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doggosaurusrex · 2 years ago

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A Fistful of Yarrows

After seeing Hubert, injured and defeated, being dragged back to the Vestra manor, a young Ferdinand goes on quest to check on the well-being of his friend.

Takes places right after Hubert’s failed attempt to reach Fhirdiad as a child. Pre-Three Houses/Hopes.

Content Warnings: mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 5760

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The capital city was always a dazzling sight to behold. Boramas, in Aegir territory, was nice enough. Ferdinand especially enjoyed watching the ships enter and leave the harbour, drifting on sapphire waters towards lands far beyond the horizon. But Enbarr had a majestic beauty that was unparalleled. It was if the magic kingdoms he read about in stories had come to life.

The sun gleamed off the bright cobblestones as if precious jewels had been encrusted in the city roads. The buildings, trimmed with gold and encased in marble, stretched towards the heavens. There were museums, art galleries, merchants with delicately crafted trinkets, and elaborately costumed performers singing and dancing along the streets. Enbarr had a certain vibrant energy that Ferdinand was unable to find in any of the towns within Aegir.

There were many things Ferdinand loved about the capital, but his favourite place by far was the grand Mittelfrank Opera House. It was as if he was watching his favourite stories come to life! The only time he was still able to enjoy those stories since his mother had passed. Ferdinand would kick his feet in excitement (or at least until his father scolded him to stop fidgeting) as he watched Manuela dance across the stage with sword in hand. The next day, he had immediately picked up his own wooden sword and tried to imitate her. He hoped to see another of her operas during their current stay.

It had been nearly two years since he had stayed at Enbarr for any length of time. He and his father had arrived two days prior and announced they would be staying at his Aunt Louise’s manor for the month. Ferdinand was unsure as to why they were staying at the capital, or what his father was doing at the many meetings he was attending at the palace, but he was ecstatic to be back in the glittering city once again anyway. Even if most of his time was kept indoors under the watch of his Aunt’s servants.

Today was the first day his father had brought him along. It was to a luncheon hosted by one of the noble women from House Gerth. It had been a lovely affair, decorated with bright springtime flowers, and a massive assortment of sandwiches and pastries to snack on. They even had the fruit tea he had been developing a liking for!

Ferdinand was careful to remember his etiquette lessons, proudly announcing his name with a bow to each of the noble ladies he was introduced to. He had to make sure acted in the true image of a noble, just like his father. The women had cooed over him, calling him a delightful little gentleman, as his father assessed his performance from nearby.

As much as Ferdinand had been pleased by the compliments (he had been working VERY hard during his etiquette lessons), he found himself disappointed that there were no other children at the luncheon. He had hoped Constance would be there but given that Nuvelle territory was on the western coast, he was not surprised by their absence. There was no sign of Linhardt or Caspar either. However, what really surprised him was that Edelgard and her vassal, Hubert, were away as well.

Since they both lived in the capital, Edelgard and Hubert’s presence at social events were almost a near-certainty. As Prime Minister, Ferdinand’s father was almost guaranteed to be at the same gatherings as the emperor’s family. It was not unusual to find Edelgard hosting a tea party for her teddy bears or playing a board game. Hubert would always be by her side, either participating directly in whatever activity Edelgard was engaged in or keeping watch nearby. They were close to his age and Ferdinand was always ecstatic to see them. He could usually convince Edelgard to play a game of tag or engage in a bit of swordplay with wooden blades (Hubert would always decline). Edelgard would play with him for a short time before politely taking her leave with Hubert trailing behind her.

Hubert did not talk to him much, but Ferdinand considered him a friend, just like Edelgard. On one occasion several years ago, when the three of them – on Ferdinand’s insistence - were exploring a hedge maze on the Hevring estate, Ferdinand had tripped over a loose rock and scraped his leg. Looking back, Ferdinand was embarrassed to remember how much he had sobbed over the small injury, but Hubert had patiently used a handkerchief to wrap Ferdinand’s injury and helped the young boy limp back to his father.

Ferdinand wished he could convince the two of them to visit him in Aegir sometime. He could show them all the ships arriving at the harbour, as well as the fruit trees he liked to climb.

After a couple hours, Ferdinand was collected by his father, and they made their leave from the luncheon. The pang of disappointment from not seeing his two friends sat like a lump in his chest.

When they were walking back to Aunt Louise’s manor when something caught Ferdinand’s attention.

Two guards, cloaked in black, marched down the road. Between them was a boy, maybe a few years older than Ferdinand based on his height. The boy’s head was downcast, long strands of oily, dirt-encrusted black hair hanging over his face. The clothing the boy wore was torn and coated with dust. His hands were tied behind his back, a guard at each arm holding him in place.

Suddenly, before Ferdinand could blink, the boy snapped his head up, catching one of the guards in the nose with a vicious headbutt, and stomped on the foot of the other guard. With his captors distracted, the boy took the opportunity to spring loose and dash down the street, hands still tied behind his back.

He did not get far.

One of the guards tackled him to the ground with far more force than was needed. The captured boy cried out. His face scraped across the stone road, the guard’s knee digging into his back. He was hauled back to his feet and dragged away, the boy whimpering.

It was at that point that Ferdinand had finally gotten a look at the boy’s pale, blood-streaked face.

“Hubert!” Ferdinand cried out. He tried to run towards the other boy, but an iron grip held Ferdinand in place.

“Leave it, Ferdinand. It is none of your concern.”

“But…what are they doing? Why are the hurting Hubert?”

“Those are Vestra guards he is with. The welp was likely being disobedient and being dragged home, likely to get a good lashing.” His father’s words were a dark sneer that made Ferdinand’s stomach curdle.

Ferdinand tried to squirm out of his father’s grasp but to no avail. All he could do was watch Hubert being dragged away.

They eventually made their back to Aunt Louise’s manor. His father had left him in the care of his aunt before departing for another meeting. Any delight Ferdinand had felt when attending the luncheon had been leeched out of him.

It did not make any sense. Why was Hubert being dragged away by soldiers working for his own father? Where was Edelgard during all of this?

Ferdinand also winced remembering the pained cry from his friend and the blood oozing down his face. Hubert had been hurt and no one had seemed to care. Ferdinand had also not forgotten the comment his father had made about Hubert being lashed. Ferdinand had received his own lashes a handful of time, often as a consequence of poorly performing for his tutors or embarrassing his father in some way. As painful as the punishments had been, Ferdinand could only imagine how much worse they would be when administered by the marquis.

Worst of all, there had been a deep sadness on Hubert’s face that Ferdinand had never seen before. Ferdinand could not imagine what had left him such a state.

He could not just sit around and ponder Hubert’s fate. Ferdinand had to make sure that his friend was okay.

Slipping past his Aunt’s servants, Ferdinand tiptoed outside and tried to think of a plan.

Ferdinand did not know how to use healing magic, nor did he have any vulneraries.

He did, however, spot some familiar flowers that could be of use.

A patch of yarrows grew in one of Aunt Louise’s gardens. Ferdinand’s mother had pointed out the flowers to him on their own estate, saying they were the same ones the maiden had used to heal a knight’s wounds in one of the stories they read together.

When Ferdinand’s mother had become sick, he made sure to bring her a bouquet of the flowers everyday in hopes that they would heal her. Even in her weakened state, she accepted every bundle of flowers with a smile and made sure they were placed in water.

The flowers had not worked.

Up to the day she had passed, Ferdinand’s mother insisted that the flowers made her feel better, even as her eyes grew hollow, the colour drained from her cheeks, and her breathing became laboured.

He had placed the last bouquet of yarrows in her casket.

Ferdinand sprinted to the garden, running his fingers across the delicate white petals. The yarrows had not saved his mom, but Hubert’s injuries were not so bad. Maybe they could help him.

He plucked five sprigs of yarrows from the flower patch and gathered them into a small bundle.

Making sure none of his aunt’s servants were watching, Ferdinand crept his way out of the gardens and dashed towards the von Vestra’s manor. Thankfully, earlier in the day, Ferdinand’s father had pointed out the manors of several of the Empires noble families. The von Vestra’s manor had been one of them.

It did not take long for Ferdinand to reach the manor. Compared to the other houses in Enbarr, the Vestra manor had a murky demeanor, as if mirroring the whispers about the family that resided within it. Ferdinand did not know much about the Vestra family, only that they did not own any land of their own (unusual for a noble), they were experts at collecting information, and that the marquis was in charge of the emperor’s personal protection. None of the information by itself alarmed Ferdinand, but whenever he heard grownups talk about the Vestras, there was always a layer of unease, as if they were trading ghost stories.

The manor was a tall, stone structure with a tower built into its south side. The windows were small and draped in shadows. Carved grotesques kept watch from the roof. An iron fence surrounded the manor in a protective shield.

Ferdinand stared at the building and frowned. Had this been any other instance, Ferdinand would, as was proper, go to the front door, introduce himself, and politely ask for an audience with who he wished to see.

The proper way was not going to work in this case. For one, it was unlikely that Hubert would be allowed visitors if he truly had disobeyed his father. Secondly, Ferdinand was not eager to meet with the marquis in person.

Ferdinand looked over the building, trying to find clues as to where Hubert may be located. Eventually, his eyes landed on the small tower jutting from the south side of the building. Ferdinand recalled the stories his mother had read to him. Tales of kidnapped maidens being locked in towers by the cruel captors. Hubert was no maiden, but he was in trouble and could still be locked in the tower like those in his stories.

It was lucky for Ferdinand that the manor’s guards were in process of changing positions. He managed to slip past them when they were distracted, squeezing through the gate that had been left open ajar. Normally, the Vestra manor would be near-impenetrable, however; some commotion had left their tight security in a small state of disarray. Something had the guards distracted and Ferdinand was not about to wait and find out what.

As he approached the manor, Ferdinand was forced to duck behind a nearby shrub when he heard two voices by the front door. He held his breath hoping no one had seen or heard him. The voices were kept low, but Ferdinand could tell by their tone that they were having an intense argument. Curious, he peeked through the branches.

He recognized the tall, imposing figure of Marquis Vestra right away. Something about the Marquis always left a deep chill in Ferdinand’s bones. He was a large man that towered over many of the other nobles, Ferdinand’s father included. Broad in the shoulders, with long, ash blond hair tied back, a neatly trimmed beard of matching colour covered his chin. There was nothing specifically grotesque about the Marquis’s face. However, something about his mannerisms, the cold glare and downward curl of his mouth, as if constantly holding back a snarl, always made Ferdinand a little uneasy. Constance had once said that Hubert was just as spooky as his father, but Ferdinand found the comparison to be utterly absurd.

Ferdinand gulped as he watched the marquis. He was under the belief that he would be less scared of things as he got older. The marquis, however, only seemed to have become more terrifying since the last time Ferdinand had been in Enbarr.

The woman the Marquis was arguing with was tall as well, albeit quite thin. Ferdinand could not tell for certain from a distance, but he was fairly sure she was Lady Eileen von Vestra, Hubert’s mother. Despite her smaller frame, she did not seem intimidated at all by her husband and was arguing back with the same level of ferocity.

Eventually, the Marquis threw his hands up in the air and stormed away. Ferdinand wasted no time ducking behind the next closest bush and slowly making his way towards the back of House Vestra’s manor.

Ferdinand crept around the manor, looking for the best way to reach the tower. There was no way he would be able to maintain a safe grip and climb the polished stones that made up the walls of the house. He was about to give up when he found a trellis leading from one of the gardens and nearly reaching up to the roof of the building. It would not get him to the tower, but it at least reached the roof of the manor. From there, Ferdinand could plan his next steps.

