3 enjoy 

“No evil ever came from a woman’s womb that wasn’t placed there first by a man.”

― Charles A. Cornell

Her intuition never betrayed her.

It was lodged deep inside her throat, the swell of hesitation like a globule that obstructed any resourceful observations about the crime scene photos. The innate feeling that the case was destined for calamity. Y/N didn’t let the gravity of her work weigh on her mental state until she was in the comfort of her confides where she could lick her psychological scars in peace.

The entire BAU regarded their unspoken directive was to bottle any reaction to the happenstances of the case with little exception. As they congregated at the round table they’d bind their biases against their eyes with the blindfolds they used to avoid looking at the bodies for too long. If you stared for too long into those gaping gashes, the blackness of the cavernous body would consume you completely. This is what they all knew to be true and so they pursued beasts with scar tissue forming over their minds and volatile hands with stoic accuracy.

This accuracy was entirely derivative of their abilities to detach from the emotional aspects of the case.

Garcia was the exception to this jurisdiction, her back turned against the horrific gore on the screen yet she described the carnage as if she were looking at it. She threw in some embellishments and innuendos for certain aspects that were too nauseating to repeat.

“We’ve got a local case today. Linda Jefferson and Kayla Burnen were the first two victims of what local PD wrote off as a suicide pact at first,” Garcia explained, “After further inspection, though, they discovered an incredibly high, nearly lethal dosage of LSD in their blood.”

Reid spoke up beside her when he noticed something in the tox-analysis results, startling Y/N slightly, “It's not synthesized in the same manner, though. There are certain proteins missing that would make this particular substance would ensure an emergence phenomenon would happen regardless of the environment.”

He let his hand fall into his lap so his girlfriend could trace figure eights in his palm with the tip of her finger in some apologetic gesture for the trivial fright as he chided. They’d been together for a year now so he understood what comforted her and what didn’t.

“So you’re saying they took bad acid? Growing up in my generation I can vouch that I never felt compelled to shoot someone under the influence,” Rossi chuckled at his own shortcomings and garnered amusement from the team.

“Actually, I believe this particular form of LSD was tampered with to cause a bad trip. You’d either have to be an idiot to make LSD this way or…” Reid drifted off, letting someone else conclude what was already obvious to him.

“You’d have to do it on purpose. You can’t mess up that bad and it not be intentional,” Emily agreed, bobbing her head back and forth while the raven locks framing her elongated facade veiled around her expression.

“A few days after those two were found,” She flipped the slide, “Beth Myers and Lola Sanchez were found in the same area with the same exact M.O. No correlations to the first two victims or to each other.”

Reid felt the way Y/N’s finger swirled against his palm and traced the creases in his skin before flipping his hand over so she could run her soft touch across his veins and phalanges. She found his hands fascinating suddenly, more fascinating than the case. When Garcia flipped to the picture of the victims he felt a sudden pressure as Y/N locked her grip around his hand. She squeezed it for reassurance as the smiling women stared at them through the screen.

“The victims had blood-let themselves, were covered in melted wax from candles, were placed in white nightgowns, and were forced to finish one another off by stabbing each other in the chests,” Garcia winced as she recited the details.

Y/H/C, the texture of their hair, and resemblance with her was the aligning factor between the four and it made Y/N’s chest wrench at the thought of being drugged with such petrifying euphoric paranoia. She could tell her boyfriend noticed her reaction but didn’t bother to meet his concerned gaze. He just stared down at her avoidance in yearning for some communication although he rarely gave her that courtesy himself. He could tell she held reservations about the case, especially when they realized the unsub was following ritualistic patterns and protocols, the occultism sprinkled through the murders like decoration.

Reid never took holding her hand for granted but in this instance he swore he heard bones cracking. Y/N was comforted by the gesture but realized she was hurting him when she felt him begin to crumble under the pain beside her. She turned to him quickly and released her vice-grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” She whispered toward him, not wanting to disturb the briefing.

“Its fine, hun, but what’s wrong?” He pressed.

She shrugged and slouched back into her chair, sinking into the seat as if it would express her silence. She told herself it was just anxiety and eventually convinced herself it was her own self doubt causing her to have such a guttural feeling. She watched the clock for the rest of her shift before gathering her personal effects from the surface of her desk, sweeping the items into her bag. Reid watched her maneuver rather quickly to get her things together. Expecting her to wait for him like always, he bent down to grab his satchel but when he arose she was halfway to the elevators, shuffling through interns and her coworkers to leave.

He followed her down to the lobby before bringing it up.

“I can tell when something’s wrong with you, love. What is it?” His hand had fallen to the small of her back as they walked out of the east entrance together.

“It just freaks me out sometimes, you know? The whole occultism thing,” Her voice was suddenly softer than he remembered.

Typically, this disquieted nature was portrayed by him but she remained unnerved the entire walk down. Something churned in her stomach and converted her into a placid arrangement of unease. Y/N despised the corruption of any establishment but this particular subject hit her square in the chest.

He smiled down to her while they approached the rugged vehicle parked on the far end of the lot. “Occult-related homicides are a statistical anomaly. They’re highly uncommon, Y/N/N, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She nodded as she pulled the keys to her car out and passed them to him, “Can you drive?”

“Of course but only if I can pick the playlist,” He smirked, snatching the jangling keyring from where it swang on her index finger.

“No way in hell,” She giggled, “I am not listening to Bach the whole way home.”

She slipped into her seat and immediately her leg began to bounce with disarm. She tried to steady it herself as she watched Reid bend down to face her before getting in.

“I was gonna put on Brahms for your information,” His slender body folded into the front seat and he turned the key over in the ignition. Noticing her shaking leg, he reached his arm across the center console to rest on her knee as he began pulling out. It soothed under his touch and he smirked knowing exactly how to ease her even with the slightest gestures.

The base of the lamp was a wicker configuration and it flooded the room with brilliant fiery luminescence, the walls suddenly painted a pastel yellow from the warm lighting emitted from their bedside table. Along with that, illuminating the neglected contours of the room were a few white candles that burned on Y/N’s wooden bureau. Wax congregated at the foot of the tall towers of flame and spilled over the sides of the candle holder onto the wood.

The encapsulating smell of Nag Champa incense shrouded the room blending with the wafting smoke streaming from the ember-littered sage Reid’s eclectic bedmate’s hands. Y/N watched the silver scarf dance above the end of the dried bundle as it swirled around the room. Her eyes followed the smoke, eyelashes veiling her sight giving her a dark allure that Reid couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

He didn’t mind that she liked to indulge in the holistic benefits of burning herbs or the countless books she had on witchcraft and the occult. He found it charming. Although he knew when she was upset she’d do these “cleansing rituals” which really did nothing more than make their room smell like a Grateful Dead concert. She never was discomforted by the fact the unsub was utilizing occultist beliefs, she was upset at the perversion of her practice.

Of course, he was sworn to secrecy against telling the team about her hobby. She knew she’d be teased into oblivion for such an unorthodox collection of semi-precious stone, herbs, and essential oils that she claimed assisted trivial offenses. That was the aspect of her avocation Reid disagreed with.

They’d debated about it before but both were keen on their bias and so they agreed to leave the subject as an unspoken rift and move forward. Reid still found the smell of the incense suffocating especially when his migraines trickled in. She’d slip rosemary and peppermint into his tea to help his chronic condition but whenever he would catch the taste he’d beg her not to use her ‘pseudoscience’s instruction’ on him. Each time they’d get into an argument about it but eventually it’d fizzle out in sniffing apologies and fond interactions generally ensued.

“You’re really going to town on the bad juju tonight, huh?” He spoke up from behind his book. It was always strange to hear his shift in nomenclature when he left work, his vocabulary becoming relaxed and casual. He practically bathed in her relaxing aura. He would describe her the same way she describes the effects of lavender when she tried to spray some on his pillow to help him sleep.

He told her he didn’t need it as long as she was sleeping next to him and that was the first night they shared a bed. He hadn’t left her apartment since.

“I have a bad feeling about this case, Spence. I’d like to clear the negative energy from the room,” She said, waving the burning bundle of dried sage around the bed.

“The creepy ass painting you bought from the farmer’s market is still on the wall so I don’t think it’s working,” Reid laughed. She shot him a small warning glare that resulted in the two of them collapsing into hysterics.

She plopped on the bed, clutching her stomach from laughing with him as the tightening delight in her stomach began to burn. Reid was cackling, trying to make out the words, “You looked like a disgruntled care bear.” She felt relief from the laughter when his hand coiled around her waist and tucked her against his chest for safe keeping. She felt his soft lips quiet his dissipating chuckles as they pressed against her forehead.

The sage was smouldering against an abalone shell beside the bed and Reid let Y/N burn the candles throughout the night despite his heedings that it was a fire hazard. It seemed to bring serenity to her and that’s all he was concerned with.

They remained entangled like chains in a jewelry box, Reid soon enveloping her in his grasp completely. He worried that the victims looked too similar to her as he struggled to fall asleep beside her but eventually, the rhythmic movement of her breathing against him brought him enough poise to sleep.

The case dragged out across a couple of weeks stretching resources and mindsets across the vast expanse of interrogation and interviews. They sharpened the victimology down to a finite point to dig into the unsub’s plans and wrench him away from his potential choices. They were delivering the profile to the police department when Y/N noticed Reid’s hand was now tightly gripping hers instead of their usual routine.

He held their hands behind them so the crowd wouldn’t see the unprofessionalism. As each new victim was discovered resembling the woman he woke up to every morning he began feeling that same tension she’d expressed. Now, as he heard the profile, it brought an agitation to his stomach. His grip was tight and unwavering and unlike hers it didn’t shake at all. It was like he was afraid if he let her go, the unsub would be lying in wait behind them to snatch her away.

“We believe he’s a male caucasian driving a blue Ford Crown Victoria which he uses to abduct the women,” Rossi began.

“His victims are aged twenty three to twenty eight and we think he’s in the same age bracket,” Hotch continued as the soft sound of scribbling followed.

“Combining that with the fact he can synthesize LSD into a more aggressive formula suggests we’re dealing with a highly intelligent unsub with an extensive knowledge in chemistry,” Reid said monotonously despite his conflict.

“This isn’t surprising. Psychopaths often have above average intelligence. Coupled that with trauma relating to a religious mother figure who was abusive in some respect. Either his biological mother or a foster parent,” JJ nodded through her portion, her dark ocean eyes striking every gaze in motherly vivacity.

Y/N sat up, “For some reason this unsub will not engage in the killing himself. He watches the two victims kill one another under the influence of drugs and instructs them on how to mutilate one another,” she suddenly felt Reid’s hand leave hers but remained focused on the expectant faces of the precinct, “His M.O. is consistent with occult sacrifices. It's a form of homicidal voyeurism that could represent his own impotency or may be a forensic countermeasure.”

Reid lurched forward, pushing himself off of the edge of the desk and excused himself politely as he walked back toward the bathrooms. Y/N turned over her shoulder to look, her eyebrows wrought with concern but Emily’s modulated voice leashed her back into delivering the profile.

“He’s been consistently choosing his victims to coincide with the seven deadly sins. First greed where the first two victims were taken from a casino then lust. The third and fourth victims were in an online BDSM chatting room when they were lured into a threesome with the unsub where he killed them. Because of this consistency in his signature, we’ve predicted his next choice is going to be Envy,” Emily explained.

“His target location is going to be an underground swingers club. Our team and some members of the force will be undercover as security for the club. You’re looking for anyone who might complain that they’ve been roofied or look for women who seem overly intoxicated,” Morgan informed.

Y/N leaned back into the table behind her while she quickly spoke, trying desperately to rush through the profile to check on her boyfriend, “So far he’s been following the major astrological events happening in the past month. Tomorrow night is a Harvest Moon and a partial solar eclipse which fits his preference. Excuse me.”

As soon as the sentence ended she was following Reid to the bathroom. She turned behind her to see the crowd still mesmerized by the team as they briefed them and took the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed. She knew Hotch and Morgan would pester the two of them about it later but she couldn’t help it. She saw the way his face shifted to a paled green hue and how he gripped his stomach as he pushed the swinging door open.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw his oxfords poking out of the stall and the sound of retching echoed in the bathroom. Y/N ran beside him and rubbed circles into his back, feeling tears well at her waterline and threaten to spill over. She blinked them away quickly to not upset him any more. Guilt wracked her chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” She soothed and crouched beside him in the stall so that she could rest her head on his shoulder blade. She watched her hand slide across the woven knit of his cardigan, smoothing the fibers down and continued to try and calm him. She could feel him sobbing dryly, his back arching with each heave. Eventually he felt it was safe to lean back against the far wall of the stall and face her.

The skin around his eyes puckered with irritation, shining with the tears that slipped from the corners. He closed them tightly, wrinkling his face in an agonized expression while Y/N leaned forward. She rested her hands on his knees that were awkwardly sprawled in different directions in the small confides of the stall. She sat between them, tucked into herself so as to not take up too much room.

“Talk to me, Spencer,” she pleaded.

He actually decided to, exhausted by the weight of the bodies that piled in the morgue and his quivering stomach. “I’m worried about you being on this case. I don’t want you to get,” he gagged on the rest of the sentence and vomited into the porcelain bowl again.

“Baby, please stop worrying about it so much,” she was begging now as tears began to haphazardly fall onto his back. He sat up at the sensation and resumed his previous position.

His horse voice came forward now as he tried to swallow the mucus that lined his throat now. “Promise me you won’t leave my side until this case is over, okay? Until the unsub is in custody,” He asked her through his darkly adorned eyes.

“I promise,” She assured and it brought a relief to his nausea, “I have mouthwash and ginger gum in my bag. I’m gonna text Morgan to come bring me it—“

“I can walk, honey. If you tell Morgan he’ll call me something like barf boy for a week,” he chuckled and began to sit up. His legs wobbled beneath him slightly but he caught himself on her shoulders. She gripped his elbows tightly.

“You’re dehydrated, come here,” She lead him to the sink where he could wash up and rinse the taste of bile from his tongue.

Pulsating basslines berated Reid’s chest making him feel like he was choking on the loud music. He despised clubs like these dipped in technicolor animosity and relishing in the electronic stimulation the club reverberated. Each member was stationed at certain points of the room such as beside exits, the landings of stairwells, and an agent at each corner. Y/N was beside the bar vehemently watching each drink poured and handed out, ensuring no hands slipped tabs into the liquor.

Hotch’s instruction was patched in through their earpieces.

“Blonde hair, black button up in the west corner of the bar by you, Y/L/N,” Reid heard and immediately his gaze shot toward her.

She was alerted and her sight honed in on the suspect. He was analyzing the body language of the woman before him who held similar semblance to Y/N. He waited patiently for her to let her guard down and look away from her drink and he was charming her into doing it.

The girl threw her head back in laughter and he saw his opportunity presented before him. Y/N watched his meticulous hands slip a small white tablet into the amber liquid of the girl’s glass. It dissolved into a discreet poison, lacing her glass with LSD.

Then he looked at Y/N and she felt his taunting stare desecrate her sanctity. She didn’t express it, though, her stoicism making him come to the conclusion she was a cop. His eyes widened and he grabbed the startled hands of the two women beside him, one seemingly more intoxicated than the other.

“Suspect is on the move with two friendlies, agent in pursuit.” Y/N’s voice was patched through and Reid watched her bolt after the unsub as she unholstered her gun.

“Wait,” he said through the earpiece, “Y/N, wait!”

She proceeded despite his protest and chased the unsub out of the building where he began loading the girls into his car. They obeyed, the trip settling in for at least one of them. He held a gun to the sober one’s back but Y/N in a flurry of indecision charged at the unsub.

“FBI! Stop or I’ll shoot!” She warned.

He drew his gun toward her but she shot his shoulder clean making his gun fly out of his hand. The man cried out, one hand falling on the gushing wound but he closed the door before the sober woman could get in, trapping her counterpart inside. He staggered toward the driver side and ducked into the car as she began to aim her gun at him again, threatening another offense.

Y/N reached out and pulled the girl from the skidding tires as he sped off before she could even process that the other girl was trapped inside. Once she did she began trying to shoot his tires out but to no avail. The girl was sobbing in her arms now, her tears bleeding through Y/N’s shirt that peaked out from above her Kevlar.

“You’re safe now, it’s okay,” she assured, “You’ve been drugged you need to be taken to a hospital,” Y/N said and almost as if on cue, Morgan could be heard behind her calling for a bus.

JJ came and took the sniffling victim from Y/N’s care allowing Reid to grab her shoulders and spin her around to face him. He inspected her facade for any damage but she brushed him off.

“I’m fine, Spence, but the other girl. We have to find her,” She grabbed his arm as he grabbed hers and they interlocked their forearms to reinforce some affection.

“You need to stop chasing after suspects with no backup. You’re being reckless and I’m taking you home, Y/N/N.” His voice was stern and she didn’t bother protesting from the way he looked at her.

Reid was fuming on the car ride home, the whites of his knuckles highlighted even in the darkness as he gripped the steering wheel. Y/N was curled against the passenger side door, wrapped in his sweater that she pulled taught around her frame.

“Can we please not fight when we get home?” He asked suddenly, voice breaking through the silence of the car, “I don’t want you to argue with me to go back into the field. This entire case has been so draining I just need you to understand seeing you do stuff like that— it kills me.”

“I know, Spence. Are you getting a headache?” She noticed him wince as someone passed with their high beams blazing. He groaned at the exposure, pinching the bridge of his nose and nodded.

She decided to make him some tea when they got home. Preparing the mug in the kitchen, she seeped the jasmine leaves and reached inside the cupboard for the mason jars she had filled with various dried herbs. Making the tea kept her mind occupied from the disrupting guilt she reserved for not saving the other girl. It was a guilt that clamped her arteries and made even the simplest tasks seem harrowing.

She put a pinch of dried rosemary and a drop or two of peppermint extract, stirring it in with some sugar. The sound of the metal spoon scraping the bottom of the glass brought her attention back to her task.

Her fingers coiled around the warm ceramic mug and she walked it carefully into the living room where Reid laid on the couch with a pillow pulled over his eyes. She took the hint and dimmed the lights but as she set down his tea he could already smell the additives.

Coupled with the headache, he’d never become genuinely upset over her affinity for the occult until now. He sat up with exasperation and picked it up, sniffing the steam to confirm his suspicions.

“Y/N, seriously?” He asked and looked up to her but his own voice made a piercing impact on his head.

“Seriously what?” She repeated defensively.

“You know what. I honestly can’t believe you. Especially after the case we just had,” he shook his head, laying back down.

“So you’re not even gonna drink it?” She asked, her face falling to an annoyed deadpan although he couldn’t see it.

“Jesus. No. I’m not. Can you just leave me alone for right now?” He asked finally.

A twinge of hurt stabbed her chest at the request and she took the mug as he pulled the pillow back over his face. In the darkness, he could see her pained expression etched into his vision. The shuffling in their bedroom intrigued him as well and he began to realize what he’d said. It blurred the agonizing migraine and caused him to sit up only moments later to apologize.

As he stared at the empty room he was startled by the sudden creek of their door from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he only caught the tail end of her jacket as she walked out. A raucous slam followed making him wince at the sound.

I really screwed up.

Reid pushed through the shroud of pain emanating from the fluorescence of the room, reaching forward for his own coat. A ripping agony followed and he doubled over, burying his face in his palms so he wasn’t staring at the light. A groan tore through the empty apartment as he tried to rub the headache away so he could chase after her.

Following Y/N proved to be farcical in his condition and he leaned against the couch in defeat, praying she’d just step outside for some fresh air.

Y/N stomped down the street with a quivering chin like a small child, sobs tearing through any muscle or fiber holding the sound in. People on the street avoided her state awkwardly, their gazes falling to the concrete when she’d pass. Humiliation was wrought in her mannerisms but she didn’t care. He told her to leave him alone over tea. She knew his migraines were the culprit but she couldn’t stay cooped up inside. There was a girl being tortured somewhere and she was sitting at home making tea with her boyfriend? There was something unfair to her about the situation.

She heard her phone trill a few times but ignored the noise, fleeing toward a local park down the street. She decidedly plopped down in the jagged blades of grass, kicking the shoes she threw on to the side so that she could feel the ground beneath her. She wanted to be as close to the ground as humanly possible to calm herself.

Every time she’d begin to soothe her cries her phone would ring bringing another wave of distraught. Through her tears, the world was a blur of velvet indigos distrusted suddenly by a dark shadow looming over her. She gasped in reaction but that’s all he gave her time to do before she felt his hand grab her head and pull her up by her jaw, his large gloved hands covering her entire face.

His fingers were sprawled apart so she could see herself being dragged away. Something bitter slipped onto her tongue and she tried to spit it out but the unsub locked her jaw shut to force the drug to work through her system. She tried to scream but with each muffled shrill he’d tighten his grip. Her teeth involuntarily grit against each other from the force and she screamed against her lips for help.

Y/N thrashed around as much as she could before she felt a pinprick in her right arm. Then the world shifted to a darker blue until her vision was gone completely.

Waking up in a wooded field sanctioned off from society’s wandering earshot, she felt the zip tie’s digging into her ankles and wrists. The skin had swelled around the bindings, causing excruciating pain whenever she’d move. She could feel her lip bleeding from being split by someone’s fists. Suddenly, a face fell before hers and began to cut the zip ties. Why was he cutting her loose?

“Good morning, sleepy head. You… you really messed my night up, you know that?” The man asked, his hand falling to her cheek.

Instead of skin she felt the smooth sensation of latex against her. The medicinal smell filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes, pretending she was in the hospital with Spencer there instead of him.

“How…” she found it harder to speak than normal, “How did I do that?”

“Clara. I had Clara picked out. She was the perfect one but you were jealous of her. You wanted me all to yourself. Envy is a sin,” his words were venomous.

He couldn’t have been much older than her, sand colored locks that fell in soft tufts around his face. He looked like a renaissance painting with a wicked possession, his blue eyes complimented by the crimson of his bloodshot waterline. When he smirked at her his face shifted from an archangel to that of a demon, waiting to consume her whole.

Then, she noticed the shifting movement beside her. The other victim was tied up beside her and groaned as she awoke. In the darkness even, Y/N could see the girl’s pupils were dilated. She suddenly began screaming and thrashing around violently, kicking at the open air as if there were a second offender in front of her.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, there’s nothing there!” Y/N tried but the girl couldn’t hear her, only the muffled calls of her hallucinations.

“Darcy, I need you to shut the fuck up sweetie,” the unsub grimaced.

She quieted down almost immediately but still shook in fear at whatever she was seeing before her.

Y/N turned back to the man in front of her, “Let her go. You don’t want her, you want me.”

“On the contrary, I want both of you,” he seemed coherent enough but was still clearly suffering a psychotic break. Psychopaths usually hid those breaks well.

“Why?” Y/N’s gaze suddenly shot straight through his, “You’re afraid if you touch us you’ll be infected with our sin?”

She made a move to spit in his face and he jumped back, yelling and wiping his face harshly with his sleeve. “You filthy bitch! My father will love you,” a smile etched across his face.

“Your father? Where’s your father?” She looked around for a partner but no one could be seen.

“The destroyer of souls of men. He bears the torch, the herald of dawn,” He spoke in his cryptic tongue but Y/N remembered Reid reciting certain portions of the Bible and poetry regarding Lucifer.

“Your father is the devil, right? Lucifer?” She asked.

He suddenly slapped her, the latex making the blow sting that much worse. Blood trickled from her teeth down her hanging lip but she sat back up despite the pain.

“My mom used to bathe me in bleach. She cleansed me of my sins. She’d scrub the chemicals into my back and say ‘Your daddy’s the devil.’” He seemed to find some inner turmoil with his logic but continued to quote his mother in a southern accent, “‘Your daddy is satan and you were born into this world as an abomination.’”

The M.O. and signature began to align with his claims, a severe case of germaphobia which rendered him unable to carry out the murders himself. He lets his victims do it for him.

As he spoke she watched his face begin to shift and swirl into a much eviler expression. His lips coiled into a smile, his eyes narrowing into black slits and his nose sunk into his skull. He began taking the form of a horrifying wraith, horns practically splintering out of his forehead. The trees began to sway and dance despite the lack of wind and the stars in the sky melted into glowing stalagmites that threatened her toward the ground.

Everything began to distort and she felt herself descend into horror. The acid was taking effect and as the girl’s blood curdling shrieks erupted beside her she began to put her head between her knees and sob. He rubbed her hair, sighing.

“Even the warriors must crumble. You’ll bow to my god,” he stood and suddenly tangled a fistful of hair into his hands, yanking her up along with Darcy.

Shrieking as the pain visualized before her in petrifying hallucinations she was positioned before the screaming girl. The unsub instructed Darcy to take the dagger from his hand and stab Y/N. She refused, shaking her head.

“It’s ok,” Y/N assured even as the trip progressed, “It’s ok. Just do what he says, I promise it’s ok.”

Darcy bawled as she hesitantly took the dagger. She walked toward Y/N and slowly drove the knife right beside her hip bone. She groaned, her hand falling forward onto Darcy’s shoulder. “Fuck,” she moaned as the squelching sound echoed through her head.

She keeled over the agony, wrapping her arms around herself. It was harrowing to have to pressurize a wound on oneself she found. Even the slightest touch against her cut felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly. She felt the cool tip of the Unsub’s gun push her up by her shoulder. That was when she realized only one of his hands were in use. The other one was still inflicted with the gunshot she fired. If she weren’t so high she would have used that to her advantage.

With the pain came even more disillusionment. She looked down at her palms and suddenly a bloodied dagger was grasped in them. “No, no, no,” she whispered.

Darcy pleaded for Y/N not to stab her and the agent had no intention of carrying out the Unsub’s fantasy.

“Kill me yourself you coward,” she spat, “I’m not hurting her.”

“I didn’t think you’d be persuaded that easily,” suddenly a gunshot cracked through the soundscape. It rang in Y/N’s ears causing her to buckle over in pain. Nothing seemed real. Her chest felt like it would tear open at any second, freeing her palpitating heart from it’s confides.

She watched the girl’s body fall limply before her and screamed out, racing to her side. The more she looked at the corpse the worse the gore progressed. Eventually, she was staring at a demon.

“FBI! Kye Alderwood, put your hands up!” Reid’s booming voice came from across the field. When she turned to look at him, though, he wasn’t himself.

He was taller, probably eight feet tall, and his body was stretched and elongated into a bony configuration. His face twisted and melted into a horrifying facade and he charged at her. His hands were giant daggers waiting to rip into her. She didn’t see the unsub aim his gun toward her but heard another shot fired. Suddenly, another demonic corpse laid beside her.

She couldn’t fathom grabbing the gun from the unsub’s vapid hands but there she was snatching the glock from the grass it was enveloped in. She didn’t comprehend that her boyfriend was in front of her. What she was seeing was a nightmare unfolding before her. The delusions were real. It was all real.

Reid stumbled back when he saw the gun pointed at him. He thought it was a mistake but when he saw her eyes he knew she wasn’t seeing him. Her paranoia was evident as she hyperventilated and her entire frame trembled, barely able to stand. Swaying back and forth and she wept he felt himself grow sick at the sight.

“Y/N! Put the gun down, honey, it’s just me,” he pleaded.

A sob broke through her voice, “Get away from me!”

“It’s Spencer, baby,” Now he was crying, terrified she’d pull the trigger. In any other circumstance this situation would have diffused by now but the LSD in her system turned her completely hysterical.

“Leave me alone!” The words being reflected back to him just wretched his heart further.

He wasn’t even pointing his own weapon at her anymore. He stopped pointing it at her the second he recognized her. Now it was pointed askew, the barrel facing the grass beside him. Neither of them could have aimed a gun at one another in the right mindset where she didn’t reside for the time being.

Seemingly, her psychosis seemed to penetrate any affection they shared. Beads of sweat formed on her skin as she held the gun steadily toward his frame. He knew if she shot him it’d be a kill shot. She had the best aim on the team.

“Please, baby, I love you so much. Just put the gun down I won’t hurt you,” Reid persisted through it as he heard reinforcements file in behind him. He spun around, waving Morgan, Hotch, and Emily away.

“Don’t come any closer! She’s drugged, she can’t help it and I swear to God if you shoot her I’ll resign!” He warned the other agents who heeded his warning despite the alarming display before them. They still kept their guns aimed at their teammate in allegiance to the judicial implications.

Y/N’s trip began to peak, the world around her becoming unrecognizable in the heap of apparitions that surrounded her. She screamed as misshapen, flesh colored bats charged down at her, flying toward her and swatted them away.

Reid watched her pushing and swatting away imaginary attackers and took the opportunity to run toward her. She screamed and thrashed around in his arms, clawing his skin and kicking at his legs behind her.

Everything looked like bloody flesh. Every blade of grass felt like rusty nails driven through her feet. She felt like she was coiled in the death grip of an anaconda.

“Stop! Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” He tightened his grip on her and used one leg to pin both of hers against his other one. She was completely entangled in him again and the familiarity of his cologne instantly calmed her, he thought. As fell completely limp, relief deluged his psyche only to be matched with her sudden convulsions.

She slipped into a violent seizure, shaking and jarring her body as he lowered her onto the ground and to her side. Hotch and Emily fell beside him and he watched blood seep from her nose and mix with the medley of blood on her lips. He was whimpering as he tried to relax her muscles and barking orders to the others surrounding him. Eventually, her shaking form was taken by the EMTS who were already on the scene. He stood in the wake of the scene, bodies strewn about him wondering what she saw him as that terrified her so.

She was treated for an overdose in the hospital and as Reid entered her room he saw her small figure curled up on the hospital bed. He felt his heart shatter for the hundredth time that night as he floated toward her like a ghost. Placing his hand on her arm, she jumped suddenly startling him as well. He didn’t expect her to be awake so soon. if

“Jesus,” he breathed out, clutching his chest.

She flipped over to face him and couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Dork,” she said hoarsely. The way her inflection cracked made him frown in response.

“I don’t even,” he struggled to find the right words, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I tried to kill you, Spencer,” she began to recollect the happenstances, “I could have killed you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it’s going to be hard for us to get back to normal.”

“You had ten times a normal recreational dose of LSD in your system. That wasn’t you,” he assured.

She nodded softly and scooted back, patting the vacant place beside her on the hospital bed.

“I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you,” as the sentence stumbled out of his mouth he couldn’t help but start crying again.

He was surprised he didn’t bawl himself into dehydration on the way to the hospital. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, leading him down to her where he crawled beside her.

Cupping his face in her hands she felt the sticky coagulation of tears that caked his face. Pulling him toward her, their lips locked and worked against one another before completely enveloping one another in devotion.

Pulling away she caught his glassy irises with hers, “You could never hurt me. Not really,” she replied.

“But I did. I told you to leave me alone and you left and had to go through…” he decided not to bring up the trauma.

She couldn’t remember the trip itself, only what she did during it. He didn’t want to bring it up and trigger an acid flashback.

“I left because I was hurt, yeah, but you didn’t hurt me. I felt so guilty about leaving Clara with the unsub that I thought making you that tea would help me feel better. We should have just stayed in the field, maybe we could have caught him before he killed anyone,” she sighed.

Reid nodded and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then peppered the rest of her face with the same affection.

She ran her fingers over the skin on his arm and felt raised scar tissue in her wake. Looking down, bruises and scars were freckles across the pale vastness of his arm. She choked back, her hand falling to her lips.

“Did I do this to you?” She asked, her eyes glued to the cuts now.

He craved for her relief so he shook his head. “I don’t remember where I got them but it wasn’t because of you,” He lied. Realistically, she’d clawed and cut his arms until she began seizing. The cocktail of drugs in her system left him a stranger to her while she was high.

She nodded, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“There’s no way we could have known. I need you to not blame yourself for this because if you do I won’t be able to live with myself. This wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he snaked his arms around her waist carefully, avoiding her bandages.

“I know, I know,” she sighed and nestled into the crook of his neck, “I promise I won’t make you anymore occultist migraine tea.”

He pulled his chin from resting at the top of her head to look at her. He suddenly cupped her cheeks now and made sure she understood.

“Please, never stop making me migraine tea again,” he said before pulling her into a kiss again.

FULL SUMMARY:

Reid and Reader are dating when a case involving the occult dredges up turmoil between the happy couple. The case being difficult enough, the resemblance between the Reader and the victims leaves Reid uneasy. After Reader disrupts the Unsub’s routine she becomes a target. After Reid fights with the Reader because of a migraine, she is taken hostage by unsub and is drugged with LSD and nearly shoots Spencer while tripping.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Kyle

Kyle thinks about this trip he and Solar got into on autopilot again. It was a real trip -- way out into the tropics, past the range of optical and audio sensors that those sorts of things use, into the tropics they went, then down into the ocean floor where all manner of huge things lay buried. But it was a trip, and not a bad one, and every so often Kyle would pause and think about the way he had gotten there. This new place was new in every respect -- it was brown and sandy and covered in weird little organisms, like the shore around Boston, and it also had a stratosphere and a surface temperature of (what seemed like) absolute zero.

And the trip ended -- all of a sudden -- at a huge structure, a city wall or something, made of what looked like pure carbon. And the thing that made the city wall out of carbon was a machine which had been built to extract carbon from the atmosphere. And that machine was powered by this enormous structure, which was perhaps several miles long.

Of course, the machine was a hypothesis -- a hypothesis whose results had to be explained by a further machine. But that new machine was in a lab on the other side of the city, and as far as Kyle could tell, the lab was silent. That made sense -- as far as he knew, the machine was a specter, a thing without a name. But there were people down here, and he was suddenly curious.

So he dropped down into the structure, down into the bedrock. It was cold down there. He shivered, and that made his clothes bunch up. Then he saw something startling: there was a whole city down there, covered in icicles.

He thought: "Oh, thank God, I'm not the only one."

•

Right: an icicle, in its natural habitat.

This thing, this research facility, was composed of interconnected rooms. All of the rooms were of the same basic type. They had a sort of glass enclosure around them. And inside the enclosure were glass walls. Not exactly solid glass. The borders of the glass walls were filled with fog, a fog that made the inside of the rooms seem larger than they were. But there was no mistaking the size of the rooms even when they were viewed from outside.

The rooms had no ceilings. Up in the dome, at the top of the structure, there were three great round openings, the only ones in all the place. And out of those openings there were beautiful chandeliers, made of very shiny, very thick glass. All the time, there was music, music from some place else, playing on the chandeliers. Sometimes it was Mozart, or Beethoven, or some Bach piece Kyle had never heard before, or pieces he'd never even heard of.

There was a woman in a white apron in one of the rooms. She was talking to a man in a lab coat, who was standing next to a long table, where there were some kind of robotic instruments. He was clearly a kind of [machine-image]-automaton who thought that the talk-woman was talking to him, for some reason. The apron-woman was [blank] -- she had been created by [blank] and [blank].