The trellis was woven with roses, looping their way through the lattice like floral snakes. Standing at the base of the trellis, Ferdinand looked up at his destination and gulped.

Climbing was something Ferdinand was confident he could do. He had done so all the time back home. That said, the rose-woven trellis looming over him was a far cry from the fruit trees that he would normally climb at one of his family’s orchards.

“You can do this!” Ferdinand told himself. He remembered all the stories of the brave knights. The ones his mother used to read for him before she got sick. He remembered the brave characters of the operas he had watched. The knights would not be scared by a simple wall!

Ferdinand grabbed part of the trellis then almost immediately recoiled his hands.

“Ouch!” he whimpered, sucking on a pricked finger to stop it from bleeding.

Thorns. Of course, the roses had thorns.

A part of his mind wanted to retreat. Ferdinand shook the thought away.

Hubert had helped him when he was hurt. It was time for Ferdinand to return the favour.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the lattice once again, trying the ignore the thorns stabbing into his palms. The yarrows were clasped between his teeth to keep them from falling. He pulled himself up the trellis, hooking his feet into the lower gaps of the lattice. Tears gathered in his eyes. Every time he grabbed a new part of the trellis to pull himself higher, more thorns would cut into his palms like hundreds of tiny needles.

At one point, his foot had slipped. He yelped and clung desperately to the trellis to keep himself from falling. The thorns sunk deep into his hands but he did not dare let go. After a few attempts, he regained his footing and continued his climb.

It was with a deep sigh of relief that Ferdinand reached the top of the trellis, pulled himself onto the manor’s roof, and rolled onto his back, gasping. It was the highest he had ever climbed. Past the ache in his muscles and the stinging in his palms, Ferdinand smiled to himself about the accomplishment. He took a moment to admire the view of Enbarr from that height. Ferdinand eventually rolled to his side, yarrows in hand, and clambered to his feet to continue his quest.

His heart sunk into his stomach as he looked at the tower.

It was even taller up close, and unlike the wall he had scaled to reach the roof, the tower did not have anything that could be used to climb up it. The polished rock overed no handholds and the only window in the tower was well above his reach.

His quest had reached a fatal roadblock. He knew he would have to make his way back down to the ground, defeated. His hands ached at the thought of having to climb back down the trellis…

“An unusual spot for a young lad to explore, is it not?”

Ferdinand squeaked, dropping the flowers, and whirled around at the voice. In his haste to see who had snuck up behind him, he had lost his footing and started to slip. A gentle, but firm hand clasped his arm to prevent him from falling. A second hand rested on his back to keep him balanced. Ferdinand gulped and looked up at his rescuer.

Standing on the roof beside him, still carefully holding him upright, was a tall, thin woman cloaked in a dark, embroidered gown that was not dissimilar to the ones Ferdinand saw worn by the gremories that worked for his father. Ferdinand had only seen the woman from a distance a handful of times, the most recent being from his hiding spot in the bushes several minutes ago, but he knew exactly who she was.

“Lady Eileen!” he clumsily tried to bow -awkward in his current position- to the lady of House Vestra, Hubert’s mother.

Lady Eileen chuckled and gently guided Ferdinand to a more well-balanced standing position. She looked different than most of the noble women he had met at the luncheon. Whereas most of them had soft features, Lady Eileen was made up of sharp angles. Her prominent cheekbones, pointed nose and chin, even her eyes had a distinct sharpness to them. Her black hair was tied into a loose bun, a few stray strands brushing across her pale face.

“Be at ease, I am not your etiquette tutor,” she said with a small but warm smile. Her voice had a distinct rasp but managed to sound comforting.

Ferdinand had no idea how she had managed to sneak up on him. Had she flown? There was no pegasus nearby, though…

Her dark, willowy appearance reminded him of the woodland fairies he heard about in the stories his mother had read to him. Perhaps she had wings of her own? Ferdinand’s father would dismiss the idea as childish nonsense, but it was not so long ago that Ferdinand had seen a water nymph bathing in one of Enbarr’s fountains. Surely there were fairies in Enbarr too…

His father had once referred to Lady Eileen as a “witch,” which seemed odd since his father was normally very friendly and gallant with the noble ladies (a friendliness that seemed to have increased since Ferdinand’s mother had become ill, and more so when his mother had passed). But Lady Eileen seemed nothing like the monstrous swamp hags from cautionary tales that were known for cooking and eating children that wandered too far from home.

Lady Eileen’s eyes dropped to the cuts on Ferdinand’s hands, causing her to frown.

“Oh my. I see the trellis roses did not give you a warm welcome. Here, let me take a look.”

She delicately took hold of Ferdinand’s hands and turned them palms upright. A flash of pale, blue light, and some words whispered under her breath, the cuts on Ferdinand’s hands sealed themselves shut. The tingling sensation felt different from other times he had received healing magic from his father’s priests. More like a cool breeze rather than the bright warmth Ferdinand had come to associate faith magic with. He flexed his fingers. It was as if they had not been injured in the first place.

“Better?” asked Lady Eileen.

“Yes! I am grateful for your assistance, Lady Eileen,” Ferdinand said with another bow.

“Now, now, enough of that. There is no need to stand on ceremony on my account,” she said, “You must be Ferdinand.”

“Yes! I am Ferdinand von Aegir! Son of Duke Ludwig von Aegir, the Prime Minister of the Adrestian Empire! We are spending the month at my Aunt Louise’s house!” Ferdinand beamed.

“And what brings Ferdinand von Aegir to the roof of our house?”

“Well…I…” Ferdinand’s brief confidence deflated. It was at that point he noticed he dropped the yarrows. He picked the flowers up, only to start fiddling with the stems and refusing to meet Lady Eileen’s gaze.

“I…uh…”

“Those are lovely flowers. Yarrows, correct?”

“I…I…”

Ferdinand took a deep breath.

“I-saw-Hubert-being-dragged-here-by-the-guards-he-looked-hurt-and-I-was-worried-so-I-wanted-to-check-on-him-and-I-brought-him-yarrows-because-he-was-hurt-and-I-am-sorry-so-sorry-for-breaking-into-your-house-sorry-sorry-please-forgive-me!”

The explanation exploded from Ferdinand in one breath. When he was finished, he squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting reprimand from Lady Eileen. When nothing happened, he cracked an eye open. She did not look angry. Stunned perhaps, based on how her eyes widened.

“Well…that is quite the tale.” A small smile graced Lady Eileen’s face, “Truth be told, I had no idea that you and Hubert were friends.”

“Yes! Good friends!” Ferdinand beamed. A look of what appeared to be sadness briefly crossed Lady Eileen’s face, but it disappeared so quickly that Ferdinand thought he had imagined it.

“It is very thoughtful of you to bring yarrows,” she said, gesturing to the flowers he held, “Though Hubert’s injuries have already been attended to. Nonetheless, they are a very heartfelt gift. I can bring him the flowers and let him know you came by to check on him. After we get you off the roof, of course.”

Ferdinand frowned. “I would really like to see him. He looked hurt and sad.”

Lady Eileen frowned again, sorrow lining her face.

“I am not sure this is a good ti--”

“Please, Lady Eileen!” Ferdinand begged. He clasped his hands in front of him and watched Lady Eileen with large, hopeful eyes. Whimpering, his father would describe his behaviour, but Ferdinand did not care at that point.

“I just want to make sure he is okay,” Ferdinand pointed to the tower behind them, “Can you please help me get inside? I promise I will not be a bother.”

Lady Eileen blinked, noticing where Ferdinand was pointing.

“Why do you think Hubert is in the tower?”

Ferdinand blushed, suddenly realizing how silly his theory was.

“Well…in stories…if someone is in trouble…they are often locked away in a tower?”

Lady Eileen shook her head, chuckling softly, “I assure you Hubert is just in his room, not locked away in the tower.”

She eyed Ferdinand. A touch of sadness was still in her eyes, but at least her features had warmed slightly again.

“I see you have given this a great deal of thought. I would hate for such an elaborate plan go to waste.”

Silently, she watched Ferdinand with a thoughtful expression. Eventually, she spoke again.

“I must forewarn you, though. The last few days have been…difficult. Especially for Hubert. He may still wish to maintain his space at this time. However, a gift from a friend may brighten his spirits.”

Lady Eileen held out her hand for Ferdinand

“Come. I will take you to him.”

Ferdinand grinned and quickly latched onto her hand.

Before he had a chance to ask how they were supposed to get off the roof, a pale, cool light -- similar to what he had felt when she healed him—surrounded the two of them. When it faded, Ferdinand was shocked to see that they had materialized inside one the manor’s dimly lit hallways.

“Wow!” Ferdinand gasped, “That was amazing! Are you a fairy?”

A startled laugh escaped Lady Eileen as she shook her head.

“Heavens, no. I have been called many things, but I assure you I am no woodland fairy.”

Still holding Ferdinand’s hand, Lady Eileen led him down the hall to a closed door at the end.

“Hubert?” said Lady Eileen as she knocked on his door, “Ferdinand is here to see you. If you wish to be alone, that is more than acceptable. I can request that he visit you at another time. However, if you are feeling well enough, he would love to see you, if only for a moment. He has been very worried about you.”

After a stretch of silence, the door opened. Ferdinand tightened his hold on the flowers, feeling jitters dance up his arms. He beamed, waiting to greet his friend.

As Lady Eileen had mentioned, Hubert’s injuries had been healed. There were no signs of the scrapes that had been on Hubert’s face earlier that day. The dirt that had covered his hair had been washed away and he was dressed in fresh clothing. However, he looked even more pale than usual. His eyes were hollow, haunted. Like they belonged to a ghost rather than a person.

“Hubert! It delights me to see you again!” Ferdinand’s words shook as he tried to keep the worry out of his voice.

“How…are you? I saw you earlier today. Are you…well?” Ferdinand stuttered. The question was absurd. Of course Hubert was not well. Ferdinand had seen what happened earlier when Hubert was tackled to the ground and dragged away by his own father’s guards. Not to mention the empty look that was currently on the older boy’s face.

“Has Edelgard been by to see you?”

Lady Eileen inhaled sharply, and something flashed in Hubert’s eyes. They were no longer drained of life, but Ferdinand did not like the new expression that crossed Hubert’s face either.

Ferdinand shuffled his feet and stared at the small bouquet he held. Some of the flowers were a little worse for wear, crumpled with some missing petals, but they were still mostly intact. He thrust the bundle of yarrows towards Hubert.

“I brought you some yarrows! They heal injuries…but it looks like you are already healed. But they look pretty and may make you feel better anyway!”

Hubert’s eyes narrowed at Ferdinand and the flowers; nose scrunched as if encountering a particularly unpleasant smell.

Ferdinand squirmed under Hubert’s stare.

A laugh erupted from Hubert, but there was nothing joyful about the sound.

“A handful of weeds? What a quaint, noble gesture,” Hubert sneered, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

“Hubert!” Lady Eileen reprimanded, but Ferdinand cut in before she could continue.

“I…” Ferdinand stammered, still holding out the flowers in his shaking hands. Hubert’s response had felt like a slap across the face. His eyes started to burn and he blinked away the dampness gathering at his lashes. He struggled to keep his voice from quivering.

“I…thought they would help you feel better. I wanted to spend some time with you…make sure you were okay.”