Around one of the round openings, there was a circular table, where some kind of [date-table] sat. Kyle thought he could see the sun setting through the dates on the table, or some such thing. It was all very beautiful and symbolic.

There was a woman in a white apron in the next room. She was talking to a man who Kyle assumed was [blank] -- but not the same [blank] who was talking to the [date-table] guy. This man was probably [blank], too. There were many beautiful things in this place.

Then there was a tall, thin woman with short red hair in one of the other rooms. She was talking to some [blank] in a white apron room. Kyle was [blank]'d up, and could only make out a few words.

"I'm sorry," Kyle said. (He took out his phone and made a Facebook post.) "I was in this thing all night, I just went to the bathroom, and I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get some more Facebook." He scrolled down. Lots of his old friends -- including "Coraline" -- were talking about the new movie. "No way," he thought. "It's the real deal."

Of course it wasn't -- and he knew it. But it was starting to look that way, with the icicles still twining around the openings to the dome. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any more, the creaking of the dome eventually woke him up.

The windows were open now.

Kyle was suddenly, shockingly aware that he was naked. He had been for years, he knew that now. His white apron had been there for even longer. But something in him suddenly felt totally different.

He sat up. He looked at his hands. They were cold. His hair was damp and matted against his forehead. He looked at the ceiling. It was cold and had no paint on it.

He got up. He walked out of the dome. It was early morning, and the streets were less crowded than usual for this time of day. Some of the sidewalks were even clean. It was finally spring, and everything felt new.

He thought about his life for a while. He was a boy, an only child who grew up to be a real estate agent. He had four siblings. He had a mother who had always known he was weird but hadn't said anything when she found out. She had died of cancer when he was twenty-seven. His father was a drunk who had never loved him, and had cheated on his mother with his ex-wife. (She was a lot more loveable than her ex-wife, though. Kyle never felt like he had a real relationship with his father at all.) His mother had despised him for his father's sins and done her best to prevent him from ever seeing him.

He had been a nerd all his life. He had been brilliant at school, which was why he had been an only child. He had been terrible at most other activities, and at the age of twenty-two had been homeless, living in a computer lab at a city university while he tried to round up donations for a scholarship for gifted children. He had founded an organization called Help for Heroes, which had given him a work-based job at a local software company.

After he got that job he decided to go on a hiking trip through the American West with his mother. He was going to visit her mother's old cabin, which was in one of the counties that hadn't been conquered by the white people. He imagined it had been a lovely place, a place of winding paths through the woods, where the elders would come to rest after a hard day's work.

He got there and was surprised to find that everything in the cabin looked as it did in the pictures. The stairs were made of cedar, and the walls were cedar, and the windows were cedar. He climbed several steps and finally saw the door. There was a horseman in front of it, watching him.

He stepped through. There was a fire, and a pot of coffee, and some bread. A bearded, middle-aged woman was sitting at the table. He didn't understand a word. She asked him if he was Allright. He said yes. She said her daughter wanted to know if he wanted some bread and coffee. She said that she would get it to him.

She came back with the bread and coffee, which tasted like something he had never tasted before. Then she brought it to him, and he ate it with a smile on his face. She asked him how everything tasted,

[365days365movies]

February 26, 2021: Love Story (1970) (Part 1)

Why Love Story? I mean...to be fair...

Yeah, anyway, it is a love story, and this is Romance February, so...yeah, kinda need to watch this one for that reason alone. And, unsurprisingly, this film is considered one of the best romance films of all time, landing number 9 on the AFI list of best romances, and being nominated for Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actor, Original Screenplay, and Score...and winning ONLY Score. GODDAMN, that’s a hell of a loss! What did it lose to for Best Picture?

OOOOOOH, Patton? Yeah, that’ll do ya. Haven’t seen that movie yet, but it’s on my list for this year. OK, what about Director? Oh, that’s Patton, too. Actor? Also Patton. Actress? Women in Love. Huh. Never heard of that one. OK, Original Screenplay? ALSO PATTON? Jeez.

One more thing before I start. How the hell is Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” that popular on this site?

Because finding GIFs for this movie has been HAAAAAARD. Geez. But OK, let’s get started, shall we? Let’s see if this film is indeed a Love Story that’ll last until the end of time! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We open with a beautiful piano score, and a question: what can you say about a 25-year-old girl who died? Well, I can guess where this is headed.

We start with an interaction between Harvard “preppie” student Oliver Barrett IV (Ryan O’Neal) and quippy, working-class, Radcliffe student Jennifer “Jenny” Cavalleri (Ali MacGraw), as they argue about a book, which immediately segues into a coffee date.

It is at this point that the GF decided that she loved this relationship, as it’s basically the tsundere-loves-tsundere story that fuels her. Which I get, because the two very quickly fall in love with each other, and I also like it. He invites Jenny to a college game against Dartmouth, and she ends up accepting the invitation. I have comments on Harvard and hockey, but I tend to go off on tangents, so I’ll keep it calm. I mean, it’s not like they’re going up against Cornell, my alma-mater.

...Oh wait. Yes, they are. WELL LET’S DO THIS

Cornell and Harvard have a legendary relationship in general, but especially in terms of hockey. Look, take this from a Cornell alumnus: we SUCK at sports, but hockey? Oh, we’re fuckin’ GREAT at hockey. But that comes with a price: rivalries. Back in the day, the biggest one was with Boston University, and another major one with Colgate, but no, no, the rivalry that takes the cake is our rivalry with Harvard, those preppies.

See, the oldest and youngest Ivy League schools have an old-ass rivalry, most owing to elitist principles from Harvard students of days olde. They thought that Cornell had lower academic standards, and were a lower-quality school, WHICH WE ARE FUCKING NOT, ya grade inflationary...anyway. In 1973, a game took place at Harvard between the two, and a chicken was thrown onto the ring. This chicken was a symbol of Cornell’s agricultural and life sciences school, now called CALS (WHICH I WENT TO), as it was a publicly funded institution, rather than the private schools. Dude threw it at a goalie, and Cornellians were RIGHTFULLY PISSED OFF.

So, what did the Big Red boys do?

FISH.

Oh, yeah, they threw a BIG OL’ DEAD FISH at the next home game. A BUNCH of them, actually Some thought that it was a commentary on the fact that Harvard was close to Boston, a harbor town, or a connection to the New England fishing industry at large. But, uh...no...they did it because fish are smelly. Not exactly a red-letter moment for the intellectual subtlety of Cornelians, BUT NEVERTHELESS. 

This began a tradition. Amidst the chants and glorious taunts thrown back and forth between the two teams and their fans, chicken and fish would be thrown on the rink during and after games, and it got SO BAD that they legit check you for fish when you enter a game at Cornell. Joke’s on them, though; I threw Swedish fish. HA! Also, somebody still managed to get away with a fish at every game, and they were always BIG-ASS fish, too. Never been to a Harvard game at Harvard, though. One of these days...I’ll make it to represent the Big Red. There’s far more to this rivalry, but you can read about it right here if you want.

Anyway, back to the movie. Cornell wins (HA! GOO STAAHT THE CAAAAAAAAAR!!! Sorry, that’s...that’s an anti-Harvard chant made by the Lynah Faithful. That’s the name for Cornell Hockey fans. See, Lynah - I’ll shut up now). At the game is his father, Oliver Barrett III (Ray Milland), and they don’t have the best of relationships. He’s trying to push Oliver to go to law school, be it at Harvard or Cornell (and we have a fantastic NOPE. SHUTTING UP).

Back at Harvard, we also get a glimpse of Jenny’s relationship with her father, whom she calls by his first name, and their relationship is FAR better. He reveals to her his contempt for his father and his expectations. They study together, which turns into a discussion about Jenny’s reticence to admit her feelings and attractedness towards him, although Oliver’s already done so. 

That turns into a tender moment where Jenny admits her feelings, and the two kiss. Said kiss becomes a night together, and she compares him to Bach and Mozart, and the Beatles. We also learn that she’s not very religious, believing that a world that gives her music and Oliver couldn’t be surpassed. Which is...a beautiful sentiment, goddamn.

They continue their relationship, to the mild annoyance of Oliver’s housemates (including a young Tommy Lee Jones), and she tells Oliver that she loves him. They frolic in the snow together, in yet another wonderfully sweet montage.

After one of her piano recitals (she’s a music study major), she reveals that she’s got a scholarship to go and study to Paris, which upsets Oliver greatly, Their short argument reveals that Oliver wishes to marry her one day soon, which delights her, me, and the GF. But she’s worries that their clashing economic backgrounds will divide them too much, as well as their potentially different paths. Still, she accepts his proposal, and they become engaged.

Soon enough, he drives her through Boston to meet his parents, who live on a BIG-ASS ESTATE, GODDAMN. It’s a lot, seriously, holy shit. The mansion is HUGE. And dinner goes...well, Jenny thinks that it goes all right, but Oliver can see that his parents are looking down on her and her socioeconomic status.

Jenny sees how much Oliver genuinely dislikes his father, and questions whether or not Oliver wishes to marry her because he’s rebelling against his father. He denies this, but his father would seem to agree. At a private dinner with his father, it’s confirmed that he’s been accepted to law school. However, his father threatens to cut him off of his inheritance if Oliver marries Jenny. Oliver, enraged, leaves the dinner.

This causes a massive issue, given the fact that Barrett’s going to Harvard Law School, which is NOT CHEAP. He speaks to the Dean (Russell Nype) about getting a scholarship, post-disownment. After much struggling and confusion, they make a deal about the whole situation.

Next up is a visit to Cranston, Rhode Island, to visit Jenny’s father Phil Thompson (John Marley). His father loves him pretty much immediately, and is enraged by Oliver III’s actions in disowning his father. On a related note, I love Phil. He seems like a great guy. There’s a bit of a clash when they reveal that they’re both atheistic at this point, and don’t plan to have the ceremony in a church. But he accepts it pretty quickly.

The two get married at the college, with very few attendants. They recite poetry to each other, with Oliver reciting Walt Whitman, and with Jenny reciting Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who was mentioned in an earlier conversation between the two. They’re married, and the GF is in love with the whole movie at this point. I’m inclined to agree.

Halfway point! See you in Part 2!

[vangoddamn]

Lemon world

Warning: none :) fluffy and soft Van!!

Prompt: the reader is introverted and enjoys classical music and those calm stuffs while Van is extroverted and had a taste completely different from hers, and that they are trying hard to like each other taste?? @steveproblems

--------

People always were confused by our pairing. In all honesty so was I, Van was perfect in every way. He loved people and crowds and had a passion for a busy life and an energetic profession. However you, an introverted English teacher, with a love for the arts and the classics, were not. You had a soft spot for Mozart's Sonata in C and unfortunately Van ever since your long life friend Bob introduced you both.

You'd always tried to relate and enjoy his interests and you could tell he did too. That was why you were sat in your shared living room reading little women and listening to Miles Davis on vinyl to calm your nerves. The band were having a party at our apartment tonight and to say you were on edge was an understatement and a half.

"Baby, I'm gonna go get some more drinks, you comin?" Van asked me, walking up to where I was snuggled up stroking my cheek with his finger, relaxing me finally.

"sure" replying with a kiss to his hand. He could probably tell I was nervous for tonight, so he lifted me up walking me out of our flat. It was late afternoon, around rush hour so as we walked away from the roads into the park path I could finally hear myself think again. It was October so the air was chilled making you glad you had the trench coat Van had gifted you for you birthday.

"so, what can I do to make tonight easier for you" His hand squeezed mine a little tighter as he spoke and it made my heart ache a little. I couldn't help wish I was what he wanted.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, it's just nerves, honest." I tried to persuade him.

"hey, next week I'll take you to that gallery you wanted to see"

"you don't need to do that" I laughed half-heartedly, knowing full well he'd hate every second of it.

-----

The music was loud and the drink in my hand wasn't really strong enough to weaken my anxieties. I knew it wouldn't last forever so I swallowed it down, walking over to Bob hoping to have a conversation that may just calm me dow. 

He was with Benji and a couple people a vaguely recognised from tours. I sat myself in the corner of the sofa next to Bob smiling when he acknowledged me. I'd met Van through Bob, being mates with him for years before the band, he was the only one who wasn't surprised that I fell for him.

"heya, your enjoying the party then" he teased resting an arm round my shoulders, calming me down like old times.

"you have no idea" before I knew the conversation was involving many people and I forgot my anxieties for a moment and joined in. It might've partially been due to my tipsy state, but mostly down to the fact their conversation including the subject of Van someone I'd never get tired of hearing about

It became apparent early on that we really were very different people, but then again sometimes we weren't. It was the way that behind closed doors he was so tender and careful not to hurt me, as if I was precious to him. And the feeling was reciprocated, we appreciated each others passions and although they were on slightly different scale he appreciated it none the less. Something I'd never found in a partner before.

He was always trying to take an interest in me and what I was doing even if I knew he wouldn't understand, or just wouldn't relate. His gentle ways and tender love made me addicted to him in every way and now far down in the relationship I even enjoy some of his music taste. It may not be Bach's sixth symphony, but I could indulge in the odd 'the kooks' track and was slightly partial to 'the national'.

On Sunday evenings he might even slip next to me and duet on the piano in our shared music room. And sometimes, listening in on him in the shower I'd occasionally hear him hum along to Debussy's 'clare de lune'. The fact was that we tried for each other and most of the time it paid off.

"y/n, are you ok?" Benji was knelt in front of me passing a drink into my hand rubbing my arm.

"sorry, wow I think I just spaced out there" I laughed off, it was a regular occurrence when I was drunk to became lovelorn over Van, even before I'd plucked up the courage to profess my undying love towards him.

Benji pulled me towards the middle of the room where people were dancing, twirling me around and dancing. Well that's what we'd have called it, but it was now where near strictly come dancing level, or even club standard in our state.

Vans mates where always very understanding, and after many tours with them, they knew how to calm me down. See I wasn't an uptight person, not snooty or even proud. It was always just hard to completely relax sometimes, especially with people I didn't know.

So me and Benji danced the night away, until Van found us half way through stealing me away from his grasp. Everything was dying down now, being two in the morning, most people had left. The people that did remain were either passed out on the floor or were awaiting a taxi.

The mix of alcohol and Vans arms wrapped around your waste in a slow dance made you calm. When you breathed his musty smell of cigarettes and alcohol it made you feel fuzzy inside and melt like butter.it made you glad he had a tight grasp of your body, holding you tight against his chest.

You were now slightly rethinking the whole party situation, see if there was no party you wouldn't be listening to Van hum along to lemon world in the middle of your kitchen.

"maybe parties aren't all that bad.." my head was securely nestled in his neck and I could feel his smile radiate through me as I mumbled I to him.

"that mean I don't have to go to that gallery" he laughed half heartedly, knowing it would wind me up, causing me to wack his chest. "Only jokin sweets, I couldn't of anything more exciting..."

I pulled away scowling firmly before he shocked me further "sexy, right, you looking at paintings.." he looked out into the distance behind me pulling a face in-between mocking and concentration as if he were trying to imagine it.

"your a dirty liar, and I hate you" I grumbled after snuggling back to his embrace, with which he let out a small laugh and squeezed me tighter.

"you love me really"

And I did.

"ugh, you wish"

A/n: I really hope this was ok, it took me a while to figure out how to do this and I still don't know if it did your request justice! Anyway hope it was enjoyable my lovelies xx Em

[m0rgrugyn]

so i had to write a short story for english and my cosmos bro gave me the great inspiration of writing about gay sirens killing men

The Visitor (aka a very cringe story that was way gorier than intended)

Albert was hungry. He had been for days. He was so hungry that he’d considered eating his legs. He would have, too, if it weren’t for his one ounce of common sense telling him that he’d die of blood loss.

His sailing ship, the Mary Rose, had been ransacked by pirates a week beforehand. His entire crew had been drowned, including his first mate, Hector. The pirates had stolen all the gold and food on the ship and left him to starve.

Despite all this, the only thing that had left him in a bad mood was the lack of food. He couldn’t have cared less about his shipmates, especially Hector. That man was a bother. Publicly, of course, he claimed him as his best friend, but privately Albert wanted nothing to do with him.

He’d spent most of the past week moping around in his cabin, feeling sorry for himself. In fact, at present he was so engrossed in his misery (‘Left on deck to starve! I ask you, couldn't they have had the decency to at least leave me a chef?’) that he barely noticed the thickening fog around him, and he certainly didn’t notice his ship drawing closer to the craggy rocks of the island up ahead...

Nearby, behind the rocks so dangerously facing Albert, two young women sat on a rug, eating from a picnic basket, happily holding hands and conversing. Or so you’d think.

This happy couple, seeming so innocent, were simply a diluted version of the creatures underneath. Hiding behind this mask of youth were two immortal spirits, old as time itself and with voices purer than anything you’ve heard in Mozart or Beethoven or Bach.

The Sirens, as you may know them, were far from young. They were also far from innocent. They’d killed more men than any other monsters, a fact they liked to brag about when they met people who were either somehow not affected by their song, deaf or just plain dense.

These occasions, however, were rare. They suspected that the sailors on the ship now approaching would be no different to the regular mortals they met. There'd been one arrival earlier named Hector, who called himself ‘Aromantic’ and claimed that it made him invulnerable to the entrancing noises of the Sirens’ singing.

Whether this was true they didn’t know and didn’t much care, but they’d let him leave, impressed by the willpower of the young man. He certainly had a future.

They’d had to laugh, and had done so many times, at the irony of the men who came rushing toward their island with hopes of finding and wooing the owners of such compelling voices. There had been a fair few instant proposals of marriage.

The Sirens had been questioned many times as to how they ever found happiness on an island with no men. To this they responded by laughing and kissing the other’s cheek. The look on the faces of those men when they realised! It was priceless. Of course, they never lasted long afterwards.

The approaching ship was becoming visible through the mist, and so the Sirens raised themselves from their comfortable seats and began to sing.

They raised their voices higher and higher, searching for the frequency that spoke most to their visitor. They sang a song of hope, of sorrow, every conceivable emotion blended into one and poured through the lips of the two young women on the shore.

It was not long before Albert heard their tune and, being already rather drunk on the few beer bottles left behind on the ship, was entranced immediately. He took the helm of his vessel and steered it unthinkingly towards the nearby rocks.

Albert threw the anchor from his boat into the depths of the sea with a mighty roar rather unbecoming of such a generally laid-back, even lazy person. The man, who’d never done a day’s exercise in his life, leapt off the side of the boat and began to swim towards the island.

The Sirens heard him approach and sang louder, for they knew they’d struck on a fitting tune.  They watched the man climb desperately up the side of the island, weeping uncontrollably - that was the extent of the Sirens’ power. ‘Snack time,’ snickered one.

The man cried in delight at finding the makers of the music. He blustered towards them in his usual manner, shouting ‘Good ladies of the beautiful island on which I stand, pray lend me a place to stay, for I have been journeying so long-’

But he never got to finish his rather wordy speech (he was always one for unnecessary extravagance), for at that moment the two Sirens grinned at each other and descended on their unwitting lunch.

From that moment onwards, Albert Weston was no more. The Sirens would certainly be eating well today.

One grinned, ‘I heard he was a real heavy drinker,’ she said ‘he’d certainly have been persistent if we’d let him. Wasn’t he the one Hector told us about, darling?’

‘I think so. Imagine if he were so persistent, he came back to haunt us!’

But really, she knew he was gone forever.

i hate that closing sentence but it was one of the requirements of the story to end with ‘he/she knew it was gone forever’ and i couldnt think how else to do it

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. After “I’ve gotta be me”. Uma looks around nervously)

Uma: I really hope nobody in there heard that

Ben: nah, don’t worry, I shielded and soundproofed is from them

Uma: surprisingly thoughtful, uhhhh, aheh, at this point I usually call you derogatorily by your last name

Ben: Le Roi. Well legally it’s Bach. But officially it’s Le Roi

Uma: Benjamin. Florian. Le Roi. Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds?

Ben: and your last name would be

Uma: Facillier. She doesn’t have a last name

Ben: ah.

Uma: oh. Oh my.

Ben: what’s up? Oh. Yeah he does that.

Uma: s’clever.

Ben: that’s Doug for you

Uma: why am I interested by that

Ben: we’re eighteen. And therefore weak to his power.

(They’re watching Doug eat a bowl of peanuts with just his tongue. Ben snaps out of the stupor first)

Ben: moving swiftly onwards. Hit me

Uma: heh?

Ben: hit me, sock me one, deck me, gimme a knuckle sandwich. Any variations the phrase retains the same meaning. Punch me in the face.

Uma: why?

Ben: I’ve got a theory I wanna test out.

Uma: but aren’t you...

Ben: ...more powerful then you? Yes. So make sure to give it you’re all then. C’mon, cahmon. C’mon, cahmon. HitmehitmehitmehitmehitmeWOOOO

(Uma slogs him around the face do hard he flips horizontally in midair and lands flat on his back right next to where the gazebo was. A full three feet away)

Uma: Z’that what you wanted?

Ben (utterly jubilant): as a matter of fact. Yes

Uma: so now what? Gonna Tell the missus?

Ben: nope. I’m gonna offer you a job.

Uma: ahahah that’s funny. I thought you said you were offering me a job?

Ben: I figure. If you put that much effort punching me. You’ll put the same effort into protecting me.

Uma: n-no, no, you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to hate me. I had you kidnapped. I almost had you thrown to sharks. I hypnotised you. I almost capsized your stinking yacht. And you wanna give me the job of protecting you? Who the fuck does that?!?! For all you know I could do that again?

Ben: now why would you do that when our interests align? Besides the fact that I forgive you. I want to get kids off the island. You want to get kids off the island. What better way to do that then by working together? And yeah. You could probably do that again. But I’m willing to take that chance.

Uma (as Ben’s saying all this, and devolving into tears): no, no, shut up I your forgiveness that’s not how it’s supposed to go you’re supposed to hate just like I hate her will you SHUT UP

Ben: ooh. (Through a Cheshire Cat grin) Finally

(She’s skewered Ben in the stomach with her sword. He smiles, bends the blade in half, pulls it out of him and throws it upwards. He leaps up ten foot in the air and gives it a flying kick, shattering it into a chunky powder. He lands next to Uma, conjures an umbrella, pulls her close and lifts the umbrella over them just as the powder lands on their heads. In response she blasts him away with magic. What follows is a very violent, very acrobatic duel that trashes the garden, obliterates what’s left of the gazebo and Harry, gives Uma a broken arm, Ben a broken nose and leaves both of them missing a foot each. As a form of foreshadowing, throughout the entire fight the instrumental for “superhero” plays)

Uma: god I hope you’re happy

Ben: I am actually. Cause now I know I’m right

Uma: what?

Ben: we are both almost perfectly evenly matched. My twelve months of sheer power with your eighteen years of practice and look what we managed to do?

Uma: give your future sister in law a coronary?

Ben: fight to a stalemate. Please? For six months. You’ll get paid to yell at people and beat them up if necessary

Uma:...no

(This is when “superhero” happens. After the song Ben starts fixing the garden)

Uma: ok then. Let’s say I did take the job? Wouldn’t one of your own be more trustworthy?

Ben: Jane’s still in school. Lonnie’s going off to college with Gil next year and she was only filling in for the summer anyway. And Doug’s my major-domo. So can’t choose them even if I wanted to.

Uma: and the other three?

Ben: conflict of interest. Carlos is legally my son and he’s also still in school. Mals my fiancé and Evie’s her sister. So again. No go.

Uma: couldn’t you...

Ben: duplicate myself and have him as my bodyguard? I could. But then I’d be breaking my promise to my mother

Uma: huh?

Ben: she was ok with me having magic so long as I legitimately practiced it, didn’t use it for schoolwork, didn’t use it for paperwork, didn’t use it for personal gain, and it didn’t give my subjects cause to worry. For a year at least

Uma: personal gains the best part of magic though

Ben: last time a king used the power he’d been afforded for personal gain...well. You grew up in the result so telling you wouldn’t achieve anything

Uma: oh. But...

Ben: I could use my magic to quicken the relocation? Like I said. Paperwork, personal gain, worrying the subjects. It’s definitely something that needs to happen. But I’m not taking shortcuts because it needs to be done properly and through the correct channels.

Uma: well that’s bullshit. Wait. What was all that fighting singy thing for then?

Ben: loophole

Uma (snickering): oh beasty boy you are perfect

Ben: why thank you kindly captain

Uma (flatly): Don’t push it

Ben: ok, ok

Uma: I’m serious though. The best part about magic is that you can do anything you want

(This is when “everything is not what it seems” happens. After the song they go back into the house to find it in chaos. Doug has Cj in a full Nelson with her head near the lit stove. Elsa’s downing an entire bottle of sambuca. Evie’s preventing Harriet and Hades from trying to patch up Harry. Mal has stuck Hadie to the sofa so he can’t help Harry. Jane’s drunkenly yelling about how much she loves her friends. Carlos is on Jay’s back, Celia and Dizzy are hanging off Jay’s arms and all four are chanting “kill her” at Doug. Lonnie’s eating a sloppy joe omelette and watching the events unfold intently. Gil is swirling round a smoothie. He notices them first)

Gil: oh you’re back. Finally. D’you wanna...?

Ben: yeah. Um...ooh. Yes that’s it. Uma. Take half of this sceptre and follow my lead

(He snaps his own, collapsible sceptre in half, hands one of those halves to Uma, jumps onto the kitchen island, helps Uma up and together they spin each half until they make a high pitched screeching sound that makes the chaos stop)

Ben: could all my friends please come over to my side

Uma: alright you useless fuckers, SIDDOWN!!!!

Ben: now, what happened

Uma: yeah ceej, what did you do?

Cj: why do you assume I did anything when it was clearly this heterosexual imbecile

Uma: cause I know you kid, since you were five in fact, so I know it was probably your doing

Ben: what happened Doug?

Doug: she insulted Evie and I in our own house, belittled our relationship and tried to stab me in the head with a rotisserie blade. And I f that wasn’t bad enough

Evie: she called me a traitor and slapped me around the face

Doug: and that is how the situation you walked in on transpired.

Cj: bald faced lies

Uma: eh I believe it. What about you beasty boy?

Ben: sounds airtight

Cj: I cannot and refuse to believe that

Uma: that I believe him over you? Well get used to kiddo. Ya just like Harry, no matter how much ya try to deny it

Ben: one question tbough. How are you a traitor

Mal: oooh yeah, you dunno do you? It’s ugly. Just like every Hook in existence

Evie: if everyone must know. When I was fourteen she flirted with me. And I turned her down

Cj: her mother braINWASHED HER

Everyone except for her siblings: shut up!

Evie: I turned her down. Because. A. I’m straight. And. B. Even if I wasn’t, I have higher standards then filthy pirates

Ben: were you rude?

Evie: pardon?

Ben: were you rude? Sometimes you can be a little bit rude.

Evie: if I remember correctly my exact words were “I’m very sorry but my gang sent me on a mission so I must go”

Ben: that was very polite

Evie: thank you. Plus. I even withheld the information from Grimhilde cause I know she wouldn’t take it well.

Cj: What has that got to do with anything?

Evie: Quinn Harts

(The room seems to grow colder as hades and the Vks, including the hooks, all look at each other uneasily)

Cj: oh. So it’s not because you’re

Evie: homophobic? God no. It was incompatible orientation pure and simple.

Cj (chuckling nervously now because the eggs on her face): but you see I thought

Doug: all straight people are jackasses? Quite a few are. But Evie and I aren’t. If we’re being wholly honest. Your sexuality is literally the only thing I respect about you. If you weren’t a pirate I might’ve even introduced you to my cousin Sadie. But you’re an asshole. So I won’t

Ben: good to hear that’s all cleared up

Evie: we are as well. Now. You three. Get the fuck out of my house. You stray bitches have been here too long. I’m sure there’s a nice posture ruining rock outside for you to sleep on

Harriet: we’re family

Hadie: actually. No. You and straw girl aren’t our family. Harry is. But not you.

Evie: nah. He can piss off too. I’m still waiting for a dna test. Until then. He can rot from the inside for all I care.

Mal: even when the test is confirmed he can still rot. (Uma scowls at her) What? It’ll be funny

Elsa: Jay. C’mere. Would it be completely out of the question for you to replicate your previous spell.

Jay: uhhhh....No. But I’d need a living conduit. Like a performer.

Hadie: I’ll do it. The party’s dying and that won’t do. What? I’m a disciple of Dionysus. Partying is literally my job description.

Elsa: as well as loose morals.

Hadie: harsh much?

Jay: she means you sleeping around with any dude that looks at you nicely. Ready

Hadie: fire away

Jay: To get rid of these ants in their pants/I command thee all to get up and dance. Again

(This is when “shut up and raise your glass” happens. After the song everyone but Hadie, Jayand Elsa looks very disgruntled)

Mal: seriously? Again? That’s like twice in one hour

Jay: had to be done. And it’s of my professional opinion that every time you guys get uppity I’m gonna help instigate an impromptu rave

Ben: well it worked. And it was funny. So two birds one stone. Now. I believe Doug and Evie asked you three to leave

Harriet: ya cannae do that man. Ya don’t have the authority

Doug: ok then. Get out of our house. NOW!

Harry: no I. I don’t think we will.

Celia: get out. Or I’ll throw you out.

Cj: you and what army?

Celia: this one

(Here is glow fuchsia and the wall is washed down in shadows)

Harriet: d’ya really think I’m scared of a little girl like you?

Ben: to hell with this. May I?

Doug: please

Ben: thank you. (He jumps off the kitchen island, lifts Harriet off the ground by her coat collar with one hand, morphs his face into that of a beast and screams in her face) GET OOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!

(There’s a moment of deathly quiet. Harriet whimpers. There’s a sound like a leaky faucet. And Ben morphs back to his human face which now bears a look of disgust)

Ben: did you just...?

Harriet: it’s been a really stressful day with no let up

Ben: uh-huh. (He drops Harriet on the floor and turns to his brother) Gil, buddy, uh

Gil (stony faced): burn the shoes then burn them again then throw them out.

Ben: on it

(He poofs out. Celia turn to Doug and Evie)

Celia: my turn?

Evie: yup. But don’t break the glass

Celia: perfect (she grabs Harriet by the back of her coat) out ya go rummy. (She throws her towards the window making her dissipate into shadow before contact). I’ve wanted to do this for years (she slaps Harry around the face, he too turns into shadow) buh bye you fatuous egotist (she pulls Cj’s hair and the final pirate disappears into smoke) that felt good

Uma: where did you put them?

Celia: eh don’t worry. I put them in the nautilus. Now. Shall we crack on with the party?

Everyone but Uma: HEAR HEAR

(Mal inches over to Jane and Lonnie)

Mal: what do you say we get some air for a while

(They nod and two minutes later they’re all on the bench laughing their asses off about certain unsavoury topics)

Lonnie (crying due to laughter but still trying to speak): all I’m saying is going to my grans seventieth in my ROAR uniform is nothing compared to you and Ben and his you know what

Mal (in the same state as Lonnie): its still pretty damn funny though

Jane: my mother should be here

(The other two stop laughing)

Mal: I know hon

Jane: but if she were here she’d complain. “Leave room for Jesus”. “Time for the lobster quadrille”. “I know you can now but you shouldn’t drink when you have guests”. The only ones I wanted to invite are here. Plus the four stooges. And she didn’t even show up to the party she made me have!

Lonnie: oooh please can I call the squid a stooge M? Pretty please with merlot on top?

Mal: you shouldn’t really be calling her a squid or a stooge. But if you do. Ok not responsible for what happens to ya.

Lonnie: fine.

Mal: now Janey. What say you we try and get all these annoyances out huh?

Jane: errrr...I’m game if you are.

Mal: perfect. (She gets up, goes to the midpoint between the bench and the gazebo and magically constructs a model version of Verna) now. What do you wanna say to her?

Jane: I ha...I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.

Mal: it’s ok bud.

Lonnie: could uh could music help? Possibly?

Jane: it might. I dunno.

Mal: shall we try it?

Jane: yes. And uh. You can vent too, I mean, if you want.

Lonnie and Mal: well alright then

(Mal clicks her fingers, a copy of Maleficent and Fa Li appear and music starts up. This is when “you don’t own me happens”. After the song they look and feel better. That’s when they hear Evie scream a profanity and a slap rings out from the kitchen)

Mal (heaving a heavy sigh): and once again. Chaos reigns supreme.

Lonnie: I’ll stay with Jane. You go.

Mal: I’ll send Hadie out to keep you company

(She goes back inside just in time for Evie to stalk past her. Hades is on the floor with a slightly shocked expression, a handprint on his face and he’s apologising profusely to Doug)

Mal: you got it down here? (Doug nods). Good. I’ll go kick her head into gear.

(She heads upstairs. Doug turns to back to Hades)

Hades: I’m so sorry my boy, I was just trying to help, if I caused——

Doug: yeah, no, my opinion of you doesn’t matter. Only Evie’s does. I want to ask you a question.

Ben: uh. Doug. Can I eat what’s left in the freezer? Only I can smell somethings about to go out of date

Doug: yeah sure. There only meat products in it. Go crazy. But please please mute the chewing.

Ben (brightly): thank you!

Hades: what is it you want to know

Doug: Maleficent

(Up in the guest room. Evie enters in a huff and slams the door to show Mal hiding behind it)

Mal (sardonically imitating a British accent): hello Harold (Evie screams in surprise) we need to talk

Evie (fed up): what? What now? What could we possibly have to talk about?

Mal: what I thought you got over earlier toady

Evie (cackles hollowly): THAT? That! Was a fluke. And then he tried to “help” me by getting in my way

Mal: has it maybe occurred to you that he actually WAS trying to help?

Evie: if he really wanted to help then he wouldn’t have abandoned me with Grimhilde sixteen years ago

Mal: oh Christ. You know why he did that

Evie: I know why he did it but it still hurt though. He could’ve taken me with him. He could’ve taken us with him

Mal: they wouldve hunted us down and made him watch as they killed us. Or worse

Evie: that doesn’t make me feel any better

Mal (in what she hopes is a comforting voice): look on the bright side. You got me as a sister. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Evie: no, not really.

Mal: urrrrgh. Would me making a fool of myself help you feel less of a loser?

Evie:...mayhaps

Mal: fine. Remember back before graduation we got paired up for the senior class showcase because verna wouldn’t let you and Doug dirty dance?

Evie: yeah

Mal: Bea Arthur or Bette Midler?

Evie (chuckling slightly): surprise me

(Mal clicks her fingers, they’re transported to a music hall stage with an invisible audience and the song starts up. This is when “sisters” happens. After the song Evie looks briefly empowered. Then deflates and flops onto the bed face first. Mal chuckles at this)

Mal: uh. Sis. Your remember that apart from being the guest room, this is Lonnie and Gil’s room as well, right?