Another dark laugh. Ferdinand whimpered and recoiled as if physically attacked.

“As if I would waste my time with a spoiled, snivelling little brat like you, von Aegir.”

Hubert’s words cut worse than any of the thorns that had stabbed into Ferdinand’s hands. His eyes watered and he could not stop the shaking that consumed his entire body. His breaths came in short gasps that threatened to smother the air from his lungs.

Over the ringing in his ears, Ferdinand could barely make out the argument Lady Eileen and Hubert were having, followed by the loud bang of a door slamming shut.

A touch to Ferdinand’s shoulder centred his attention.

“Ferdinand, dear, please give us a moment,” said Lady Eileen. She slipped into Hubert’s room, closing the door behind her. Her muffled voice sounded from the other side.

“Hubert, that was unnecessarily cruel. I understand the last few days have been…difficult, but that is no reason to take it out one the von Aegir boy. If you wished to be alone, you need only have said so--”

Hubert said something in response that Ferdinand could not make out.

Ferdinand pressed his back against a nearby wall and slumped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He threw the crumpled flowers on the ground, buried his face in hands, and sobbed.

Stupid. Stupid! He screamed internally. The plan had been foolish from the start. Deep down, he knew Hubert had never seen him as a friend. Merely an irritant, a pest that insisted on attaching itself to him and Edelgard. All the instances of when Ferdinand had tried to join in their activities, only to be shortly brushed off, spiralled through his mind. He curled himself into a tighter ball, shaking.

“Ferdinand?”

A soft voice and touch on his shoulder. Ferdinand lifted his head.

Lady Eileen was crouched on the ground, eye-level with Ferdinand. She dabbed the tears flowing down his face with a soft handkerchief.

“I am terribly sorry about what just happened. It was my error for thinking Hubert was ready to see a guest, even for a short time,” the rasp in her voice was even more pronounced, weighed down by sorrow, “Nevertheless, how he treated you was unacceptable, and he will be sending you an apology once he is feeling better.”

“That is alright, Lady Eileen. There is no need,” Ferdinand hiccupped, shaking his head. He did not expect to hear back from Hubert again at all, let alone deliver any sort of apology.

Lady Eileen’s gaze drifted to the floor, where the flowers had been thrown. The yarrows was bent and mishappen, the petals crumpled or missing entirely. Delicately, she collected each of the fallen flowers together and held them in one of her hands.

“Here,” she offered her other hand to Ferdinand once more, “I can take you back to your aunt’s house, if you would like.”

Ferdinand managed a small nod between sobs and took Lady Eileen’s. After helping him to feet, the same pale light from earlier engulfed them.

Ferdinand could not see through his teary eyes, but based on the wind brushing again his check, he knew that they had warped outside the Vestra manor.

Hand-in-hand, they walked in silence. The click of their boots on the cobble roads and the sniffling that Ferdinand was unable to contain were the only sounds between the two of them. Ferdinand stared at the ground as shuffled his feet forward.

The stories his mother had read had been filled with lies. Exaggerations at best.

“I never should have come,” Ferdinand muttered, “This whole idea was stupid. I was stupid.”

“No,” Lady Eileen said sharply, stopping abruptly. The tone made Ferdinand freeze in place and stare at her.

“The world is already filled with self-serving miscreants. Those that would stab each other in the back and feed on the corpses of their supposed allies in order to achieve even the most miniscule gains of coin or prestige.”

Once more, she crouched down so that she was eye-level with him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“What the world does need is more people like you, Ferdinand. Those who show empathy, kindness. Those whose first thoughts are on the well-being of other rather than themselves.”

She smiled, using her thumb to wipe away one of Ferdinand’s tears.

“Never loose that spark of goodness, Ferdinand von Aegir. Hold it dear in your heart.”

Without thinking, Ferdinand threw his arms around Lady Eileen and clung to her in a tight embrace. All of his etiquette lessons screamed inside his head about how improper his behaviour was. But Lady Eileen returned the embrace, holding the boy in a hug that was firm but warm.

An echo of his own mother’s arms from so many years ago…

Ferdinand could not stop his sobs from returning. He buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking the fabric of her gown.

Reluctantly, Ferdinand let go. The tears still flowed from his eyes but he no longer felt crushed by the weight of them.

“Thank you,” Ferdinand whispered. Lady Eileen smiled and nodded in response.

“One more thing,” she said as she reached into her pocket.

Lady Eileen pulled out a familiar, mishappen bouquet of flowers. Ferdinand had forgotten that she had retrieved them from the floor back at the Vestra manor. Most of the petals had been shook loose and nearly all of the stems were bent. As far as floral arrangement went, the yarrows were absolutely pitiful.

She held them out to Ferdinand who made no attempt to retrieve them.

“A little worn they may be, these flowers are still quite lovely. Are you sure you do not want them?”

Ferdinand shook his head. He could barely stand the sight of the things.

“In that case, do you mind if I hold onto them?” she inquired.

Ferdinand blinked, confused.

“But they are broken …and stupid,” Ferdinand muttered the last two words under her breath.

“On the contrary, I am rather fond of these flowers and will not hear an ill word about them,” she grinned, “Besides, my wardrobe could use a splash of colour, could it not?”

Carefully, she wove what was left of the flowers around the emerald broach on her gown. Truthfully, the combination of bent flowers with such a fancy ornament looked rather silly, but Ferdinand could not help but smile at how proud Lady Eileen looked with her new accessory.

“Now, I believe it is time we got you home.”

Ferdinand nodded, wiping away a few stray tears. Once again he held onto Lady Eileen’s hand and made their way to their destination.

#ferdibert #ferdinand von aegir #hubert von vestra #young ferdinand von aegir #young hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra's mother #doggofic

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areiton · 4 years ago

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silver falling in my eyes - stony

Ok so what HAPPENED was--Pineapplebread shared a GORGEOUS piece of art on Twitter and I had sad feels. I apologize.

Read on AO3

~*~

After--

After, he thinks, he should be grateful that he can divide his life into that, into Before and After.

After, he thinks, life has always been divided into pieces, before the ice and after, before Bucky and after and then again.

Before Thanos and after.

Before the War, and after.

But this--this after--

It is a horrible thing, for heroes to grow old.

He finds himself sitting on the grass next to a newly covered hole in the ground and the faces that had filled the crowd are sparse now, missing--Pepper was there, pale and grey and still beautiful but Happy wasn’t. Natasha had been gone for years now, but Clint was there, with Lila and Kate, pale and trembling between protege and daughter.

Rhodey wasn’t--he went, happy, in his sleep, a few years ago, Nebula at his side.

Nebula wasn’t either--she hugged Tony hard, after Rhodey’s funeral and vanished into space to chase Carol and stardust and, Steve thinks privately, to run from her ghosts.

Thor and Loki were there, though, and they looked the same as ever, and Bucky stood at his side, and he could see his age, slow but inexorable, reflected in his brother’s eyes, Sam beginning to show his own years at Bucky’s side.

Harley and Peter and Morgan were there, surrounded by their children, and he thinks watching them was hardest, harder almost than watching the coffin lowering into the ground.

Almost.

After--when his heart has broken and been lowered into the ground, when FRIDAY goes quiet and refuses her protocols, when the grave has been covered and the team that was never his returns to their never ending task of keeping the world from spinning into the abyss, when there is nothing but his griefs and unending reminders of the love that they shared--he leaves.

~*~

Steve finds himself in the cabin for a few weeks, but it’s too much a reminder of everything he no longer has. They raised Morgan here, watched Peter propose to MJ here, held Harley when he went through his first heartbreak. Tony danced with him barefoot and beautiful here, on their wedding night, while firelight and the sound of their friends drifted through the windows.

They had a whole life here and home was the Avenger compound, for most of their life, even after they stepped away from active missions, when Tony was nothing more than a tech consultant and Steve ran missions from a control room instead of the front lines.

But when the compound wasn’t home, the cabin on the lake was, the place that felt most like home because it was filled with Tony.

He lingers there, for a few weeks, and then, he murmurs a quiet goodbye to FRIDAY, and slips out of the house with a bag on his back and takes the motorcycle Tony built him, and--he goes.

~*~

There’s a line of code that Boss built into her system, after Thanos, after Beck, after Karen was hacked by Osborne in one of Spider-baby’s battles.

She waits, until the sounds of the motorcycle is gone and there is nothing but quiet. Her baby brother is waiting and she sends him to the Avenger compound with a single order.

Be good to them.

When the house is quiet and empty, FRIDAY says, softly, “Goodbye, Captain.”

And then she follows Boss.

~*~

He realizes time has passed when his hair falls in his eyes, silvery and too long and a little dirty.

It’s long, longer than he’s ever kept it, and there’s a moment, panic-stricken and crippling, as he realizes that Tony wouldn’t recognize him, like this.

There’a familiar laugh, warm and grounding. I’d always recognize you, beloved.

His hands tremble as he pushes it back, he makes a mental note to buy some of those ties Bucky likes, to keep it out of his eyes.

~*~

He drifts. No one ever calls him out, calls him by name, and he’s happy to go by the name Grant Carbonell, what Tony liked to call him when they were forced into the rare undercover missions.

It’s not hiding, really--he’s not delusional enough to think Bucky and his children couldn’t find him, if they wanted. He’s using a known alias and hasn’t done anything to disguise himself, aside from letting his silver hair grow out and his beard get a little unruly.

But it’s running, and wherever he runs, he can hear Tony’s voice, echoing and familiar, Good morning, darling.

~*~

The thing is--he travels, follows construction down the coast and chases a logging job up into Canada and then hops on a boat, backbreaking labor that makes his muscles ache and his mind go blissfully empty through the long fishing season in the Arctic--he gets tired.

He doesn’t want to run forever, the lesson his Ma taught him too many lifetimes ago resonating in him still-- once you start running, you’ll never stop-- and maybe he isn’t hiding.

But he’s running, and he’ll run to the ends of the earth and beyond, and never outrun Tony’s ghost.

Then why are you trying, Cap?

Steve stands on the edge of the water and laughs and says, “Fine, you stubborn ass. Where to next?”

Tony doesn’t answer, but when he climbs back on his bike, Steve turns east.

~*~

He’s old.

He’s old and he can feel his age, some days, all one hundred and some odd years he’s walked the earth and lain sleeping under her ice.

He’s old and some days he can feel it, every moment of an endless life that he never agreed to, when he took the serum, but most days--

Most days he feels as young as he did the morning he met Peggy, the morning he stepped into Erksine’s chamber, impossibly young and a life endless stretching before him.

He feels ancient and young, both, and longs for the days when his husband brushed silvering hair from his eyes and smiled, sleep soft smiles and whiskey dark eyes, and kisses a promise of forever.

I never wanted to leave you, beloved.

Sometimes, on the very worst nights, he can’t help but ask--screaming into the void--

Then why did you?

~*~

His hair is in his eyes, long and silver and he thinks Tony would have liked it, would have liked him on his knees, long fingers--metal and flesh--caught in tangled silver strands while he fucked Steve’s mouth.

He always enjoyed that, when Steve’s hair got long, when he was needing to go get the sides shaved and the long fringe trimmed.

He thinks, too, that Tony would hate to see him like this--beard scruffy and unkempt, hair too long, his undercut long since grown out.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sitting on the grass next to a black headstone engraved with gold. He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for his absence or his appearance or his lingering presence, when Tony waits for him.

“I won’t be too much longer,” he promises, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes.