Evie (in a muffled tone of voice): what’s your point?

Mal: well besides both being very sweet they’re also a pair of incorrigible gym rats who always forget to clean up the bed before they leave for home. So it wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility that there’s still a certain amount of used up gym wear under the covers you’re currently laying on...

(Evie’s eyes snap open cartoonishly, she screams, jumps up from the bed, makes claw hands at Mal in an attempt to throttle her, flails at the window, then looks down at her clothes and screams again. Throughout all this Mal is calmly amused, silently watching her sister crisis. When she’s had enough she grabs Evie by the arm and hurls her into the en-suite. Evie re-emerges two seconds later in new clothes and a cloudy expression)

Mal: lemme guess. Doug make that sweater?.

Evie: of course. I can sew. Doug can knit.

Mal: mmkay. Now are you going to get over yourself and let go of this ridiculous grudge you have against our father?

Evie: you just don’t get it do you?

Mal: probably not so enlighten me

Evie: this isn’t something I’m gonna get over in a day. This isn’t mamma Mia. I found out who my father was in the middle of a crappy day with even more crappy events piled on it. The man I love was put in a coma. My daughter was missing for most of the day. Ive had to fight for my life at least twice. I’ve had no time to process any of this. And you’re expecting me to get over this massive family reveal instantaneously? No. Something like this will take a lot longer then a day to get over. He abandoned me. I understand why he did it. But it still hurts. And as much as you say that you’re not like me. You have to understand that I’m not like you either. I’m angry. I’m angry he could’ve been there for me and wasn’t. And that anger’s not gonna go away any time soon. Either accept that or get out of my face

Mal: ahhhh. Ok. Now I understand. Katara

Evie: what?

Mal: you’re acting like katara. She was mad that her dad went off to war because she was a kid who needed him but felt like she couldn’t be because the reason for him leaving was noble. Dad let us go to save our lives. So you feel pissed that he left us. But you also feel like you can’t be cause of the REASON he left. It’s ahh, it’s a dilemma for sure

Evie: that’s not a dilemma. A dilemma is deciding between chicken and fish at your wedding. This is an impasse

Mal: mhmm, mhmm, uh huh. You know what would help.

Evie: what?

Mal: talking to him. And I mean not just calling him a rat bastard abandoner. Actually talk to him.

Evie: it’s not that easy M. Not when you were raised by Grimhilde. Not when every time you try to talk something out your met with scorn.

Mal: ohhhh. So that’s where “when in doubt, don’t” came from.

Evie: yup.

Mal: you were the good child. The golden daughter. You never misbehaved and you never spoke up for yourself. And now it come back to use your posterior as an entree.

Evie: yup. So you understand why it’s difficult for me. I can’t. I just can’t. Not after how my upbringing went.

(This is when “here I am” happens. After the song Evie confronts Hades in the kitchen just as he’s finishing his talk with Doug)

Hade:...I’m sorry my boy that’s all I know. Hello dear

Evie: I’m mad at you. I’m always gonna be mad at you. But. I don’t hate you. If I’m being honest, to protect Dizzy, I would’ve done the same. But it’s going to take time for me to...accept you.

Hades: I understand

Hadie: per...perhaps it would help if she saw it. The uh...incident in question, pops, maybe she’d understand a bit more if she saw what happened?

Evie: what, what incident

Mal (who’s been listening in): when he made the decision to stop contacting us.

Hades: I’m going to need a wand. And...A hat.

(Mal takes the sceptre, shrinks it down so it resembles a wand, ignores Uma’s incensed expression and hands it to her father while Hadie hands him his top hat. Hades sticks the wand handle in his right ear up to the emitter, to the teenagers collective disgust, roots around for a minute, then pulls out what looks like ash grey smoke tinged with midnight blue and pours it all into the top hat)

Hades: there you go. Just put the hat on the floor and spin

Doug (taking the hat): thanks. I think.

Mal: that looks worse then the hair ball Dude coughed up at his birthday party last month

Doug: how can...

Mal: don’t ask

Doug: ready

Evie: I guess

(In devies room. They’re sitting in the footlocker at the bottom of they’re bed)

Doug: now remember. No ones pressuring you into anything. You can stop any time

Evie: you’re very sweet. But I need to do this.

Doug: well ok then

(He sets the hat on the floor and spins. It goes faster and faster until it’s a blur. Light fills the room and replaces it with an alleyway on the island. They see Hades in his John Barrowman guise arguing with Grimhilde. He obviously loses since he gets a horrified expression on his face and leaves as Grimhilde smirks. There’s no sign of Evie. In Hades’s lair)

Anastasia: it couldn’t have been that bad

Hades (now Sebastian Stan): they both said the same thing. Iris and Hestia will be imperilled if I remain in contact. I have no choice. Please Antoine. For me

Facilier (wearily): only if you’re sure

Hades: yes. It doesn’t matter about me. Do it. Now.

(In the foyer)

Doug: are you ok?

Evie: no. But I want to keep watching

Doug: as you wish

(Anastasia pours Hades a drink and Facillier gets started. This is when “losing your memory” happens)

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 7

Stars Like Fleas

The summer rolls on in a very peculiar way, with masks and zoom calls and brief, furtive trips to the grocery and the growing realization that normal is months, if not years, away.  Even so, the music remains excellent. Thank god it’s downloadable and accessible even in these strange days we inhabit. Here writers including Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake and Ray Garraty consider improvised drone, precocious alt.country, experimental banjo tunes, rap metal and jazz.  Enjoy.

75 Dollar Bill — Live at Café Oto (75 Dollar Bill’s Social Music series)

Live at Cafe OTO by 75 Dollar Bill

Before 75 Dollar Bill put out those widely revered LPs for Thin Wrist records, Che Chen and Rick Brown made a series of tapes. You could pick them up at shows, packaged in a clamshell case with a business card advertising their services. 2020 is a plague year, so it’s going to be a while before anyone hires them for another party or a parade, but this download-only release fulfills similar functions. It captures the band at a particular moment in time, and it gives you a chance to throw a few bucks their way. Do so and you probably won’t be sorry, because the late 2019 tour documented by Live at Café Oto was unique in 75 Dollar Bill’s history. Chen and Brown did the whole run of shows with double bassist Andrew Lafkas, but they also did nearly all of them without essential gear. It wasn’t until near the end, when they played in England, that Brown was reunited with the big wooden box that is his main percussive instrument. Spread across three sets, this three-hour long album shows how swell they sound when they’ve got a committed agent of swing adding his subtle shift to their Bo Diddley meets Mauritanian wedding music groove. If you know I Was Real, you’ll recognize many of these tunes, and you’ll likely appreciate the differences that 75 Dollar Bill works and reworks upon them.

Bill Meyer

  Bandgang Lonnie Bands \ Bandgang Javar – The Scamily (TF Entertainment \ Empire)

After Bandgang broke up, Lonnie Bands made a successful solo career. His only misfortune, apart from a murder rap prosecutors tried to stick him with, was that he picked up a no-talent partner Javar. Here, surrounded by aggressive but undistinguished artists Mascoe and Paid Will, Lonnie hasn’t learned lesson. Thankfully, Javar makes his presence on The Scamily scarce, and the second half is basically Lonnie’s solo effort with some guests. As usual, Lonnie makes himself busy in illegal activities: drugs, scams, pimping, firearms. He neatly sums up his bad deeds on “Me Too”: “You on that bullshit? Me too.” The Scamily is not that focused as last year’s KOD but Lonnie, with his slick rhyming and catchy hooks, always reinvents a bad man’s lexicon.

Ray Garraty

 Sammy Brue — Crash Test Kid (New West)

Sammy Brue is no longer quite the wunderkind he was when he released his first full-length at 15, but he is still quite impressive here on the follow-up, hitching the spit and fire and wordy angst of, say, Ezra Furman, to the downhome pyrotechnics of Bob Log III. “Teenage Mayhem” explodes with teenage aggression, building out a twitchy blues riff into a monumental rock chorus, while “Crash Test Kid,” is softer sonically, but just as unflinching in its narrative. “Skatepark Doomsday Blues” is epic and grandiose but carries it off, infusing an old man’s blues progressions with the eruptive feelings of young manhood. All the signs point towards Brue growing into his art. He’s already channeling raw emotion into sharp song structures and lyrics without sacrificing their force. It’s a drag getting old, but it doesn’t have to be a step back.

Jennifer Kelly

 John Butcher — On Being Observed (Weight of Wax)

On Being Observed by John Butcher

English saxophonist John Butcher has a deep and diverse discography, much of it on CD. Since the standard of his playing is so high, and the settings and accompanists he selects so diverse, they’ve never been merely about documentation; you’d have to look hard to find a dud on the shelves. But as format preferences, economic shifts, and that damned virus turn everything upside down, Butcher has, like everyone else, found himself suddenly with plenty of time to comb through the hard drives and reassess the music stored there. And since CD manufacturing and distribution has been snarled up worldwide, what better time to transfer some of it straight to yours? On Being Observed comprises six solo performances recorded between 2000 and 2006, and you could not ask for a better introduction to what he does on his own. It features him in the studio, at a jazz festival, and in some unusual acoustic environments which afford a number of ways to understand what it means to read the room. Whether he’s playing to an audience or a 20 second delay in a dis-used gas storage facility, acoustically or amplified, using a soprano or tenor sax, Butcher’s tone is unmistakable, and his sense of how long to develop ideas and how to develop them is peerless.

Bill Meyer.

 Carling & Will — Soon Comes Night (self-released)

Carling & Will (banjo player Carling Berkhout and multi-instrumentalist William Seeders Mosheim) have spent the last few years working out new twists on old-time music. Their debut album Soon Comes Night takes another a step forward from their previous, more traditional sound. Much of the album relies on the interplay of banjo and electric guitar. The pair don't go for outre sounds, but Mosheim provides textures for Berkhout's banjo playing. “Lillie's Lullaby” offers a highlight, not only in its prettiness, but in its revelation of Berkhout's idiosyncracies as she shifts in and out of more typical patterns. The album in itself makes for a lovely collection of songs, but it has both the ups and downs of an act starting to find itself. Carling & Will have a distinct voice, and the more they work to develop that (probably by letting Berkhout get odder and Mosheim explore his voicings a little), the more impressive they'll become. If the pair decides to just focus on smaller updates to mountain music, they've already shown a worthy artistry in that.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Cloud Rat — “Faster” (Self-released)

Faster by Cloud Rat

Like a lot of us, the folks in Cloud Rat have been cooped up behind walls, watching the world burn. But that hasn’t stopped them from making some terrific music. This new track, “Faster,” has been posted to Bandcamp as a benefit for Black Lives Matter-aligned organizations. The song is somewhat in the mode of their most recent EP, Do Not Let Me off the Cliff (2019). That record traded in the band’s characteristic grindpunk intensities for some weirdo experiments in dreampop, noise and gauzy gothic nightmare soundtracks. “Faster” isn’t quite as far out there, and longtime listeners of the band will recognize some of the textures of tracks like “Moksha,” “Raccoon” and “Luminescent Cellar.” The song starts and ends with some lovely acoustic finger-picking by guest musician Andy Gibbs of Thou. In between, there are clean vocals by Madison Marshall that border on the ethereal, and electric riffs that build and build toward majestic heights. Good cause, great tune.

Jonathan Shaw  

 Drakeo the Ruler – Thank You for Using GTL (Stinc Team)

Recorded through a phone line from prison, with beats later provided by JoogSZN, Thank You For Using GTL right after its release was named best prison album since Penitentiary Chances, by now classic joint effort by C-Murder (still incarcerated) and Boosie Badazz (now free). It was too strong a claim to be true. On that duo’s album you can hear a sense of doom hanging over them. When all hope is lost, there is only a prayer, and even that can get lost on its way to God. There was no tomorrow. Drakeo the Ruler, on the other hand, raps like there is tomorrow. Even rough sound of voice recording and “This call is being recorded” tags are more like a necessary sound effect and a gimmick rather than an effect of reality (he couldn’t do it any other way). Strip this tape of all these effects, and you end up with an ordinary rap album, exactly like others released by dozens every week. Maybe there is no reason to thank GTL. It did us a disservice.

Ray Garraty

 Holy Hive — Float Back to You (Big Crown)

These super laid back funk soul cuts stay well inside the pocket, except when they veer unexpectedly into indie-folk. The funk parts come from one-time Dap King Homer Steinweiss, whose loose but transcendent way with a groove can be best heard on “Hypnosis.” Paul Spring, the singer, brings in the psychedelic falsetto, more Justin Vernon than Curtis Mayfield, but still radiant and chilling. The title track plays like a lost 78 soul classic, Spring’s mournful melody wafting skyward as big loopy bass notes and splayed jazz guitar chords drop into a slink and strut of snare drum. That’s maybe what you’d expect from Steinweiss’ Brooklyn soul revivalist resume, but elsewhere, there are surprises. “Red Is the Rose” sounds like Tunng, all space-bopped folk magic and electro-pinging drums, and “Be Thou By My Side” is lattice-picked folk without the slightest hint of syncopation. Both sides of Holy Hive have their sweetness, but only the funk stuff buries a stinger.

Jennifer Kelly    

 Dustin Laurenzi’s Snaketime — Behold (Astral Spirits)

Behold by Dustin Laurenzi

Here’s an irony for you. Composer Louis Hardin, whose habit of dressing up like a Viking and hawking his wares on the streets of mid-20th century NYC turned him into a bona fide attraction, may have conversed with jazz musicians, and shared a record label or two with them. But he didn’t really like jazz. Nonetheless, jazz musicians liked his music back, and they still do. The melodies are graceful, but malleable, and the Bach-meets-powwow rhythms have plenty of productive implications for a percussionist willing to work between the lines. After years of study Chicago-based tenor saxophonist Dustin Laurenzi formed Snaketime, a project named after one of the composer’s rhythmic notions, that turned seven of his compatriots loose upon the Moondog book. Maybe loose isn’t quite the right word, since Laurenzi’s arrangements show deep respect for the original melodies and their exotic vibe. But there’s not a lot of music that can’t be made a bit better when you ask bass clarinetist Jason Stein to improvise from its foundations. This half-hour long tape adds four tunes to the seven on last year’s excellent LP Snaketime: The Music of Moondog, and any one of them could have made the cut if Laurenzi had been given enough rope to make a it a double album in the first place.

Bill Meyer  

 MachineGum — Conduit (Frenchkiss)

Like its Pepto-Bismol-pink cover, these songs seem a bit over-sweet and undernourishing at first, but damned if their synth and disco and art-rock grooves didn’t start to catch on after a few listens. The project, launched in New York City with the mysterious appearance of pink gum machines, is not what you’d expect from a Strokes offshoot, but give Fabrizio Moretti credit for branching out. Here tight, “O Please”’s sleek, wah-wah’d guitars and fat-fingered bass throws off a funk shimmy, but soft, dream-y choruses add an element of electro-pop introspection. “Act of Contrition,” by contrast, swells and swirls with gothy new wave drama, but also vibrates with indie earnestness; it’s like the National playing a New Order cover. If you’d told me a month ago, that I’d be enjoying a super clean, super precise synth-dance album by a member of the Strokes, I’d have laughed, but here we are.

Jennifer Kelly

 Phosphene — Lotus Eaters (Self-Release)

Lotus Eaters by Phosphene

Portland’s Phosphene drifts and drones in a satisfying vintage 4AD-ish way, the serene vocals of Rachel Frankel wafting out over intricate tangles of shoe-gazey guitars as Matthew Hemmerich pounds out motorik rhythms on the kit. This album, the band’s second, was written in the turbulent aftermath of the 2016 election, but it exudes a murky calm. In “Carousel,” for example, Frankel sings about how “everyone gets lost in their own power,” but the temperature remains cool, dream-like, lit by arcs of guitar sound and undergirded by a thudding mantra of bass (Kevin Kaw). The two singles run closest to pop. Bright, upbeat “Cocoon” is spiked with Spoon-ish piano chords, while “The Wave” damn near bubbles with girl pop exuberance. I can see why they’re leaning on those cuts, but I like the cloudy radiance of “Seven Ways,” the morose moods of “The Body” better.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sara Schoenbeck / Wayne Horvitz — Cell Walk (Songlines)

Cell Walk by Wayne Horvitz/Sara Schoenbeck

Bassoonist Sara Schoenbeck and pianist Wayne Horvitz built to their first duo release slowly. They've been playing together since the previous decade in Horvitz's Gravitas Quartet, working together in various styles. The bassoon doesn't necessarily lend itself to jazz, but Schoenbeck's experience with artists like Roscoe Mitchell and Anthony Braxton — as well as in various orchestras and symphonies — has revealed her fluency in different languages. Horvitz and Schoenbeck develop that approach on Cell Walk, mixing composed and improvised tracks, moving from jazz to classical and back again, happily residing in a new music space. The pair's chamber background comes to the fore more than anything else, but the artists' experimental ideas and Horvitz's occasional electronics keep the duo moving forward. The album mostly stays cool, although a few tempo shifts and Schoenbeck's varied tone create unexpected energy any time the disc starts to settle. Schoenbeck and Horvitz fill an unlikely niche, but they also make a good case for expanding it.