As long as you need, honey.

~*~

Bucky is still broad shouldered, powerful and beautiful in his way, but his hair has silver shot through the brown, and there are new wrinkles around his brother’s eyes that Steve thinks are from laughter.

He deserves that.

Alpine--the fourth or fifth Alpine, but Bucky could never be talked into naming the litany of little white cats he adopts anything but Alpine--jumps into his lap and purrs, ecstatic, while Bucky sits next to him in a quiet house.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hates himself, for how useless it is. Sorry doesn’t mean shit, when your world has crumbled away.

“We had a good life,” Bucky says, and he smiles, tear-stained but bright. “It would never be long enough, Stevie. Not for you or me, or either of them. We’re greedy bastards--and I’d always want a little more time with him. But I had a good life with Sam, and you had a good one with Tony. That’s more than either of us ever thought we’d get.”

Steve nods, and there are tears, falling in his eyes, because he’s right, Steve knows he’s right--but it hurts.

“It hurts,” he chokes, and Bucky makes a noise, low and wordless and reels him, and Steve crumples, falls to pieces against his chest, and stains his shirt with tears, and wonders if he’ll ever stop grieving.

~*~

It’s good, being back, even if it does sting.

He moves into Bucky’s guest bedroom, and it’s better, for both of them, not being alone. Sometimes, Bucky disappears to the compound, runs a mission for the New Avengers because he might be edging in on a hundred and fifty, but Bucky still has the Winter Solider lurking in the depths of his eyes, and one day, Steve follows him.

Heroes grow old, but they’re still there, heroes in their bones.

~*~

Peter sees him at the compound, and he smiles, sunshine bright just like Tony and hugs him, like Steve hasn’t been running from his ghosts for the past few years. Like he didn’t run from his family, when they needed him.

He hugs Steve and says, “Welcome home, Pops.”

~*~

It’s not a bad life, really.

Their kids visit on the weekends, and he holds his great-grandson, and Benji grins at him. “His name is Anthony Edward Parker.”

The baby blinks up at him, whiskey dark eyes in a pale round face, and Steve’s hair--it’s shorter now, but not the style he wore for so many years, the style that Tony loved, because he can’t bear that again--falls in his eyes, and he’s not sure if the tears are grief or gladness.

~*~

He sits on the grass next to a black and gold stone, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes and he closes his eyes, and waits for the day when he can rest, when he can close his eyes and open them to beloved eyes bright with love and happiness, and Tony’s familiar, Hey, winghead. I missed you.

#arei writes fic #stevetony #stony fic #tattoo verse au #art inspired fic #steve rogers #tony stark #i'm so sorry y'all

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hoodwinkedtoohoodvsevil · 4 years ago

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sappy "i've loved my spesh for a year now" post

[[MORE]]

one year ago today, i got into twrp.

that's not to say i wasnt familiar with them before june 3rd, 2019. my big love was nsp, so i very much knew and appreciated them! i remember when nsp played on conan i was so happy for all of them and hoped twrp was getting just as much credit as nsp because they totally deserve it! i remember listening to guardians of the zone a couple years back in david's car and latching onto rock n roll best friends (my first favorite twrp song and still one of my faves!) and listening to that a lot. i remember the third starbomb album coming out last april and thinking, wow, this is definitely their best album musically because of twrp's instrumentation! and of course, like everyone else, i was obsessed with starlight brigade when the video came out, and recognized it was twrp's song featuring dan, not just a dan project. but i didn't have their names memorized, and for whatever reason, i thought they were all silent performers? like, i thought none of them talked and sung only talked/performed with talkbox. (i mean, i was like 60% right? at least at the time.)

on this day last year, i was showing my best friend arin and suzy's (gg) hot pepper gaming videos and then i noticed twrp's in the related videos. i was like oh my gosh! i didn't know twrp did one of these! and you can imagine my surprise when sung and meouch started talking fhfhdjdlfj i was literally like WAIT THEY TALK??? I REALLY THOUGHT NONE OF THEM TALKED. it's always really funny to look back on. and even though they spent most of that video suffering i thought they were so funny and likeable that i was like. maybe i should finally actually get into twrp.

and holy shit.

there's so much to twrp that i know i didn't do it all in a day. it's hard for me to get used to a band by listening to all their music once, so i took it album by album. i started with guardians of the zone, because i was already very familiar with it. listened to that on loop for a while, then moved onto together through time since it was their most recent album at the time. then, i went backwards from there.

i searched for all the lore i could. i read wiki pages, spent literal hours reading reddit AMAs, watched every video on their youtube channel and the hour long compilation of their instagram videos. this all took place over the span of like? a few days? a week? it's hard to say really. i fell so fast.

from that point on, i have so many stories, we would be here all day. i remember listening to believe in your dreams on repeat the day i became a d*sney trainer, and the literal day after that, they released hidden potential. then of course, the release of return to wherever, which i listened to nonstop for ages. the album is my jam because i love albums with a cohesive theme and songs that blend into each other. it's hard to beat together through time, but rtw comes really close.

i saw them for the first time live on july 30th, 2019. unfortunately, something happened that night that changed my life for the worse. but that wasn't twrp's fault at all. the show itself was incredible. i'd never been to a general admission concert of one of my faves, it was absolutely surreal that they were all right in front of me. and of course, they put on a hell of a show. they always do. god, i love them.

on august 9th 2019, i went to my first sung stream. it was a party stream and i'm on the east coast, so i stayed up until 3 AM to hear sung give me my first talkbox shoutout. i recorded it and still have the video. it made me smile in the early part of a very dark time in my life.

i made a lot of friends in that stream, we all shared twitters and i'm still friends/mutuals with all of them! and i've only made more friends since, especially at nsp10. nsp10 was incredible for many reasons, but a big one was that the three hours my fiancé and i were waiting outside the venue to be let in, we were just walking around saying hi to my twrp friends, meeting a bunch of them for the first time. and i made new friends! i remember standing in a group, shivering in my heart boner cosplay, and one of the guys saying "you're artie, right? i follow you on twitter, i love your cosplay!" he seemed like he was really gathering the courage to say it to me, he had no idea how happy it would make me! (shoutout to logan! you're awesome!)

really, if any of my twrp friends are reading this, i love you to pieces. meeting you has definitely been a high point of the last 365 days.

again, i have so many stories. but since this is already so long i'm just gonna cut to march 5th, 2020. that was the night i met them. now, i'm not a shy person at all, and over the past few years i haven't really been very socially anxious. i'm able to carry myself in conversation, even with strangers. but i've never met a fave before. let alone four faves at once. so, naturally, everything i had planned on saying completely left my brain. but they're literally the best, so it was still an absolute dream. the first thing sung said when he saw me was "hey you look great!" (my outfit was clearly inspired by his own, fancy orange hat and all, so he probs wanted to Respect The Drip but he was right regardless and also HOLY SHIT) and i had my baby porg gary with me (the sunshine of my life) and they all interacted with him and it was super wholesome.

they played two nights in orlando, and i went to both shows because of course i did. first night was great, second night was even better even though that was my GA show. they played life party on night 2, which might as well be my favorite song of all time. it has carried me through every bad moment since i first heard it. big and small. i have a lyric from it tattoo'd on my arm as a constant reminder that i'm alive, and that is something to be ecstatic about. i also had more room to dance and move around on night 2, and dance and move around i did. then, when the show was over and scatman played, i got out everything else i had. august-november 2019 was actual hell for me, and i was still dealing with the aftermath of it all. but that concert high made me realize, holy shit! all of it is over! it doesn't matter anymore! twrp carried me through one of the roughest periods of my life, and met me at the finish line with a fucking gold medal. i fucking did it. now i have none of the bad, and all of the good. it was one of the best feelings i've ever had, and one of the happiest nights of my life.

since then, twrp continues to keep me going. of course the world has been a total shitshow, but everyone's streams (especially the twrp show) have been the highlight of my week every week.

i've always considered myself a very positive person, but last year was a very bad year for my depression, as well as traumatic at times. and i've always had problems feeling understood. i still do. but twrp said hey! literally nobody understands us. not even ourselves! but that's okay! we want you to be happy and feel loved and supported no matter what. and i really can't thank them enough for it.

this part is mostly for another longer post, but i wanted to mention it since it's also really important. i fully came to terms with being a mlm last year after years of compulsory heterosexuality, and twrp played a big part in me exploring and accepting that about myself. and i was already very secure in my gender identity when i found them, but hearing "this song goes out to all the ladies, fellas, and everyone in between" shook me to my very core. i've never loved a band that literally said "shoutout to trans/nb people" at every concert. god. i love them so fucking much.

so this was even longer than i expected (and i expected it to be long bc yknow. spesh.) but i just have so much love and gratitude for this band. every day of my life i'm so thankful that doctor sung, commander meouch, lord phobos, and havve hogan exist and are spreading all this love and positivity to their fans every day. i've never loved a band like this, and i probably never will. they are truly special.

and it's only been a year!!!!

#artie.txt #twrp #this is super long but if you care about me and twrp and how they've impacted me #then here ya go

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 7 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I’m sorry we have to go through all this stress, babes, but it’s imperative that Duncan and Kenzie face the formidable forces of their badass mothers before they can deal with the incoming stress of the paps and the press; because that shit is coming. I both enjoyed and struggled writing Annette in this chapter; I really wanted to get Diane Lane’s performance down in this, and I do think I ultimately succeeded, but it wasn’t easy. Ultimately, Annette Shepherd loves her son, and that’s an unshakable truth. I keep thinking of Samuel as Duncan’s Jiminy Cricket, always saying something profound, Duncan’s conscience sitting on his shoulder. The smut is returning in the next chapter. They can’t stay away from each other for long and I don’t want them to and you, dear reader, probably don’t want them to, either. Here’s IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD, which is the mood around this part too, for what it’s worth. Please reblog and like and spread around the masterpost, which won’t show up under the godforsaken #millory tag for some reason, thank you!

Duncan pressed a hand to his chin in his familiar tick, finger stressing against his bottom lip, his eyes gazing downward, not really seeing anything around him the backseat of the BMW; what he saw was Kenzie, the golden fall of her hair in the morning sun (god, I love her, an angel, he’d thought, his mind still soft in sleep), the way she’d turned over her shoulder to look at him, her round, bare ass making his morning wood even harder, the way he’d eased into wakefulness, drunk with the kind of restful, all-consuming sleep he hadn’t had in years, drunk on being pressed against her, the way she’d bitten into his finger, thrilling him, the soft feeling of the skin between her shoulders under his mouth. Her smell had filled his nose as soon as he breathed in, eyes opening to her; he felt sure he’d be content to wake every day to the scent of her, filling him, enveloping him. He was already dreading the coldness, the emptiness of his bed tonight. It made him absolutely ache. A blessing to be near her, a curse to be away from her. I guess this is what it’s like, and he shivered. To be in love.

Samuel eyed him through the rearview. “Mr. Shepherd, she is an angel. And absolute angel. You best not let go of her. I can see how special she is. I saw it right away. Like a pearl in the flotsam of the sea.”

Duncan looked up at him, grinning. “Samuel, that was lovely. And I know. And I won’t. I asked her to be my girlfriend last night, and she said yes.”

Samuel flashed his white smile, his dark brown eyes taking on the glow that Duncan knew so well from when he was a child and Samuel was one of his closest friends and dearest comforts, especially when his mother was in a bad mood. “That makes you a very fortunate man, indeed.”