Justin Cober-Lake

  R.E. Seraphin — Tiny Shapes (Paisley Shirt)

Tiny Shapes by R.E. Seraphin

Ray Seraphin makes sweet, sharp songs out of guitar jangle and whispers that seem to nestle right in your ear. His first cassette under his own name after a stint in the slightly more abrasive Talkies kicks up a power pop dust and haze a la Luna or, more recently, Plates of Cake. Like these bands, however, he envelops smart, coiling melodies and wild spiralling guitar hijinks in daydreaming inchoate jangles. In “Streetlight,” Seraphin vamps and caroms in spike-y mid-temperature anthemry, crooning “And I won’t feel a thing,” and indeed there’s a misty, nostalgic remove around most of this album’s emotional content. Yet there’s also a classic pop shape that can’t quite be obscured by muttered, offhand delivery. “Fortuna” is the best bit, to my ears, a summer radio megahit heard from several rooms away, bittersweet and slipping away even as it plays.

Jennifer Kelly

 Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO (Amsterdam) (self released)

DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO (Amsterdam) by Stars Like Fleas

New York collective Stars Like Fleas are still gone, but the tracers and streamers left in the air by their passing continue to be entrancing. Whatever collapsed in the wake of their work on the follow up to their epochal LP The Ken Burns Effect can perhaps be glimpsed a little in the bulk of this first (and hopefully not last) release from what they describe as “a huge archive of live and session material.” As the title indicates, six of the 11 tracks here come from a radio session they did during their final tour (coming apart and leaving the final album unfinished upon their return to America). Along with a couple of Ken Burns highlights that session is all new material and it is as rich as anything they released during their lifetime. The collection is rounded out with some brief improvisations and another track intended for the final album, the 7” single “End Times”, and a wonderful performance of “Falstaff” from a Toronto show. Perversely and beautifully enough, the result is not only a must listen for fans of the group, it makes an excellent introduction for anyone who missed them the first time. Bring on the archives!  

Ian Mathers  

 Thecodontion — Supercontinent (I, Voidhanger)

Supercontinent by Thecodontion

 A death metal band entirely devoted to songs about ancient, paleolithic lifeforms and geological history? It’s not the most harebrained musical concept you may have heard — it even makes a sort of sense. What better musical genre to address such massive, atavistic and lumbering forms? Supercontinent is the Italian duo’s first LP, following 2019’s Jurassic EP. As its title suggests, this new Thecodontion record goes way, way back, to primal landforms, before continental drift assembled the earthball’s map into its current shape. Appropriately, the longest track on Supercontinent is “Pangaea,” named for the unimaginably huge late Paleozoic landmass. Thecodontion’s featured instrument is Giuseppe D’Adiutorio’s bass, which he variously thrums, hammers and shreds. He gets some pretty amazing sounds out of it, sometimes producing the soaring, moaning, keening sounds that Greg Lake coaxed out of his bass on the early King Crimson recordings. The proggy reference is pointed; Thecodontion’s high concept project smacks of prog’s grandiosity. But where prog shoots for the heavens, Thecodontion goes bone hunting. It’s interesting work.  

Jonathan Shaw

 Various Artists — Building A Better Reality: A Benefit Compilation (JMY)

Building A Better Reality : A Benefit Compilation by Various Artists

As Bandcamp’s choice to waive its portion of transaction proceeds in favor or certain needs and causes has evolved from an occasional to a monthly event, releases have started to appear which take advantage of both the event and the rapidity of production when no physical objects are being produced. George Floyd died under a policeman’s knee on May 25; this compilation was released just 24 days later, on Juneteenth. Brent Gutzeit of TV Pow secured 106 contributions from friends, friends of friends, and customers of friends — and that’s just the parties that this writer recognizes. They range in length from Kendraplex’s 58 seconds of metallic shredding to Joshua Abrams’ half hour of mournful clarinet and cathartic double bass. You’ll find acoustic protest music, swinging jazz, harsh noise, hip-hop, and a sound collage that includes sounds of protest and mourning. The participants include Simon Joyner, Jsun Borne, I Kong Kult, Jesse Goin, Chris Brokaw, AZITA, Keith Fullerton Whitman, and the Jeb Bishop Trio, along with many, many more. Have I listened to them all yet? Of course not! But the thing with a set like this is that you don’t need to. Put it into your shuffle play and it’ll yield surprises for years to come. Income goes to Black Lives Matter, NAACP Legal Defense Fund. and the Greater Chicago Food Depository.

Bill Meyer

 Michael Vincent Waller — A Song (Longform Editions)

A Song by Michael Vincent Waller

At first listen, you might not guess that composer Michael Vincent Waller’s new EP/song A Song is an improvised piece, and as the surrounding material on Bandcamp makes clear, that’s kind of part of the point. Composition vs. improvisation is the kind of duality where both sides are never really distinct, and Waller is both interested in the history of composers improvising and (possibly naturally) improvises in a way that’s not a million miles away from his compositions. Which also means that just on that first listen the 21 minutes of solo piano found here are frequently beautiful, whether patiently probing a set of arpeggios or momentarily going somewhere a bit darker and deeper near the end. Whether considered as work done around or between more composed ones or in its own right, A Song makes for both a fine follow up to Waller’s 2019 collection Moments and a brief thesis on the always permeable boundary between two methods of creation.  

Ian Mathers

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Musings #77: The Puppet Who Wanted to be a Real Girl. Is Penny Polendina really back?

jade-rosepine asked “ While I didn't mind penny and all, I can't help asking; what was the point of bringing her back? I mean yeah wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Only thing I could think of was to make ruby be forced to make a difficult choice - kill a friend to keep her from being used by the villians (she is still a robot and could, theoretically, be hacked by a way more advanced virus. Basically the cyber-version of brainwashing or possession!) OR let her live and be a slave to the baddies?”

Squiggles Answers: 

@jade-rosepine​ Whelp I was going to save this bit for my musing on the first episode of RWBY V7, but since you brought it up, I might as well voice my thoughts here. I’m going to be honest with you, fam. This squiggle meister has mixed feelings about Penny’s return.

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Heart of Machine

In the past, I was a big fan of the idea of Penny being rebuilt and returning for the Atlas Arc. However back then, I liked it under the pretence that she wouldn’t exactly be the same Penny Polendina that we all met back in V1. I figured she’d be an entirely different character and the justification for her being this way was so that the plot could’ve allowed for Ruby Rose to finally have some semblance of closure since it’s been shown throughout previous seasons how much Penny’s death has affected her emotionally.

As a matter of fact, as evidenced by her ‘Indomitable’ moment in V6, Penny’s death (along with Pyrhha’s and the events of the Fall of Beacon) are still a visible mental block to Ruby being able to fully utilize her Silver Eyes. Since Ruby was shown to still have much growing with mastering her unique power, I was hoping that part of her arc for this season would be coming to terms over her loss over Penny as I was certain being within her old friend’s home kingdom was bound to bring back memories of their time together.

Now I’m not so sure whether or not closure with Penny will still be in the cards for Ruby. It’s not he fact that Penny returned that troubles me. It’s the fact that she returned and is presumably supposed to still be her old self but fixed now. I’m sorry but I’m just not actively buying that at all. I mean, like you, I get that this feat wasn’t entirely impossible to do given that Penny was a robot and technology can be easily repaired; especially in a kingdom as technologically advanced as Atlas and especially by the hands of Pietro Polendina---the man who was literally described as the Greatest Mind in the kingdom. So yeah, Penny returning--- totally could have seen that coming. But that don’t mean I’m not heavily suspicious about it knowing these writers.  I still feel like there’s something’s awfully fishy about this whole plot twist.

This brings me to my hunch about Penny 2.0. I don’t believe that that’s Penny. I mean, she is her. She looks like her (albeit with a more updated design that is reminding me a lot of Bach Do’s design of her from her RWBY 3.0 art series). Talks like her and of course, acts like her. But I feel like this version of Penny is merely a shadow of the soul she once was. I still feel like the old Penny that Ruby befriended perished at the Fall of Beacon and what we’re seeing now before us is just a copy mimicking the behaviour of its original predecessor.

When Penny 2.0 first appeared, after getting over my initial shock and excitement of seeing the character again, I couldn’t help but shake this icky feeling in my gut that something was off about the new Penny. I know the series is trying to get me to think that Penny is back here but…I don’t know. I’m not entirely buying it. I feel like something is awry about this and not even her bright and shining smile in the opening is enough to quell my lingering suspicion. I can’t help but feel like something is going to happen to Penny…again.

Perhaps your theory will be correct here Jade. Perhaps it will be a case where Arthur Watts creates and implants his strongest computer virus yet into Atlas’ system which not only corrupts all the Atlesian Battle Droids in Atlas but all technology within the whole kingdom; Mantle included. This is inclusive of Penny 2.0 and possibly even Pietro Polendina’s mechanical wheelchair which goes haywire and knocks the poor old soul man off of his seat leading to Maria Calavera having to defend him and help him to safety.

Perhaps it will come down to Ruby having to fight an infected Virus Penny 2.0. However I don’t think Ruby will be forced to kill Penny. I think a moment like this will boil down to what’s stronger---hardware and programming or the soul.

It was stated back in V2 that Penny is the first (and possibly only one) of her kind. The first artificial lifeform to produce an aura. As we know, aura is described as the manifestation of one’s soul. Penny is supposed to be a soul within the body of a machine. While her body may be synthetic, at her core, she is supposedly human or the closest thing to it.

And since the V7 opening hinted at love being a major theme for this volume, it makes me wonder if we’re going to get a potential moment where a mind-controlled Virus Penny tries to harm Ruby but in the end, it’s the strength of the profound friendship shared between both girls that ultimately allows for Penny to combat the virus corrupting her machine software with the love she feels in her soul for her dear friend. Y’know love conquers all.

I wouldn’t even be too surprised if it’s a case where Penny ends up sacrificing herself to put a stop to Watts’ tyranny. Like Penny uses her core to cause a chain reaction that obliterates Watts’ powerful virus.

Dr. Polendina mentioned in the first episode that the only reason he was able to fix Penny in the first place is because Atlas was able to salvage her core from Amity Arena. Penny’s core is obviously an important part to her. I’m assuming it’s the part of her that contains the soul that’s keeps her alive. So no matter how many times Penny’s body is destroyed, so long as her core is still intact, she can be brought back. Why mention that little detail at all if it wasn’t going to be relevant later, ey?

What if … Penny’s core does eventually get destroyed. If that gets obliterated, then Penny---or at least the version of her that Ruby knew and loved--- will be gone for good this time.

I feel like the V7 finale could set up for a Terminator II type of conclusion where the machine our protagonist has grown to know and love over the course of their story is forced to sacrifice itself for the greater good of saving our hero from a dark fate. I feel like should your headcanon be made reality in the canon, we’re likely to see Penny sacrifice herself on the grounds that this time, there’s no coming back.

I can imagine Penny’s core being used as the key to stopping Watts reign over Atlas and this time, Ruby is allowed to do what she couldn’t do back in Vale. Not only would she get to save Penny but she would also get to officially say goodbye to her friend and tell her how much she loved her before tearfully watching her give herself up for the purpose she was built to do---save the world.

That’s how I’m more seeing things going down for Ruby and this newly rebuilt of Penny for their shared storylines this season. As per usual, these are only my headcanons here and I can very well be very much wrong in my prediction. But nevertheless, for now, I’m leaving this thought and theory on the table.

Then again, I’ve also gotten ahead of myself here.

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More Machine Than Man

Now that I’ve discussed how I figured Ruby and Penny’s story may conclude for V7, allow to me to voice my views on the build up to it.

As I’ve said, I feel very off about Penny being back. While I’m relishing in seeing her again, I also can’t feel a sense of this is too good to be true; y’know what I mean?

I feel like this is all a set-up. Like right now, both the audience and our main gaggle of heroes are left to believe that Penny had returned and she’s all good as new---almost like she never died at all, right?

But I feel like there’s a catch to that. I feel like at some point, in a later chapter of V7, Ruby is going to have her chance to spend some quality time catching up with Penny. At first, things seem pretty normal between them. They’re both laughing. Swapping stories…having a grand ole time with their heart to heart girl talk…only for Ruby to notice something quite off about Penny.

Like I have this scene imagined in my head. A scenario in which Ruby is supposed to head back down to Mantle to hang out with Penny P who’s finally have some free time to catch up with her old friend and desires to take Ruby on an official fun tour of Mantle---the nicer parts that is.

As a matter of fact, let’s say Penny invites the whole squad---JNPR_RWBY down for a night of fun and dancing down in Mantle with her and father. Pietro did mention in the first episode that he’s been working on shows that dance. Given his enthusiasm, dancing must’ve been one of Pietro’s favourite pastimes prior to losing function in his legs. So maybe, at some point, since the kids have all been working hard with their huntsmen duties and training, Pietro decides to treat them all to a nice of entertainment.

 Imagine if …Pietro and Penny take the group to an old fashioned Mantlese Carnival which is basically RWBY’s version of Mardi Gras with a big parade of bands with nonstop musical entertainment.

I was kind of hoping that our heroes would have reunited with Team FNKI while they’re in Atlas. But it doesn’t seem like they’ll be present at all for this season. Unless, it’s a case where our heroes run into them while out with the Polendinas.

Resuming my Mantlese Carnival idea, let’s say after the group finished watching the parade, the Polendinas lead them to an old-fashioned snazzy little joint whose taste in jazz music is as sweet as its food.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of jazz music and the blues by Pietro Polendina’s design and the way he talked. His sense of fashion is giving me mega New Orleans type of vibes. Like he walked straight out of the set for the Princess and the Frog.

Anyways, like I said, our heroes are treated to a night of music and dancing by the Polendinas but while out and about in Mantle, they also happen to run into none other than Neon Katt and Flynt Cole.

Like imagine the group enjoying a nice performance by a local jazz band in Mantle only to find out that one of the musicians is Flynt.

Neon is also there to either show Flynt support (as my headcanon is that the two are dating) or perhaps she’s part of the performance with him as a singer as she and Flynt deliver a sort of Jazz/Blues rendition of Neon’s classic theme. Why not, ey?

After briefly exchanging pleasantries and catching up with their ole pals from Vale, Flynt and Neon invite everyone to an underground Mantlese rave. So unfortunately for Pietro and Maria (who was his date/company for the night), the younglings end up ditching the old folk for a night of partying. Not that they minded. Even Penny was allowed to join the group at the rave.

So as promised since V2, Neon and Flynt take JNR_RWBY plus Oscar and Penny out partying. As a side note, I’m not sure if Oscar would even be allowed to set foot inside a club given his age as a minor. Like I can just imagine Oscar, innocent as ever like the country munchkin that he is, walking up to the club bouncer only to be immediately barred from entering for being both underage and looking the part. Like would you believe Oscar is actually his age given his short stature and baby face?  

As a matter of fact, the only way I can see Oscar being allowed inside of a rave is if a) he faked his age by having one of Flynt and Neon’s friends hack into Atlas’ s system and alter his birth date by two years (since I’m imagining Atlas using electronic ID scans that instantly verifies a person’s personal records by just scanning them on the spot) or b) Flynt and Neon pulls some strings to have Oscar allowed in as they’re known regulars of the club. Why not?

So the group are out having a grand ole time, and while enjoying themselves Ruby and Penny sort of skedaddle for a bit up to a private place where they can just talk to one another. Since y’know…it’s been so long since they shared a chat since one of them was presumed to be dead and all. Anyways, it’s during their talk that Ruby noticed something peculiar about Penny’s behaviour.

She keeps recalling memories of times she and Ruby shared in excruciating detail. But that’s not the part that threw Ruby off. No matter how many times the Silver Eyed huntress attempted to deviate the conversation and get Penny to talk her more about how she’s been doing since what happened at the Vytal Festival, Penny kept reverting back to recanting the same stories.

The hunch I had in mind here is: What if…Penny 2.0 is actually a copy of original Penny. Rather than being a soul mimicking human nature from within a mechanical body, it’s more a machine operating purely from memories that were transferred to it from its old former self.

When we first met Penny, while the implications of her being an humanoid were clear as day from the instant she first bumped into RWBY (I mean I certainly called that she was a robot from day one), you could also still tell that there was something remotely human in nature about Penny. I got that sense the first time Penny revealed to Ruby that she wasn't a real girl. You heard the strong tinge of genuine sadness in her voice as she said it which was what made her friendship with Ruby all the more pure. Their bond was wholesome and important to each other inspire of only knowing one another for a short space of time.

And when Penny died in V3, you didn't feel as if it was a machine being destroyed. You actively felt like a character---a real person died. We, as the audience, got to feel the same sense of sadness that Ruby Rose felt watching her dear friend die before her very eyes after failing to save her in time.

Ruby failed to protect Penny (and eventually Pyrhha too) which was what made her answer to Maria’s question in V6 all the more meaningful.

She wishes to master control of her Silver Eyes, not just for the sake of being able to vanquish the Grimm but for the sake of protecting the people who matter most to her---her friends and family. The people who love her as much as she loves them.

This also kind of presents another reason why I’m conflicted on Penny’s return. Penny being back all fixed and good as new as if the Fall of Beacon didn’t happen kind of puts a bit of a damper on Ruby’s trauma as a result of what happened. It’s one of those things that made me question why show Ruby suffering from flashbacks of her friends’ deaths just to have said friend return good as new.

As we saw during her ‘Indomitable’ moment in V6, thinking about Penny and her death caused Ruby to lose focus. Yes Ruby managed to summon her light to petrify the Leviathan. But not before using Jinn to buy her some time so she can concentrate and let’s also not forget that Ruby’s power didn’t work.