“It does. I am not going to mess this up. I can’t.”

“But she is Madeline Stone’s daughter,” Samuel said, like the voice of Duncan’s conscience, probing into his private thoughts. “Whatever shall we do about that?”

“Fuck if I know, Samuel. But I’m going to tell Mom tonight. I have to try to make her understand.”

Samuel blew air in a harsh stream from his nose. “Whew, Mr. Shepherd. That is not going to be easy.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I wish you the best of luck. She is a jewel. I hope to see her often with you in the future.”

“Thank you, Samuel. Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

Samuel looked at him, eyes glancing up from the road, going back to it, looking back at him again. He seemed to be thinking about something for awhile, something he didn’t say; then, he spoke.

“I do believe she is making you a better man already, Mr. Shepherd. Fortune is indeed smiling on you.” And Duncan was struck by the familiar words, so similar to the ones he’d thought to himself, spoke aloud to Kenzie in the privacy of his room with her little hand in his, their eyes gazing into each other. Deja vu washed over him in a wave again (how often will that happen now, he thought, eyes staring out the window at the city lights again, and they reflected the blue in them, making them gold, as if he were Midas, turning the world to riches, how often will I feel like time is crashing into me now, insisting I’ve known her for a thousand years), and he felt overwhelmed with the embrace of all that had happened over the past few days, overwhelmed with the hand that felt like destiny that had pushed him onto the balcony and into her orbit, as if she were a planet and he was the moon, attracted to her inexorably, brought to her by the invisible, feminine hands of the Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, he thought, spinning, weaving, cutting, if you are watching us, you Wise Women, All-Knowing, please bless us, have pity on us, mortals in love, abject to the will of the Gods. For I love her and my Fate is now sealed.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t let anything come between him and Kenzie; not even his mother.

------

Duncan stumbled through his Gardner Analytics press that day, his mind elsewhere entirely. Melody had given him an exasperated, confused, incredulous look, a what the fuck is your problem today look, after the third time he messed up his taped interview with C-SPAN at Shepherd Hall.

“Are you okay?” She asked, siding up to him as the reporter and cameraman walked away, a mixture of annoyance and concern on her face, pointing at them with her thumb. “What the fuck was that?”

Duncan pressed his hand against his chin, shaking his head; “I’m fine, just feeling disoriented today, I had a lot going on this weekend.”

Melody’s raised her eyebrows, her expression falling further. “And what exactly did you do this weekend…?”

“A lot.” He walked away from her. No doubt everyone will know soon enough, he thought as he heard her scoff behind him. But fuck, telling my mother is enough for today.

An hour later, he texted Kenzie while he was in his meeting (I’m aching for you, angel) until she stopped replying, obviously done with her lunch, and he scrolled back, lost in her messages, discontent with the physical distance between them. Mackenzie Louise Stone. He felt like he was in high school, looking down at the corner of his napkin where he drew the loops of her name during the meeting for the Foundation’s upcoming charity event; though it was less a charity event than a Gala, at $3,000 a plate and only accessible with an exclusive invitation; only for the wealthiest of DC society. His mother invited practically every A-list celebrity in New York and the surrounding proximate cities to the event for the past two years alongside the expected politicians, and it was becoming the new Met Gala in its own right; the dress code was wildly strict and staunch, themed, and well-documented by DC press (and, increasingly, by press on the East Coast in general). Duncan only half-listened to the list of preparatory arrangements, pondering her face, the shape of her mouth, her wide, bright eyes, her hair falling like ocean waves made of gold and sand, the plunge between her breasts, the sweetness between her legs, her loveliness, her sincerity, tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes, the way she had said I want you to come, baby, and how he had wanted her to grasp his neck and force him to come, remembered how she’d told him to surrounded by roses and he had, wildly, into her, hoping it would never end because it was in her embrace, ecstatic to obey her, but then he thought of how he’d wildly grasped her in his shower, his hands on her neck and his body full of pent desire and she’d welcomed him, her eyes dark, full of lust, begging for his touch, and he wondered at what secrets they’d unlock in each other in the days to come and was thrilled at the prospect, at the fantasy of her reality; she seemed to have unlocked a Pandora’s box of desire in the pit of his body and he wanted her to do with him whatever she wanted, wanted to give her anything she asked for, imagined her little clothes hanging in his closet, her pointed boots and strappy heeled sandals and her little intricate gold jewelry and her crystals and her scent lingering there among his black shirts, her gold settling into his clothing, into his life; he was far, far away in thoughts of her and her wet sex pressed against his lips, her cries of rapture, when Seth cleared his throat and said again:

“Duncan. What do you think?”

“Hmmm?” Duncan looked up, his fingers pressed to the side of his jaw, turning his eyes up from where he’d been drawing spirals languidly around Kenzie’s name on the napkin under his tonic water, where before they’d been turned down to the texts they’d exchanged half an hour ago, making him hard and restless and drifting in his longing for her and her alone.

“Something about a silver lining. The theme. For the Gala.”

“Oh.” He sat up a little, blinking.

“Angels and Demons?” Seth said, turning back to the shareholders and advisors around the table. “Diamond in the rough? Yin and yang?”

“An ember of fire in a void.”

The people around the table turned towards Duncan’s statement. He put the pen that was in his hand down, and trailed a finger along the surface of his phone in his hand under the table; all along his thoughts, Mackenzie danced and flitted away from him, gazed up at him through a field of flowers wherein she lay, laughed at him, against him, in dripping candlelight, pulled him into dappled sunlight, kissed him beneath blooming trees and in his dark bed and in the dark light of evening, glowing. Held him in the darkness. Held him in moonlight, her hands in his hair, his lips on her neck, their bodies close beyond measure.

“Gold in the darkness.” The audacity of hope, he thought. Her.

“Gold in the darkness, that’s great, Duncan, perfect.” Seth glanced at him, nodding, writing furiously on the memo pad in front of him. “That’s it.”

It’s her, Duncan thought again, blue-gray eyes flickering from Seth to the others and back down to his phone, where he knew her messages were enshrined like words scratched into a digital temple, thinking of Kenzie’s little black velvet dress, her quartz necklace in the moonlight, in the light of his bedside lamp as he pulled her into his lap in the throes of the first time they fucked and the softness of her on top of him in the bathtub with roses kissing her skin, her face shrouded in candlelight and his sight going hazy with her beauty and she was exquisite and soft as a dream and gold and the memories were like amber in him already, going solid, hard, seared onto the surface of his heart, fossils of time, a fossil of her pressed into him, no matter what happened now, he’d never forget it, gold on his black clothes, gold dust ground into his skin, the sheen of her aura, her soul, as if he’d eaten a piece of her and now the glow emanated from his body, invisible but to those who had a blacklight from the eternities, able to see the essence of a person, able to see how he was glowing from within because she loved him and he loved her and that, he thought, was the only thing, The only thing. Everything. Kenzie.

-----

Back in the warm, familiar backseat of the BMW, Duncan gazed out the darkening window at the glittering expanse of the District of Columbia, unable to divorce that image of Kenzie from his mind, the slight outline of her that he’d first glimpsed against the roses along the balcony, the lights glittering behind her, her sad face staring out into the open air, the hand of fate pressing into his chest. He wondered; what can I do to make her happy? The thought shook itself into the outline of his ribs, into the space of his eardrums, into the ventricles and veins of his blood. What can I do for her? I’d do anything for her. I’d die for her. His heart pounded in his ears; he felt as if he could feel every drop of blood coursing through his body. How can I make Mom understand how I feel about this woman? We’ve only known each other for three days but I feel as though I’ve been searching for her every day of my life until now. That this is, at last, the realization of hole in my heart that has finally been filled, like the missing mechanism of an intricate clockwork. I didn’t even know it was missing, but now I don’t know how I lived without it. I don’t know how I lived without her. The thought of living without her now fills me with so much horror, I can’t stand it. Is this what the great poets wrote about? Love, undying, all-consuming, and like the soft hand of a little death?

“Samuel, have you ever been in love?” he asked, looking up into the rearview, running a thumb absently over the surface of his phone, clutched in his hand, as if he could feel her through it. He imagined her name there, tracing its imaginary outline. He thought of her hair again, her eyes, her laughing against him after they came together, thought of her tears.

“Oh yes, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel said nothing after that, and the silence leaned into Duncan, like the weight of a heavy hand.

“What happened?”

“She married someone else, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Oh. Samuel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Shepherd. It was...a very long time ago. Not everything in life happens how you want it to. To be loved, even for a little while, is a great gift. To love, in its way, an even greater gift. However long you are given these gifts, you cherish them. That’s the secret to life. I’ve thought so for quite awhile.”

“I love her, Samuel. I love her and I want to make her happy. I want to do whatever it takes to be with her.”

“Make sure she knows, Mr. Shepherd.”

They both lapsed into silence, soft strains of Ella Fitzgerald (Samuel’s favorite) floating toward Duncan from the front of the car: there’s a somebody I’m longing to see / I hope that he turns out to be...someone who’ll watch over me…

Mom, I’m on my way to you, he typed into his phone. I have something important to talk to you about that means the world to me. I love you and hope you’ll understand. See you soon.

-------

Samuel pulled around the wraparound drive of the Shepherd mansion, its Colonial shutter-style windows lit with the electric candles that went on automatically around sunset (the sun had just peeked below the horizon a moment before, the last indigo fragments hovering at the skyline, small scudding clouds still visible over the hazy city starlight), between their crimson velvet curtains. The lights were on downstairs, throwing glowing light out onto the blacktop; Fine, Duncan, I’ll see you soon, Annette had replied in her text to him, and she hadn’t said anything else. Duncan felt on edge now, conscious that the moment he so dreaded was closing in on him, clenching its hands to trap him. He looked down at his phone again as Samuel idled in front of his mother’s house, and noticed a text from Kenzie.

There was a link to a gossip website (buzzpopfeed.com) with an accompanying headline attached: SHEPHERD UNLIMITED HEIR DUNCAN SHEPHERD SPOTTED AT--and then the link cut off. Under it, Kenzie had typed: Just told my mom and she isn’t taking it very well so far. I’m going to try to talk to her somemore over dinner. In the meantime, my friend sent me this. I thought you should know.

Duncan clicked the link, raising his hand to his jaw. He scrolled through the pictures (she’s so lovely, he thought, gazing at her shy expression, their hands clasped together, the fall of her hair over her shoulder, my Kenzie) until he reached the one at the bottom. Oh, no, he thought, staring at the aching kiss he was pressing into Kenzie’s face, the expression painted into her sweet features, the way their bodies pressed together. There’s no room for ambiguity with this one. He was sitting in his mother’s driveway, about to steel his nerves to tell her he wanted to date Mackenzie Stone because he was in love with her, and now this. Now he had no choice, now, it was out, no matter what he decided to do next. He wondered with a cold chill if his mother had seen the photos yet. He winced.

“Bad news, Samuel,” he said, lowering his phone. “Some pictures were taken when Mackenzie and I were at the bistro last night. Now they’re online.”

“Mr. Shepherd...it may be for the best.”

“I know you’re right. But fuck.”

“Be brave, Mr. Shepherd. That’s what she deserves. Your courage. And you know as well as I do: this is for her. She will need all your strength in the days to come. She is not from your world and she will need your help to navigate it.”