While she succeeded in petrifying the Leviathan, she failed to kill it. This to me was a clear indicator that Ruby hasn’t full mastered her unique power and still has much to grow. A detail that I was relieved the CRWBY kept since I never felt like Ruby’s indomitable moment was rightfully earned so it almost felt like a waste of a good moment, in my opinion

I’m probably in the minority here when I say this but I actually disliked Ruby’s Indomitable scene from V6. As I said, it wasn’t properly earned and that took me out of the whole moment.

Instead of watching Ruby go through an arc of learning to fully master control of her newfound abilities, struggling at first but also learning more about herself and her heritage in the process building up to this grandiose moment where she finally perfects her power.

Instead we spent two whole seasons with our little red rose being written to be rather neglectful of her eyes, never once further questioning its mysterious origins; not even when in the face of the very person who told the last person who first told Ruby about her eyes.

Ruby learnt about the Silver Eyes from Qrow during the finale of V3. Qrow, on the other hand, said he learnt about the Silver Eyed Warriors from Ozpin. Ruby had her chance to ask Oz for more on the Silver Eyes at any point during V5 or even V6. Instead the Writers have her question everything but her Silver Eyes…despite showing her using it again later in the season during the Battle of Haven.

It is such a darn shame that Maria Calavera was only brought in for V6. I honestly feel like her character and role as Silver Eyed mentor to Ruby should’ve been better utilized as early as V4. 

Instead I was left feeling that Maria’s presence in Ruby’s development was made irrelevant especially by the end of V6 when Ruby had her big brain idea to use her Silver Eyes on the Leviathan…despite having zero prior training. I don’t think that’s how progress is supposed to work? 

And let’s not forget the fact that Ruby has only known Maria for only four days since the entirety of V6 (and the start of V7) only took place over the course of four days in RWBY’s timeline.

So yeah, Ruby’s Mastery of her Silver Eyes has much more groundwork to do and I have a feeling the Writers brought Penny back to aid with that

Did they necessarily have to though? No not really. As a matter of fact, Penny 2.0 unfortunately falls into the ball park of how the Writers brought back Neopolitan in V6 for me. While it’s nice to see Penny again, I didn’t honestly need her back especially since her death was framed in such a symbolic way to the plot in terms of how it affected Ruby’s character these past few seasons. Now I’m left questioning what the whole point of all of that was.

Listen, I’m not trying to imply that bringing Penny back was a terrible idea on the Writers’ part. I’m more saying, I don’t 100% buy into it. Not exactly.

I honestly feel there is going to be a catch with this. The Writers can’t have Penny’s death still affecting Ruby only to just magically have that trauma and mental block magically disappear now that she’s back in the picture. They’re not gonna do that, right? 

They’re not gonna undo that big detail established in previous seasons, right?  I mean…it’s not like they’ve done things like this before, right?

Nuh uh. Not buying it. Hence my theory on Ruby having a moment with Penny 2.0 only to realize that she’s not exactly all good as new as she was proclaimed to be.

Either that or it’s a case where even though Penny is back, Ruby herself can’t seem to look past the past.

She can’t seem to shake the haunting fact that she once saw her friend die before her very eyes because she failed to help her. Like I’d figure that that memory would still remain as a nightmarish lingering thought in Ruby’s psyche. Right?

Like imagine this scene. A scenario where Ruby and Penny are out exploring Mantle together, catching up only for Penny to be called back to the line of duty when another alert of Grimm attacking the city blares it ugly head. As Penny flies off to do her thing, Ruby follows her below on foot determined to help her out. When Ruby finds Penny, she arrives just in time to see her down a couple of Saybers from attacking a couple of fleeing civilians.

Ruby calls out to Penny. Penny, in turn, spins around to wave to Ruby. But while Penny is distracted greeting her friend, she is neglectful of one stray Sayber that suddenly comes in from behind and slashes Penny straight through the chest.

Ruby looks on in complete horror as Penny 2.0 is once again cut down in front of her; the nightmares of her decapitation at the Vytal Festival resurfacing. And for a moment, Ruby freezes on the spot. She doesn’t even react as the same Sayber charges at her.

But before the Sayber could get to Ruby, it’s killed before it could lay a bloody talon on her. As Ruby looks up  slowly from her daze at her saviour , she sees that it was Penny. In spite of her damage, Penny was still functioning enough to protect Ruby.

Let’s say, for the sake of the scene, the rest of the heroes---JNR_WBY plus Oscar were down in Mantle too and overheard all the commotion from the emergency alarms; all seven huntsmen and huntresses arriving at the scene to aid with the rescue. 

Let’s say the others had seen what happened to Penny and immediately came to her side to quickly gather up her severed parts to take her immediately to Dr. Polendina so he could repair his daughter. 

As the others handled Penny, let’s say…Oscar approaches Ruby as he noticed the disturbed expression on her face. Oscar urges Ruby on the matter of them taking Penny to her father as quickly as possible. At first, Ruby reacts like she didn’t hear Oscar; apparently too lost in her own wild thoughts. It wasn’t until Oscar gently touched Ruby’s shoulder did she finally stir out of her stupor. Long story short, the heroes manage to get Penny 2.0 to Pietro in time. 

After studying her injuries, Pietro reports to everyone that Penny was going to be fine. She may be off duty for a couple of days given that he’ll need time to repair her. 

But beyond that, Pietro assured the group that Penny was going to make a speedy recovery; much to the relief of the heroes. But in spite of hearing the good news, this doesn’t serve to uplift Ruby’s mood and her bothered expression of deep concern is still apparent on her face. Even as JNPR_RWBY depart from the Polendina residence to return up to Atlas. 

As the group look to head back home, Oscar is the one to take notice of Ruby’s awkward silence. 

 I say Oscar of all people rather than her teammates or Yang since it’s been highlighted before that when Ruby is feeling pressured or looks distressed in some shape or form, Oscar is quick to pick up on that.

He’s also been shown to act out on trying to help Ruby in this type of emotional scenario. This is why should we ever get a moment like this in the canon, I can picture it being another prime chance for the Writers to show Oscar being an emotional crutch for Ruby.

If a scene like this ever comes to pass in the series, the way I see it going down is Oscar confronting Ruby again about Penny and the two sharing another heart to heart moment where he gets her to open up about her true feelings. I’ve been itching for another V5 Dojo-esque scene between the Rosebuds.

I’d love to see another example of Oscar helping Ruby through another emotional rut; particularly if it involves Penny.

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So to conclude…

I guess the main point I’m really trying to get at here with this musing post is that I don’t believe Ruby’s arc revolving around her grievances about Penny’s death is over. Even with her being back in her life.

It can’t be. Just because Penny was repaired and has returned doesn’t instantly erase the fact that she did die nor does it erase Ruby’s memory and clear trauma over it.  At least, I hope that’s not how the Writers are going to portray it. Ruby’s thing is that she sees Penny as a real girl. She sees her as a person. But Penny isn’t entirely a real person.

She possesses a soul of her own, yes (and I’m curious to learn the origins of said soul) but she’s also a machine. Her body is fake but at her core, she is a living being. Sort of---really need an origin episode on how Penny was created and where Atlas and Ironwood got the soul that’s a part of her.

Did it come from the Relic of Creation? Was Penny an unexpected by-product of the Relic’s power; brought to life by an experiment tested by Ironwood using the Relic of Creation? 

Is the Relic of Creation the RWBY equivalent of the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio? Is the being of the Relic of Creation inspired by the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio? 

Who knows? These are all questions I’m looking forward to this season answering for me.

But in the meantime, in regards to Ruby’s bond with Penny, We got to see Ruby grow to care for Penny as a person and what’s interesting to note is that Ruby has always valued Penny as more human than machine.

Keeping that in mind, picture if part of Ruby’s story with Penny for V7 is her leaning to accept that Penny isn’t a real person. This is why I like my theorized scene of having Ruby witness Penny 2.0 being cut down again; highlighting she’s still not over what happened at Beacon. Imagine if that creates an issue for Ruby where she actively feels uncomfortable at the thought of losing Penny time and time again since she can’t handle watching her friend getting destroyed in spite of the fact that she’s a machine that’s built to protect humanity.

I know this concept probably sounds rather farfetched based on how I’m describing it. However, that’s how I’m choosing to look at it; for now. Perhaps the story for this season might change my mind on that. We’ll see.

Anyways, that’s all I have to say on this subject matter for today. For the most part, I hope I managed to answer your question, Jade. As usual, please let me know if I did. I’m always open to hearing other FNDM fam members thoughts on my thoughts on my thoughts.

Similar to you, this squiggle meister is also left pondering why the Writers’ brought back Penny. It’s actually kind of sad that I have to question it. If I wasn’t so skeptical over the CRWBY Writers’ writing decisions given their recent track record then I wouldn’t be questioning this decision so much.

Right now my theories are my best bet at understanding why this decision was made for the plot but that don’t mean that that will be the case in the canon. I’m praying there is a good narrative reason for Penny’s return and that it wasn’t done as a gimmick to hype up the fans for the new season---y’know bringing back another fan favourite character just because they thought it would be quote, unquote, ‘cool to do’.

I didn’t like that that was the rationale for Neo’s return, as mentioned in the V6 DVD Commentary, and I’d be equally peeved if that was the rationale for Penny’s. Then again, maybe I’m getting too ahead of myself here. We’re only one episode into V7 so let’s not jump the gun. Let’s just be patient and wait and see what the rest of the season brings, ya?

Until then, hope you at least enjoyed my new musing post.

More Squiggles’ RWBY Content

 ~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[runswith]

Travel notes: Italy (Florence). Entry 2 - Feb. 27, 2003

Florence. One busy bugger of a city. Not a huge, sprawling, monster of a population center like Rome. More compact. And overrun with (a) traffic and (b) tourists.

Overrun may be a strong a word to apply to the tourist situation here, at least at this off-season time of the year, but that’s how it seems to me. They’re everywhere. (Yes, I know I’m one of them.) And the city -- or at least the city center (the area around the train station, the area around the university, the areas with centuries of serious history) -- seems geared to cater to them. Unlike Rome, the city isn’t so enormous that it can absorb the furriners without them affecting the basic feel of the place.

At least that’s how it seemed to me yesterday. I spent a bunch of time walking, to the point where one of my little feet did some serious complaining last night, sporting an angry heel blister. (Despite me wearing well-broken-in hiking shoes. These things happen.) Groups of young Japanese women everywhere, gelati shops everywhere. And most of all, traffic, including the most intense concentration of scooters and motorcycles I have ever seen.

Yesterday afternoon: after plenty of poking around various neighborhoods, I found myself feeling surprisingly unenamored of the place. Went back to my teeny hotel room, pulled out a book, chilled. Darkness fell. I’d seen a handbill earlier in the day for a concert of classical music, decided to go. Went out into the evening, the city feeling a bit more sedate. Wandered off in the direction of the church where the concert was to take place. And found that Florence feels drastically different at night. Less people. More of a sense of how the city of narrow streets and centuries-old buildings feels. More of a sense of how life here must feel. Plus, you’re walking along minding your own business, you turn a corner, you suddenly find yourself confronted with enormous, ancient, genuinely imposing old buildings. Churches, cathedrals, palaces, all with a sense of age that goes far beyond what I’m used to encountering in normal life. Unless you live somewhere like here. (Or Madrid -- woo-hoo!)

Got seriously lost trying to find the concert, though not minding it very much, my feet taking me along empty streets, passing entrances to winding alleys along which I could see signs for small shops and trattorias. Reached the point where I could see the road that runs along the Arno River, the waterway cutting across the southern part of the city, knew I’d gone way the hell out of the way, turned around. Wandered further to the east, along more deserted streets, the only businesses still open being restaurants/bars. Followed impulses that led me further and further into a warren of narrow streets where I passed a sign noting Dante’s home (or birthplace). The concert was to be held in the Church of Dante (la Chiesa de Dante), I figured I must be close.

Followed a further narrow street, leading me past a different church in which a choral concert was underway. Asked the woman (in Spanish, natch) sitting at the table outside about the concert I was searching for. She spewed a response, pointing, gesticulating wildly. I backed away, continued on in the direction she seemed to be indicating. The next teeny street to the right -- dark, with few doorways -- had a small table and chair positioned by one building, a man with a briefcase exiting the street as I paused and peered through the shadows. He glanced at me, turned around and loped back down that street, stopping at the table where he stopped to stare at me as I approached. A pile of handbills lay on the table, similar to the one I’d seen advertising the concert, the sound of a violin drifted faintly from the building behind the man, who stood motionless, still staring at me. I said I’d had trouble finding the place, he simply stared, almost like a junior high school teacher radiating disapproval at a student who’d shown up late for class. I brandished the money for a ticket, he came to, gave me my change. Then he opened the door, looked inside and gestured for me to enter, putting a finger to his lips.

A small church, given a sense of large space by its vaulted ceiling. Centuries and centuries old, austere, with few decorations, little of the usual Catholic frufru. Some paintings, maybe a tapestry. A display of candles off to one side, three or four burning. Dark, cold. Two rows of two-person pews, one to either side of the space, all filled with people listening, except the last one on the left side where I parked myself next to its single occupant.

A heavyset woman with a large mass of dark frizzy hair stood up on the altar playing a Bach sonata. Just her, no accompaniment, the sound filling the space. She played with assurance, the sound of the instrument coming across like a voice, seamless and rich, the kind of sound that someone who really knows how to play the instrument can produce.

I hadn’t been to a concert of classical music in eons. And I’d never been to one in quite this kind of setting. Afterward, it felt strange to see people in sneakers, jeans, etc. walking out of the place, dispersing along the narrow, dark streets. I made my way back toward the hotel, saw the Duomo of la Piazza San Giovanni looming above the buildings, headed in that direction. When I emerged into the piazza, I found myself dwarfed by the expanse of ancient structures and open cobblestone piazza. As I stood there, a bit overcome, the male of a couple walking by asked me something in Italian. I turned around, saying, “Sorry, what was that?” in Spanish. He asked again, still talking so fast I couldn’t make it out, I shrugged and said “No sé.” (”I don’t know.”) They laughed and moved on, me with no idea what the moment was about. I wandered around the piazza taking the enormity and sophistication of it in, a few other people out, mostly couples. Then I headed back to my temporary dive.

Question: why is there a bottle opener screwed to the wall of my hotel room’s bathroom? Am I supposed to hang out in there and drink?

[lilac-bramble]

I am absolutely in love with the fact that you wrote that Kakuzu likes Beethoven. I can even see similarities between them tbh-stormy, romantic, tragic (hopefully Kakuzu gets a happier ending), and great hair. So my question is which composers do each of them like, including the quartet and even the likes of Asuma, what the hell. Really though, cannot appreciate enough just how detailed your fics are. I'm addicted to them and they always make my week!

Thank you so much for this! I was honestly feeling quite downhearted and sorry for myself, thinking that maybe people didn’t like the last chapter much (did I go on too much about the Debussy, I asked myself...?) so this has come just at the right time! (To be honest I live on feedback like this for weeks!) The work I put in tonight will be directly because of you!

Beethoven and Kakuzu are just a perfect match in my eyes. And this theme will be developed more! He’s also very fond of Bach. The more complicated the better. Hidan is about to tempt him more into Mozart though!

I see Asuma as being into Brahms in a big way for some reason.

The Akatsuki Quartet argue about what they’re going to play all the time, though they all like the core baroque and early classical repertoire. Deidara gets bored easily and would like to do more post-Romantic and 20th century stuff, particularly Shostakovich and Stravinsky. He’s the one who gets interested in contemporary composers (and indeed composes a bit himself). He affects a hatred of Vivaldi to annoy Itachi (who did loads as a Suzuki Method child prodigy and loves it) though really he’d just like to be on the top part for a change. Sasori likes Bartok but otherwise doesn’t have much time for anything modern. Kisame plays the double bass as well as the cello and does a bit of Jazz on the side...

Incidentally Shikamaru is also very much into his composition. 

One thing I haven’t decided yet is what instrument (or whether he’s another vocalist) Naruto would play... he’d only be a side character, of course, but he’ll certainly be making an appearance so I need to figure it out! Any ideas, anyone? (Also, you might have noticed the newly formed Hebi Quartet making an unnamed appearance in chapter 2 - obviously Sasuke is violin 1 in that! And Karin clearly couldn’t be anything but a viola player.)

I could go on like this all night... but Is it Life or Art? is calling...! Keep letting me know your thoughts! :D

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Londerland Bloodlines -- Tower Assault

Hey, I said this AU was on my mind -- and with the release of the newest (pre-alpha, admittedly) gameplay trailer for Bloodlines 2, that's unlikely to change anytime soon. So -- let's have some fic! :D Today's offering was inspired by a previous “updating the verse” post I made, where I talked about a change I thought of regarding Alice's final assault on LaCroix's tower -- rather than going in the front door and fighting her way through all those guards, she manages to get herself some climbing equipment and scales the damn building while Obfuscated. As you might imagine, this is the last thing LaCroix is expecting when he tells his elite guards (and Chunk, here called Officer Norris because that’s his voice actor’s name) to watch out for her. . .

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"Officer Norris? Has there been any sign of our – miscreant?"

"Uh, no, Mr. LaCroix!" Norris chirped over the intercom. "Haven't seen hide nor hair of her! Promise I'll let you know the moment she comes by."

"Very good, Officer Norris. Thank you."

"Uh, Mr. LaCroix?" Norris got out before he could release the button. "Not to, you know, pry into stuff that ain't my business, but – why is it you want me to keep her out all of a sudden? You weren't really clear on that before. And us in the security business – well, it's important we get our facts straight, ya know?"

"She betrayed me, Officer Norris," LaCroix replied, letting the words roll off his tongue with silver smoothness. Not that he needed to waste such talents on Norris, but – practice. "She betrayed quite a lot of people, actually. She's been selling secrets to other parties, making deals with unsavory sorts. . .and I have reason to believe she's recently caused the death of a potential business partner of mine."

"Oh wow! That is – never would have thought it of her! She's always seemed like a bit of a tough cookie, but the kind with a creamy center, you know? All molten chocolate and–"

"Focus, Officer Norris," LaCroix said, rolling his eyes. Mortals and their obsession with food. His eyes flicked over to the sarcophagus. Then again – I know what it's like to anticipate a meal.

"Yeah, sorry, Mr. LaCroix. Er – so, if Alice is this dangerous, shouldn't we, you know, call proper 9-1-1 and all that? I got some buddies in the call center–"

"I assure you that all the appropriate measures have already been taken," LaCroix cut in before Norris could go on another ramble about his "cop friends." "There is no way Miss Liddell is leaving this city without facing justice for her crimes. If she does come here, you have my full authorization to use lethal force."

"Right you are, Mr. LaCroix." Norris sighed. "Hope it doesn't come to that, though. Man, and here's me, thinking she's a pretty sweet girl once you get to know her. . ."

"The cruelest wolf can mimic the friendliest dog, Officer Norris. Remember that."

"Sure will, Mr. LaCroix. And you can call me Chunk, you know!"

LaCroix winced. "Given our relationship, Officer Norris, I don't think that's appropriate."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. . .well, anyway. I'll give you a call moment I see her."

"Thank you, Officer Norris." LaCroix released the intercom button, leaning back with a sigh. "To think I employ someone like that," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now that Bach's little group has been – disbanded, I should give him his walking papers." He smirked, one fang peeping through his lips. "Though I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? Not with what's in our future."

Melech nodded shortly, then glanced at him, eyes questioning. "Oh, she'll come," LaCroix said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "She will most definitely come. That rabblerouser Jack will have told her by now I'm responsible for all her woes. And has she not made it very clear, during our last few meetings, that she wished our – alliance, shall we say, to be at an end? The girl is a Brujah trapped in a Malkavian skin. She must be itching for a chance to take out her temper on me, and damn the consequences."

Melech tilted his head, lips slightly pursed. "Yes, I called the Blood Hunt, but would you trust the average Brujah or Gangrel on the street to take her out?" LaCroix responded, looking up into that stony face. "After the miracles she's committed? May I remind you that she has destroyed both the local chapter of the Society of Leopold – including one of my personal enemies – and the heart of the Los Angeles Sabbat? Tasks that were beyond your capabilities? And there was that news report the other evening, of the massive wolf found crushed to death in the Griffith Observatory. Somehow, I doubt that was the work of Nines Rodriguez – though it still worries me that we can't confirm his Final Death." He sighed, then waved a hand. "Well, I suppose if he does turn up alive – so to speak – it will make the Anarchs happy. And so far they seem willing to believe that Alice has thrown her lot in with Ming Xiao and her nest of snakes. So long as they remain enraged enough to drive those ridiculous excuses for foreign vampires out of my city, I shall be content. And then. . ." He looked again at the sarcophagus, anticipation clinging to its every chip and crack. "Then we will make plans accordingly."

He pushed back his chair and stood up, walking with lazy grace to his favorite spot in front of the window. Los Angeles stretched out before him, twinkling in the dark. He reached out, longing to scoop it up and capture it in his fist. "A shame, really – she could have had it all," he mumbled, flexing his fingers. "I was just beginning to realize her worth as an agent. To survive everything she did, to accomplish so many difficult tasks as a mere fledgling. . .I will give Fish this – he picked someone worthy of being an eighth-generation vampire. If she'd only been a bit more deferential, a bit less – well, her. . .we could have done amazing things together."

Melech rumbled an agreement. LaCroix sighed. "But, of course, she refused to cooperate. To let her full potential grow under my guidance. To accept the wisdom of her elders and betters. No, she had to go it on her own – to forge down the path of the fool and the malcontent." He chuckled briefly. "At least I have the pleasure of knowing that the Anarchs don't trust her either. From what I've heard, she had an early falling-out with Nines, and the rest of them find her as irritating as I do." His brow furrowed briefly. "Perhaps we really did drive her to the Kue-jin. . .no, she's too smart for that. She'd know they'd never actually accept her." He laughed again, a little louder. "What a silly girl, to reject any and all that could help her! She must feel quite alone on those streets." He leaned toward the window, drinking in his city with his eyes, running his tongue over his fangs. "An apt punishment for the hubris of the newborn."

"God, you love the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

LaCroix recoiled backwards, the scream of a little girl ripping itself from his throat. On the other side of the glass, Alice rolled her eyes, adjusting the harness she wore. "As if getting up this bloody tower wasn't grueling enough," she continued, bracing her legs on either side of the window frame. "What exactly are you compensating for? You're not that short, and I have it on decent authority that your interest in your manly bits should have waned with the Embrace." She shrugged, bending her knees and adjusting her grip on her rope. "I'll leave the question for the primogen to debate. Right now – for putting up with all your posturing and other various pieces of bullshit, I believe you owe me your life. In the most direct sense possible."

With that, she pushed off, sailing into the air – then came rushing back, thickly-booted feet held out in front of her. LaCroix scrambled to safety under his desk as the window shattered, sending shards of glass flying. Melech raised his massive sword to shield himself as Alice rolled to a stop. "Ah – gah – GET HER!" LaCroix managed to shriek, waving one arm wildly in her direction.

His sheriff, fortunately, was quick to comply. He flung aside his sword and coat, spreading his arms wide as he called up on his dark Disciplines. Moments later, his human form morphed and twisted, stretching itself into the terrible gigantic bat LaCroix had only seen twice before. Alice gaped, eyes wide, one hand on her harness's release. "What–"

Melech shrieked at her and flung himself into the air. His talons locked around her arms, dragging her back out the window and snapping the harness like it wasn't even there. "Yes – NO!" LaCroix cried after him, suddenly conscious of the incredible violation of the Masquerade. Too visible, much too visible – but she couldn't be allowed to survive this night – "The roof!" he screamed. "Take her to the roof!"

Melech squealed and wheeled around, dragging his dumbfounded passenger up to the highest point of Venture Tower. LaCroix huddled under his desk, arms around his knees, trying to control his trembling body. It's all right, he told himself firmly. It's all right. Melech will take care of her on the roof, and we'll let the morning sun dispose of the corpse. And – and we'll come up with an appropriate story for the masses later. An – an advertising gimmick gone wrong. A Batman cosplayer gone mad. Some sort of – of mass hallucination from swamp gas carried on the wind. We'll make it right. We'll find the key. And I will never have to worry about any of this ever again.

. . .God, I hope he wins that fight.

[trainthief]

Hey I was wondering if you'd ever consider doing like a top 20 fav classical music albums or composers list or something. Obviously if that just sounds stressful disregard this but I know you are like, into classical music & I grew up with my parents playing it & recently got, like, into the classical station but aside from like 3 artists I like I don't know where to start & I like your blog and would be interested in hearing about like, your taste

Sorry for responding to this so late, I’ve had a real week and I wanted to make sure I had time to put some thought into answering this ask. I’d definitely love to help, I always like recc’ing classical stuff to people! The idea of 20 absolute all time favorites is a difficult one for me because I love so much stuff and it’s really difficult to compare like… Caroline Shaw’s modern experimental chorale stuff to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. Anyway, instead I will give you some full length pieces in different styles that I think are great for new listeners, and explain a little about what each one is doing and what I love about it, and some more pieces I recommend if you enjoy what you’re hearing. Hopefully that will help! 

In no particular order: 

Appalachian Spring by Copland: Let’s just get this one out of the way up front. If you’ve been following me for any amount of time at all, you know I’m deeply in love with Copland. He essentially invented the American compositional style by adding jazz elements to the established practices, which caused an absolute uproar at the beginning of his career as people then considered it an unholy mix of high and low culture. He doubled down on this concept when he wrote “Fanfare For The Common Man” which essentially stands as a celebration of the working class and those who couldn’t afford to see the symphony anyway. He was, I should also note, both gay and Jewish. A real icon. Anyhow, although I love so much of his work and could go on forever, I consider listening to Appalachian Spring in its entirety a spiritual experience, no exaggeration. Take it on a hike, listen to it while you look at the trees and think about whatever crosses your mind, and by the time the Coda hits you… well I personally can’t tell you what experience to have, but I feel for a second like I can see and be seen. Anyway, aside from that, just good music, very pretty. If you’d like similar music that incorporated jazz effectively into classical work, I’d of course recommend another favorite of mine: Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin. 

Russian Easter Festival by Rimsky-Korsakov: As a general rule of thumb, Russian composers are ALWAYS good for some drama. This piece in particular is great because it’s not only fanfare and excitement, there’s a touch of pastoral calmness that I really love (more on that as a concept later) at the beginning, but we still get plenty of wildness. There’s a frantic octave part the violins play around minute 5 that always makes me want to scream. If you like this, I’d also recommend checking out Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol. The man knows how to write sexy. 

Romance in D by Berkey: I recommend this partially because it’s a lesser known and very beautiful piece, and also because it’s a good lead-in to a whole subset of classical called Furniture Music. Essentially called that - originally by the composer Satie - because it’s nice to put on in the background. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still fun to listen to, and from a compositional and performance standpoint it can still be very impressive. But it’s just good and calming and you could certainly sip tea to it in the restaurant area of a ritzy 1920’s hotel while you read a novel and ignore your rich husband asking if you’d like any marmalade. A good example of the same effect is the soundtrack to Phantom Thread. It’s also good for studying. If you like that conceptually, I’ve got a whole playlist here. 

Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky: A really excellent intro to classical and one of my favorite works, AND like the last one, also a lead-in to an informal format. Pictures was written with the idea that each song was a separate painting that the listener could imagine they were looking at in a museum. For that reason, each one has a different style and personality, and feels very descriptive and exciting. A collection of small related pieces is called a suite, but I haven’t yet been able to find a technical name for that specific kind of storytelling structure within a suite. It’s not uncommon though, and in that same vein I’d also recommend The Planets by Holst (about the planets, as you might assume), and Carnival of the Animals by Saint Saens (about… yeah you get it). 

Spem in Alium by Tallis: We’re taking a wild left turn now and veering into the Christian choral tradition dating back to the 1500s. Like anyone else who isn’t even a Christian, there’s a few things about Catholicism that I’m obsessed with. Namely the hymns and the stained glass. Focusing only on the hymns, Tallis is one of the best examples of polyphonic hymnal work. Polyphonic, essentially, means that the different voices in the piece are moving around each other and will frequently change their notes in a way that will compliment - but is not necessarily in line with - the direction of the piece as a whole. It makes more sense if you just listen. The style, however, was developed in an attempt to capture the idea of the stars and planets circling each other in their own independent orbits, because at the time people had just started to turn their gaze to the sky for answers about their own lives. Aside from that very cool background, I just find the really human side of the choir format in particular paired with the elevation of music being this untouchable but powerful thing paired with the holiness of the concept paired with how awesome the acoustics of a chapel can be…. It’s just a lot. If you like this I’d also recommend Miserere Mei by Allegri, Ave Maris Stella by Dufay, and O Magnum Mysterium by Lauridsen 

Peter Grimes by Britten: Classical music is so rooted in every musical tradition, and visa versa, that it’s almost impossible to separate it conceptually from a lot of genres. Technically, “classical” refers to a period of time more than it does a genre anyway, but let’s not get pretentious about it. While we’re pushing the boundaries of what can and can’t be included in this list, let’s talk Opera, and specifically Peter Grimes. When asked to describe it, Britten said it was “a subject very close to my heart—the struggle of the individual against the masses. The more vicious the society, the more vicious the individual.” More specifically the struggle was an allegory for gay oppression, and ironically Britten wrote the lead role with his lifelong partner Peter Pears - an opera singer - in mind. To give a taste without giving too much away, the Prologue establishes that Grimes, a fisherman, is being questioned over the death of his apprentice. The townspeople are all convinced before the questioning even begins that he must have done it, but the coroner decides the death was accidental. Grimes is let free and advised not to get another apprentice, but he of course ignores this…. If the vocal side of opera doesn’t do it for you, there are 4 Sea Interludes from this work that are really great independently. If you want even more opera with even more drama, I’d recommend looking at Tosca or Turandot both by Pucccini. If you think classic opera is too high brow and you want something a little sillier, try Mozart’s Magic Flute. If you want something more new age and weird, try listening to Two Boys by Muhly or selections from Einstein on the Beach by Glass (but probably not all 5 hours, Knee Play 5 and Spaceship would be my top 2). 

Symphony No. 6 “Pastoral” by Beethoven: I mentioned earlier when describing the Russian Easter Festival that I love a piece with pastoral calmness. Getting back to that point, I haven’t ever seen one word that’s commonly used to describe this particular sense in a piece, but I personally call it a Pastoral after Beethoven’s 6th. In general, the symphony is one of my favorites as a composer and listener, especially given that it’s really just about taking a walk in nature which is one of only 3 themes music should have anyway in my opinion. A good amount of my music is written with this feeling in mind. Aside from all that context, the first movement in particular is very nice, passionate but not sensational, and is just about being excited to be outside. Nothing wrong with that. This subset of music is probably the most informal of all the ones I’ve listed so far, but if you’d like more “Pastorals,” or pieces that have a nice calm passion to them, I’d also highly recommend Enigma Variations: Nimrod by Elgar, Fantasia on a Theme of Tallis by Vaughan Williams, Once Upon A Time In America by Morricone, Musica Celestis by Kernis, and of course again Appalachian Spring by Copland. (I would also be legally sent to jail if I didn’t mention that while we’re on the subject of Beethoven, his 9th Symphony is generally considered one of the greatest achievements in classical music). 

Rite of Spring by Stravinsky: A lot of these pieces have been good jumping off points into different musical concepts, but with this one I’m sticking my description to the initial piece itself. I got the chance to email with a composer I admire and he at one point described composition not in the sense of writing something “smart”, but in writing something “detailed”. The Rite of Spring is a really great example of detailed composition. It’s extremely experimental with its time changes - essentially the way that you should be counting your notes as a musician constantly changes and always into a pattern that’s difficult to keep track of - and also with its chord structure. The music itself can be jarring and odd to listen to but the composition wasn’t random and when studied shows an obsessive elbows-deep involvement in the work that I really admire. It might not surprise you to hear, however, that at the initial performance the audience was so furious that the lighting technician had to continually flash the lights to confuse them, out of fear of a riot. If you’d like something a bit more fun to listen to by the same composer, however, Firebird is a good one. And if you’d like another great piece that was completely booed off the stage at its premier, I’d recommend Grand Pianola by Adams. 

Romeo and Juliet by Prokofiev: While we’re in the general vicinity of ballet, I should get into that deeper. Ballets can have some of the most fun music to listen to because the timing is required to be so much more specific. Romeo and Juliet is a lot of fun, particularly the “Montagues and Capulets” and “Masks” sections. Another great ballet is, of course, The Nutcracker by Tchaikovsky. I’d also recommend Don Quixote by Minkus, and Rodeo by Copland…. I know I know 

Violin Concerto in D by Tchaikovsky: I said Russians bring the drama, and it’s doubly so when it’s a gay Russian. This piece is a classic example of the solo concerto format, which is a staple of classical as a whole. The setup is a single player on whatever instrument the piece is written for accompanied by an orchestra, and is usually a showcase of technical skill by the soloist. This one in particular is basically THE turning point in a violinist’s studies and just about every violinist learns it as soon as they’re capable of taking it on. Personally I still vividly remember when my teacher finally gave it to me, it’s a very specific sense of accomplishment. Similar examples of the solo concerto format on different instruments would be Piano Concerto in F by Rachmaninoff, and Oboe Concerto in C by Mozart, both of which I absolutely love. 

The Revd Mustard His Installation Prelude by Muhly: I’ve gone on forever so I’m trying to be quick. Nico Muhly is one of my favorite modern composers and Revd Mustard combines his classic ecstatic and constantly moving style with an organ, which I’m a sucker for. Contemporary classical in his style can be difficult to listen to because it’s gotten very experimental and as a result, very complicated. But if you don’t go into it with the expectation that you’re going to hear a structured and logical Mozart-like piece and you instead surrender your opinion until the whole thing has come together for you, it can be really interesting at the very least. As a side note, Nico has collaborated with Sufjan, Bjork, Jonsi, Teitur…. lots of people. You’ve certainly heard him before even if you didn’t know it. For more classical from the last few decades I’d recommend Partita for 8 Singers by Shaw, Tissue No. 7 by Glass, Different Trains by Reich, the Red Violin Concerto by Corigliano (especially because I just saw it live a few days ago and am still reeling), Perpetuum Mobile by Penguin Cafe Orchestra, and Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten by Part. Each of which is vastly different, stylistically speaking, but all of which I really love. And for more organ listen to one of my favorite pieces of all time, Symphony 3 by Saint Saens. 

Ok, you know what? I’m cutting myself off because I’ve gone on forever. If you haven’t been put off of asking me questions entirely by now, please feel free if you want even more recommendations in a specific style, or want to know more about something you enjoy. Clearly I love talking about this. Hope that helped!