Duncan gazed at him for a moment, quietly; then, some strange sixth sense touched him, and he looked up through the window of the car and noticed, with a jolt of shock, that his mother had been standing at the balcony on the second floor that overarched the pillared front doorway, staring at him, or at least at the BMW (the windows were tinted) with a curious expression for at least a minute or more; her body had an observant sort of stiff pose, her arms crossed, her face gazing down, her brow furrowed, her lips closed. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a stillness about her that unnerved him deeply. It communicated one thing in particular to him: it was time to get out of the fucking car, Duncan.

He pulled the door open, stepping out, staring up at her.

“Hi, mom,” he called up, raising his voice enough to carry it over the steps and pillars to where she stood, staring at him, her eyes dark.

Annette said nothing. She stared at him a moment longer (his blood coursed suddenly to an icy cold stream), then she stepped away, through the second-floor deck’s glass French doors.

“Oh, fuck,” Duncan murmured. He pressed a hand through the side of his hair, looking down at his phone for a moment. He contemplated sending Kenzie a quick reply (goodbye my darling I am about to be fucking murdered by Annette Shepherd), but decided against it, slipping his phone into the pocket of his tailored leather jacket, idly yanking at the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath it, taking a deep breath of the early-evening air into his lungs, blowing it out, and going up the three long white steps, into his mother’s house.

Inside it was glowing and gold, the opulent fixtures and furniture spotlessly clean as they always were, the gold-white banisters of the staircase shining in the dim glow of the electric chandeliers that extended on either side of it. He looked up the stairs and watched his mother descend; tonight, Annette Shepherd wore a black wrap-top with tailored black suit pants and black flats, the shoes she only wore at home when she was alone. Her hair was down around her shoulders in soft styled waves; her hair always seemed perfect to him, not a strand out of place, not a tangle, smooth and serene, the way her slender face often appeared even when there was a boiling river of hellfire rolling under her expression. She had no jewelry on but for the small round diamond earrings she often wore at her ears; he almost never saw her wear necklaces, as though her neck were perfect enough on its own without adornments. Her dark eyes continued to look at him, silent.

She reached the bottom of the steps, stopping before she descended entirely, so she hovered above him, just enough to look down into his face. It was a familiar power move from his mother; he was taller than she was, so she used those steps strategically, as she did in all things (how could she use it, them, anything to her advantage), to give herself leverage. She held her large iPhone in one hand; she brought it up, scrolling down for a moment, and held the screen up to him. It was the photo of him and Kenzie embracing, his lips pressed ardently against her; the picture he’d just seen for the first time in the car a moment before, the photo he knew he wouldn’t be able to bullshit his way out of to Annette Shepherd.

“Who is she.”

“Mom. Please don’t--”

“Do not fucking stall with me, Duncan. Who. Is. She.”

He regarded her for a moment, forcing himself to stare into his mother’s dark eyes; he could see the glimmer of anger there now, one she was good at hiding from years of political practice, but not forever, not from him. There was a moment of struggle that passed between them; a sort of clash of silent wills, Annette determined to have her son tell her the entire truth with not even a hint of falsehood, Duncan determined to tell her only what was absolutely necessary for fear of her wrath and shielding Kenzie from it, as well. Annette won the battle for the moment, as Duncan felt the wave of resignation wash over him. There was nothing for it. Time to rip off the bindings and air out the truth.

“Her name is Mackenzie.”

Annette rolled her eyes at that, scoffing, her composure finally fracturing. “What’s her fucking name, Duncan, her full fucking name. Who the fuck is she? Is this what you wanted to tell me about?”

She spat the word this out, her anger palpable in the texture of it, her annoyance bubbling over and clashing against him. This. She meant Mackenzie. It sent a twinge of anger through his skull, a scattering of red-hot reaction at the back of his eyes. Fuck it, he thought. I don’t care.

“Mackenzie Stone.”

He watched his mother’s eyes go wide and dumbfounded for a moment, the anger in her expression muddling to one of shock.

“Stone.”

“Yes.”

“No. No way. No goddamn fucking way, Duncan. No FUCKING way.”

“Mom. Please.”

“What could you be thinking? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She pointed a finger at him, the way she used to when he had broken something priceless or made a mess in an inconvenient place.

“She’s Madeline Stone’s daughter, and I’m in love with her.”

The flabbergasted expression fell over Annette’s sharply beautiful features again, and she reached out, it seemed, involuntarily, to clutch the banister, like she would fall otherwise. Her face drained of color (oh god, just how I imagined, he thought), cheeks seeping into whiteness.

“I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? What am I, a teenager?”

She stormed down the remaining steps, pushing past him roughly, waving a hand dismissively at him as she turned her back towards the dining room.

“This is ridiculous, I refuse to listen to this. Forget her. I’ll make it disappear. Just stop, right now.”

“Mom. No.” He forced his voice to remain even.

She stopped abruptly, turned, eyes blazing.

“No?”

“Mom, listen to me,” he said, and he was devastated to find that he could hear tears at the edge of his voice this time, could feel emotion bubbling under his throat, at the back of his eyes. He stepped to her, reaching for her hand, grasping it (it was cold and she tried to pull it away), gaining traction, tightening there, insistently. “Please, listen to me. It’s me, Duncan. I’m telling you something important. I love her, okay? I love her.”

Her eyes, dark and clouded with her blind anger, blinked at him, her lips pressing together, her body rigid.

“I love her. I want to be with her. I want your blessing, but I’m going to be with her with or without it. I love you and I wanted to tell you because I want to be honest with you. Please don’t make me regret that. Mom. Please. Can we sit down? Can we--please (and his voice cracked, he couldn’t stop it)--can we talk about this?”

He felt her trying to pull out of his grasp again, her expression still threaded with deep anger, but she said nothing, only stared at him. He saw her eyes flicker, change, as a tear, to his dismay, fell from his eye, coursing down his cheek.

“Duncan.”

“Mom. Please.”

Annette seemed utterly confused then, her perplexity falling over her cheeks and mouth, making them fall downwards; her eyes looked away from him, across the hall, at nothing.

“Madeline Stone’s fucking daughter, Duncan.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this. I know you hate her and she humiliated you. But this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I’m asking you to please--please--give us your blessing. If you’ve ever loved me at all, you’ll do this for me.”

She looked at him again, annoyance in her face once more until she glanced at the wetness on his cheek; remembered the tear that had fallen there a moment ago, and her mouth opened a little, her expression falling again, disbelieving. Duncan knew that his mother wasn’t used to seeing him cry; he almost never did, even when he was a child, holding in his fears and his sadness until he felt ready to explode, never feeling as though he was safe enough to let his emotions go, let his despair out. But Kenzie had kindled in him an openness, an abandon; a desire to show his emotions, to hell with what the world pinned on him. She loved him. That was more than enough.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was coming to tell you and those photos beat me to it. But I’m telling you now because I want you to know. You can’t pretend like I didn’t tell you, because I did. I just did. I love her. Please accept her.”

“You love her.” Annette repeated his words, her tone incredulous. “You fucking love her. Jesus. Youth. Of all the women on the planet, Duncan. Madeline Stone’s daughter?”

He let go of his mother’s hand, taking a step back, brushing his fingers under his nose, the back of his knuckles against the wetness on his cheek, and turned away from her in frustration.

“It doesn’t matter whose daughter she is, Mom.”

“Oh, you think it doesn’t?” she snapped at him, walking past him, back towards the dining room. He followed her, ears ringing with the anger and sadness that had started to hum in his mind, bringing his hands together, pressing his thumb into the palm of his left hand, trying to quell it.

“When you love someone, it shouldn’t.”

“This could fucking destroy your political career. This could cause serious problems with the bill, with Shepherd Unlimited, with all the work we’ve done.”

Duncan let out an exasperated groan. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mom, how is will this destroy anything but one of your endless grudges? Your stubborn insistence on hating people who, in this case, you’ve never met...and who mean everything to me?” The dining table was set with an impressive leg of lamb with several side-dishes surrounding it; Annette had employed a personal chef, Arturo (3 Michelin stars) for as long as Duncan could remember, his meals throughout Duncan’s childhood and adolescence prepared meticulously; he remembered his school lunches looked markedly different from even his other wealthy classmates in private school growing up, featuring pan-seared greens and cuts of Kobe beef and creme brulee (Annette had insisted on Arturo making his lunches, he was never allowed to have the school lunches). Annette stopped in her tracks, mouth agape at him again. “Means everything to you? And what do I mean to you, Duncan?”

“Mom. Why do you think I’m here?”

She turned away again, storming to her seat, slapping her phone down onto the Waterford tablecloth, grabbing at the bottle of Chateau Lafite (the corkscrew still hovering around the lip, but mostly pulled up by the house butler--Ingrid, who was Scandinavian and tight-lipped and who Duncan felt sure would defend Annette with her life if the need ever arose, and who had also been with the Shepherds for three decades--though at the moment, she had wisely vacated the room, no doubt hearing the raised nature of their conversation) that rested between the two place-settings at the south end of the room, yanking the rest of the cork out, and pouring the expensive wine unceremoniously into the crystal wine glass in front of her, glaring at it as though it was the source of her anger. She set the bottle down, pushing it away from her; grasped the crystal and raised it to her mouth, draining it all in one long draught.

“Sit the fuck down, Duncan.”

He stalked over to the seat beside her (hers at the head of the table, as usual), yanked out the heavy oakwood dining chair, and sat, his hands coming together in front of him, elbows on his thighs, sitting back, glaring at her, his eyes full of gathering stormclouds. It was time use the leverage at his disposal.

“I’m your son, Annette.”

“I’m fucking aware of that. It’s the source of my ire.”

“This is what I want. This is my happiness at stake.”

Annette paused, lifting her head, setting her chin at an angle, breathing in and out great bursts, and then she let out a sigh (resignation?) that made Duncan’s nerves fizzle.

“If you do anything--I mean fucking anything--to compromise the bill or the company, I will personally push her off a fucking balcony.”

He bit his lip, anger seething through the space between his brow. Annette talking about hurting Kenzie, even in jest, made him feel absolutely mad, unhinged with resentment towards her. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how beautiful Kenzie was, how luminous and lovely, how kind and the way gold shone out of her, the light, the goodness. She didn’t know Kenzie, and she didn’t know what she was fucking saying. He was silent and still, the stormclouds still seething behind his eyes, gazing at her, hands still clasped on his lap. I won’t let you do that, he thought. I will never let you lay a finger on her golden head.

“Did you fucking hear me, Duncan.” She poured more of the Lafite into her crystal glass, glancing down at her phone (a text flashed up, the iPhone vibrating against the table), glancing at him.

“Yes, Mom. I heard you.”

“Not a thing. Not a fucking thing to compromise the institutions I have built the last twenty years. Or I will fucking get rid of her myself.”

You could try, he thought. They stared at each other for a moment again; that impassable tension floating between them once more, both struggling for the upper hand. As long as I’m alive, you won’t touch her.

“Tell me you understand what I just said.”

“I understand.”

“Fine.” Annette reached across the table curtly, grabbing the silver tongs that rested in a dish of pan-seared asparagus with lemon and ground pepper, throwing several stalks unceremoniously onto the Hermes porcelain plate in front of her. “I want to meet her. This week. No excuses. Friday, after the Foundation press conference for the Dance Center. Plume, the usual table. 6 PM sharp. She’ll be coming to the Gala with you, I’d imagine.”

He hadn’t even thought of the Gala beyond the meeting today; his thoughts had been far too wrapped up Kenzie to even bother to consider it. “Yes,“ he said, fighting to keep his tone simplistic.

“She’s telling Madeline, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Good. None of this can go forward otherwise. Now that those photos are live, we have to work hard to control the story surrounding them.”

“I’m not going to lie to anyone about her, Mom.” Duncan clenched his teeth.

“Control, I said. Containment. We can turn this into an advantage, but we have to harness the narrative from the outset.”

“There is no narrative. I love her and I want us to be together.”

“God, stop fucking saying that, Duncan. I fucking heard you the first fifty times.”

He leaned back in the chair, letting a colossal breath of frustration out of his mouth and nose. His mother could be a cruel, heartless person sometimes. A cold, ruthless, and implacable psyche, unfeeling and immovable. He loved his mother, but he hated her propensity for spite. He hated the way she was ignoring his sincerity; as if it meant nothing to her.

“I’ll call Madeline. I’ll do this for you, Duncan.” Annette took another ungraceful gulp from her wine glass, no doubt aware there were no prying eyes to critique her at the moment beyond her willful son. “But you keep this under control. You keep her under control.”

As if I could ever do that, he thought. Kenzie’s spirit is brighter than anyone I’ve ever seen. I could never control her. I can only hope to deserve to be near her. But Annette did not understand, that was clear. Whether she ever would remained unclear. But at least she had agreed, in her way, for now.

He pulled the Lafite over to his own crystal, pouring himself a generous glass.

“You’ll like her.”

Annette smiled, but it was a mirthless smile. “That was her smell on you the other day, wasn’t it.”

His eyes flickered. He hesitated.

“Don’t ever fucking lie to me again. Or I will make you regret it, my only son.”

Duncan gulped the wine, not moving his eyes from his mother’s face. Annette stared back, and her eyes were like dark orbs of obsidian, spheres of void, blackest night. He did not doubt that she meant what she said this time, and he nodded, swallowing the wine. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She used the tongs to place several spears of the asparagus on the plate in front of him, the way she often had doled his food when he was a child. He picked up his fork, his heart slowing finally, and stabbed it into one of the spears, bringing it to his mouth, her dark eyes watching him for another moment, her expression indecipherable. Then, she picked up her phone to stare at the text she’d received, and he glanced down into his pocket, noticing his phone lighting up with a text message of his own. Kenzie.

Mom isn’t happy, but I think I made her understand, at least a little. At least for now. She wants to meet you soon; I thought maybe on Friday? Duncan pressed his lips together in frustration. He couldn’t imagine it would be a good idea for Annette and Madeline to have dinner together so soon after his and Kenzie’s admissions. He couldn’t imagine how he’d orchestrate a scene that included his mother, Madeline Stone and Mackenzie, at least, not yet. The thought made him shudder with its likelihood of disaster. He looked up from his phone, noticing his mother’s eyes on him again.

“Is that her?” She asked curtly.

“Yes.”

“Eat dinner with your mother. She can wait.”

Duncan looked at Annette, stormclouds rolling in behind his eyes again. This was going to be a hell of a ride, wasn’t it? A real hell of a fucking time.

-------

Duncan had finally escaped from his mother’s clutches; she had insisted he stay later than he’d wanted to, going on and on about the Foundation, Claire Underwood’s opposition to the bill, his Uncle Bill’s chemo (I’d feel worse about his cancer if he wasn’t such an asshole all the time, Duncan thought), the Gala (“I’ll be the one to take her for a dress,” she’s said matter-of-factly, and Duncan had been unable to hide his smirk; good luck telling Kenzie what to wear, he thought, she has a unique style of her own and I would never presume to do that, and Mom, I’m giving her an expense account, and I’m not going to tell you about it, and she’s going to keep her things at my penthouse and you can’t stop her because I won’t let you), the Dance Center’s grand opening, and the inner workings of his recent projects for the front that was Gardner Analytics; a hard-working piece of propaganda orchestrated by Annette primarily, though he didn’t presume to erase his own contributions and involvement. Duncan felt as though in a few short days the trajectory of his life had abruptly switched course somehow; had been pulled into a tunnel lit by fairy lights and roses and wisps of summer air full of drifting flowers; the things he’d cared about only a few days before no longer seemed to mean anything, and his thoughts were full of Mackenzie Stone like an oasis of water in a desert, a haven of wondrous meaning in a vast expanse of nothing. His mind drifted with the Lafite ground into his blood now, and he laid his head back on the leather backseat of the BMW (Samuel was playing Duke Ellington and John Coltrane now; In a Sentimental Mood, he thought, oh yes, I am). He looked down at his phone, finally alone to text Kenzie without any interruptions or prying eyes.

Baby, I’m so sorry it took so long to text you back. It took a long time to get my Mom to a place where she wasn’t being irrational. Thank you for sending me that link; everything’s okay, my Mom has seen it already, we’ll make it through this, I promise. She wants to meet you on Friday as well; can we see your Mom on a different day? I can make time on Wednesday or Thursday, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have dinner with both of them at the same time yet. I feel like we’re going to have to ease them both into this, and I want everything to work out okay. I want them to accept this (accept us, accept you, accept me) because it means more to me than anything else. You do.

I miss you terribly right now.

He lowered his phone, staring out at the night, and truly he wanted nothing in the world but to be with her. He felt starkly afraid at forgetting the smell of her hair and her perfume; he wished he had a piece of her clothing or a token of some kind to grasp in his hands, assuring him of her reality in a world that seemed to lack her in every instance in this moment. A world without her was truly abject. He sent a silent prayer into the sky; Fates, you seem to be the Gods for me: make her sure that I love her, because I do, I do, I do.

He felt his phone vibrate in his hand, and looked down, dazed in the rhythms of drum and piano; Kenzie.

Baby, can you come to my apartment? Please come.

Duncan sat up with a jolt, his hazy drunkenness eeking away. “Samuel, go to Kenzie’s apartment building, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Shepherd.” Samuel turned abruptly, without needing to change the course of his GPS; I guess he knows the way to her house already, Duncan thought, and he smiled, full of affection and anticipation. Coming to you, baby, he typed, and sat back, Ellington and Coltrane assuring him: fortune is smiling on you, the Fates have heard your prayer.

#millory #duncan shepherd #body and soul #duckenzie #duncan shepherd au #cody fern #collie #billie lourd #cody x billie #michael x mallory #millory au #house of cards au #ahs apocalypse #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #collie au #my fic

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thetransientwraith · 6 years ago

Text

Slither

If only I could be A slug from the sea

Slither

Plip

Plop

Plip

Plop

My water-logged boots croaked as I stumbled along the shoreline. Though the storm had passed, clouds still blackened the sky. I looked out to the water. Pieces of wood and various bits of debris flooded the water and ran to shore. In the distance was the battered, split hull of what once was a proud galleon, still coasting along the crags in the water. Where am I?

Some of the crew had washed ashore, just as I had. None were as lucky. I ached all over, and myriad cuts and bruises marred my already worn skin. But I was alive. The more fortunate of the ones that had made it to shore were missing only one appendage. Disembodied heads, torsos, and severed limbs dotted the shore. The rest had been taken by the sea, taken by that storm. The water ran red with their blood.

I’m the only one left.

I turned back towards the land, where palm trees loomed overhead. Looking further inland, one could observe the forest becoming denser the further one went in; the domain of predators. I reached down to pat my holsters, only to find them empty. My two truest friends, my cutlass and pistol, were gone. There was no chance of me going in there, not without protection. So I limped along the shoreline, plodding along, aching more with each step. What had I done to deserve this?

Oh, I remember.

I am a pirate, a lowlife brigand, a common thief. I am a liar and a murderer. How many had I killed? How many had I cut down for their gold and silver? How many lives had I ruined? I couldn’t answer. This is my reckoning.

Of all the things I’ve done, that was the worst.

The storm did this to me, took everything I had. We’d been at sea for a few weeks, my men and I. The skies had been cloudy for several days, and harrowing rains and cutting winds battered us for hours on end. That’s when I saw it. A massive twister, several stories high, hung over the water. ? The men begged and howled at me to change our heading, and I obliged. Still, the twister was too fast. The last thing I saw was the twister barreling towards our ship, sending us careening off course, ripping the planks from the ship and the men from the deck.

After walking along the shore for about an hour, I finally saw some signs of life. A ship was docked here, gently bobbing with the waves. Ecstatic, I rushed over, kicking up sand in my wake. The dock was completely devoid of life, no hands, no cargo movers, no one. An oddity, to be sure, but stranger things have happened. I climbed the steps to the deck only to find it empty as well. The ship had clearly been here for a long time, as moss, and even barnacles coated much of the deck. Under a layer of moss, I found the trapdoor to the ship’s innards. “Hello?” I called down into the ship. No response. Tentatively, I stepped down into the below deck. There had to be someone somewhere.

The ship’s insides were as rotted as the outside. Barnacles lined the walls, and sea snails slithered on the wooden planks. “Hello? Is there anyone here?” I called out again. The low groan of the ship served as my response. The planks moaned as I walked through the ship’s guts. I spotted an old barrel sitting alongside the wall. The hilts of several swords stuck out from inside. I looked at the swords. Many were chipped, all were rusted. I took the least worn one from the barrel and holstered it.

After cutting down a massive cobweb that blocked the doorway, I made my way to the next room, which appeared to be where they stored the majority of their arms. Cannonballs, barrels of gunpowder, and rotted pistols were stored in many of the containers. None of the pistols looked functional; they had decayed far too much. How long had this ship been here? “Hello?” I called one last time, all of my hopes of encountering another soul being carried on my breath. And my hope was lost from me.

At the other end of the room was another decrepit trapdoor. Warily, I stepped down into the darkness below, sword in hand. It started to dawn on me that the ship must be massive to have three decks. Oddly enough, it didn’t appear that large on the outside. It was perfectly dark on this deck. All light had been lost on the deck above. Not unusual, I supposed. Underwater decks must be dark. Tentatively, I stepped forward, one foot at a time, using the sword to feel out my surroundings. Suddenly, one of my feet plopped into something. Something with a gooey texture. It was then that I noticed the stench. The foulest smell this side of the Atlantic rose from the ground and burned my nostrils. It was too much. I leaned over and began to heave until this morning’s breakfast decorated the portside wall. Before I could recover, I heard a noise on the other side of the room. A door slowly creaked open, and someone stepped inside. He carried a lantern with him, casting the room in a dim light. “Hey! Thank goodness you’re here, I-” I started.

But he wasn’t human.

The horror had the body of a man, however, it was coated in a thick layer of whatever it was that I had stepped in. Its “hand” in which it held the lantern had small slugs where the fingers should have been. Tentacles jutted out from its neck and wriggled around in the dim light. Their shadows danced on the ceiling. We stood there for a moment, it standing with its tentacles swaying gently, almost trance-like, and me, with my jaw nearly detached from my face. Then it shambled towards me, its tentacle-head reaching out in front of it as if to touch me. It completely engulfed my head, twisting and turning in a swirling torrent of slime. I felt something touch my torso, presumably its slug hands. And I let it all happen to me, as I was petrified with a fear of the worst kind. Suddenly, the thing held itself still, and I felt the tentacles wrap around my head. It was becoming hard to breathe. I tried to gasp for air, but none came. Abruptly, the tentacles released their clasp on my head, allowing me to breathe. As I gasped for breath, the horror before me stood with its tentacles projecting in all directions, quickly vibrating in the air. I looked down, where I saw the sword buried to its rusty hilt in its midriff. When I pulled the sword from its body, it immediately fell to the floor, where the tentacles thrashed for several seconds until slowly coming to a stop. Once the tentacles stopped writhing, the slime on its body retracted, sliding off of its body and onto the floor, revealing tattered sailor’s wear.

I fell to the ground, spraying viscous slime in all directions. I stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the thing I had killed. I’ve lost count of the men and women I’ve butchered, but other than that time, I had never been so bothered by the sight of a dead body. I shivered as I held my knees to my chest. My teeth chattered all on their own. Where the hell am I? Am I in hell? All of a sudden, I started laughing; at myself, at everything that’s happened. Look at me, whimpering like a child. I looked down at my jacket. Ruined. Damn. I sighed and looked again at the corpse. I’d never been the superstitious sort, unlike the rest of my former crew, but I was beginning to rethink my beliefs. What was it? I was certain that some sea-fearing superstitious zealot somewhere that could tell me exactly what it was. Slowly, I leaned over, grabbed the lantern, which had fell next to the corpse, and rose to my feet. I’m not staying in this fucked place, I’ll take my chances with the island, I thought. I looked back up at the trapdoor… where was the trapdoor? The trapdoor and ladder that was attached to it had disappeared. I held the lantern up, illuminating the entire room.

There was no ladder. There was no trapdoor. There was only the slime-coated door at the end of the room.

My eyes widened. This must be a mistake, I thought. I was just a deck above! For an age, I looked around that damned room. While bearing the smell, it felt like an eternity. I sighed and looked toward the door. There was only one exit.

Deeper.

The doorknob was so engulfed in slime that when I tried to turn it, my hand simply slipped off. Several minutes of wiping later, I was holding the lantern up to light up a short hallway. In the middle of passage was a crate. I walked over to the crate and inspected it. It was covered in slime and cobwebs, much like everything else on this level of the ship. I opened the crate. It was filled with hundreds of barnacles. I was taken aback for a moment. What fucker collects barnacles? A shrill screech echoed throughout the ship, nearly making me jump out of my skin and drop the lantern. Every hair on my body was on end. I really didn’t want to know what made that noise. After taking a few short breaths to compose myself, I went to close the crate. They looked at me. Hundreds of eyes, embedded in the barnacles stared me down. “What the fuck?!” I shouted, loudly, falling flat on my ass and squirming to the wall. What the fuck indeed. I rose to my feet shaking. I decided to press on. No need to dwell on… that. I opened the next door and crossed the threshold to the next room, absolutely quaking with each step. I didn’t want to know what was in the next room. I didn’t want to be on this ship. I turned my head to look behind me. There was no door, just another slimy wall. Maybe I am in hell.

I heard it then. It was quiet, only just audible. A humming, so low that the sound of the waves outside nearly drowned it out, but it was there. I didn’t know what I was doing. I walked through the room, past the windows to the outside world, and I entered another hallway, this time, much longer, and with several rooms stemming from it, and windows on the right. Wait… windows. I looked outside. I was sure I was underwater a few moments ago. Just how big is this ship? I looked out towards the sea. It’s moving. I looked out and tried to spot the island, but I couldn’t; it was no longer in sight. How long had we been moving? Clouds still blocked the sun, but enough light poured through that I didn’t need the lantern anymore, so I attached it to the side of my jacket. Clamshells littered the hallway, some with their occupants still inside. I stood dead in my tracks. Something lumbered down the hallway ahead of me. A man, well, a thing. It was covered in barnacles (eyeless, thankfully). As it drew closer, I realized that it didn’t have feet, at least not those of a man. Its “legs” were composed of hundreds upon hundreds of worms. With each step, several of them would break off from the pack and lie on the floor before quickly scurrying back to its place. Atop its jacket was the head of a humungous worm, nearly reaching the ceiling. The thing shambled down the hallway and hung a right, entering one of the doors on my left.

La la la

I heard it much more clearly now, the humming. No, it was singing. It came from the room that thing went into. Suddenly, my legs began to move. One, two, three, four. All on their own, my legs took me forward and stood in the doorframe of that room, where the singing emanated from.

La la la laaaaaa

There were seven of them, all sitting in a circle around something. I had never seen something so horrific. Rotted flesh, limbs in all the wrong places, animal parts, one even had mouths for eyes. They stopped singing as I entered, and turned to look at me. I stood perfectly motionless. Sweat dripped from every inch of my body. But they didn’t seem to care. They turned their attention from me, completely unfazed by my presence, and began to sing once more.

La la la laaaaa la la

The one that had just entered took its place in the circle and added its shrill voice to the group. Without really knowing why, I found myself sitting between two of the monstrosities, the one with mouths for eyes and another with starfish legs for arms and a gaping hole in its chest. In the center of the circle was a single barnacle, one with an eye. It stared at me as I sat there, entranced by their song.

It was a hot day. The sun beat down on our heads while the warm sea winds battered us on all sides. Wait… where am I? I looked around me. Waves crashed against the dock, people bustled about, guardsmen patrolled, and street vendors peddled their wares. I’ve been here before. Am I in… Havana? I was just aboard that ship! No, no, maybe I was dreaming. I must have been dreaming. There’s no way any of that could have been real, right?

And I saw her again.

She was at the apple vendor buying a basketful of apples, like she always did. Her fiery hair flowed down to the middle of her back, and her pink dress covered all but her ankles. I loved that dress. “Clara!” I called as I broke out into a run toward her, surely looking like a madman. Before I could reach her, a tall, gruff-looking man in a black jacket strolled up to her and started a conversation. A sword and pistol were at his side. Within a few seconds, he had her laughing and engaging with him as well. I ran faster and harder than I ever had in my life, but even so, I never seemed to get any closer. I watched as they walked away together, laughing and talking as they did. I stopped running, and merely watched them disappear amongst the buildings. From the corner of my eye, I noticed something strange. It was at the apple vendor’s stand, in one of the containers. Curious, I walked over to it. A large barnacle eye stared back at me.

The ship rocked gently with the waves. I looked around, completely bewildered. I was back in the circle of monsters, as if I had never left. They had stopped singing, and all looked at me. I looked down toward the center of the circle. The barnacle eye was closed. “What the hell was that?!” I shouted, immediately getting to my feet. “Why did you show me that?” I’m not sure why I expected an answer. One of the monsters, the one with mouths for eyes, got up from his seat. Still fearful, I allotted him more than enough space to get up. He pointed a bony finger towards the far wall. I looked up at where it was pointing. It was a statue, an idol of some sort. It was of some creature, one unlike I’d ever seen. Its head was completely covered in some sort of liquid, presumably the same slime that inhabited much of the rest of the ship. It was covered in something resembling a rash, with a large amount of them clustered around its face. Tentacles sprouted from its back and fell down to its base.

La la la laaaa la la laaaa

I found myself staring at it for several minutes while the creatures sang around me. I caught myself and returned my gaze to the creature. “What is that?” I asked, oddly enough expecting an answer. Without any more interaction with me, the creature returned to its seat and continued singing with the rest of its ilk. Thoroughly creeped out, and without turning my back to them, I exited the room.

The floorboards groaned as I crept upon them. Outside, steel clouds still blocked the sun, and rain battered the hull. At these times, I hated being at sea. In the worst of storms, I would think back to life ashore. Stable ground, sweet smells, and general safety were nice things to have. I’d taken them for granted. Just like I did… her.

At the end of the hallway was another door, thankfully, not covered in slime. Rain beat down on my head as I crossed the threshold. I was outside again? I’d learned not to question these things. This has been the least abnormal part of my day. I stepped out onto the deck. It was abandoned, as it was before. Steel clouds stained the sky still, but behind them was a pale full moon. Again, I saw the decrepit cannons and worn sails. Honestly, it’s a miracle this thing hasn’t sank yet. Behind me were two sets of water-logged stairs leading to what I presumed was the navigator’s wheel. I climbed the set of stairs to find the navigator’s wheel and what looked like a tarp covering something behind it. I looked around. There was no navigator. Don’t question these things. I walked over to the wheel and inspected it. A large crack ran down the center, and it was missing several pegs. It’ll do. I took hold of some of the pegs and turned the wheel counterclockwise. A terrible guttural noise echoed throughout the ship and sent shivers down my spine. The ship kept on its course, not reacting at all to my command. Annoyed, I spun the wheel as far as it would go clockwise. A force pushed against me once the wheel was as far as it would go. I held the wheel in place for several seconds before being flung from it from the sheer power of whatever it was that was counteracting me. I looked around. I was the only one on the deck. Hesitantly, I walked back over to the wheel, which was back in neutral position. I slowly placed my hands on it and began to tug it towards port. It wouldn’t budge. Do not question these things. Something stirred behind me. I turned around. A pair of eyes glowed from beneath the tarp. Slowly, whatever it was rose to its feet. The monster dwarfed me, easily reaching a dozen feet tall. Long, spindly arms—no, tendrils— fell to the floor, three on each side. What I thought was a tarp was actually a long, thin layer of skin, flowing with the breeze. In the darkness, I could only just make out its black skin. All I could see were those bright blue eyes. In a panic, I drew my pistol and fired. The ball went through its body and exited out the other side, leaving a small hole in the center of its body, but no blood left the wound. The skin then began to mend itself, as if it were fabric. In an instant, the tendrils wrapped themselves around my arms, hoisting me into the air. The monster brought me to its face, which was long and slender, almost like a dog’s. Its eyes met mine.

“So you’re just going to leave me here?” a voice said.

“Well what do you want me to do?” said another.

Where am I now? I looked around, completely dazed and out of sorts. It was a small home; portraits and drawings lined the walls, art supplies littered the floors, and the smell of fresh baking was in the air. Outside the one window, clothes could be seen drying in the wind. Clara sat on the edge of her bed, sporting a mean look. The tall man (still in the same jacket) stood by the exit.

“I want you to learn an honest trade to help support us!” Clara yelled, placing a hand on her round belly.

“This is all I can do,” the man said solemnly. “Besides, I can earn so much more for us out at sea than on some farm.”

“You’d rather be a brigand than a working man?”

“I am a working man.”

“Get to fuck, then,” Clara spat, turning her back to the man.

“Clara, please-”

“Go!”

The world around me melted. For a moment, I was in a world of white, of nothingness. It felt almost… good. But the world returned to me. I was on a ship again, but not the ancient hellhole I was just on. I was on my ship, The Dread Whale. My crew was there, along with that tall man. We were docked at a port while some of my crewmen unloaded our wares. One of my crewmembers went up to the man as he stood next to the navigator’s wheel. He handed the man an envelope, which the man opened, revealing a slip of paper.

“Oy lads! I’ve got another from my sweetheart ‘ere!” the man shouted with a hearty smile.

The men assembled in a crowd on the deck, cheering as the man unfurled his letter.

“Dearest Edward,” the man started with a wide grin. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But… I can’t be with a man who robs for a living.”

The crowd went silent, and the grin on the man’s face faded.

He continued. “Please, don’t come back.”

A howl unlike any other split the air and cut deep into my ears. The man clutched the letter in his hands, and tore it to shreds, letting it drift off into the wind.

“Make way for Havana, now!” the man bellowed from atop the stairs.

Hurriedly, the crew scrambled to their stations while the man looked out at the sea, sporting the wildest, most pained expression on his face.

The scene fell apart. Rain dripped on my head, and I found myself bathed in moonlight. He walked slowly through the trees, splattering mud with each step. In his hands, he held a sword and a large blunderbuss.

Oh no.

“Please, stop!” I yelled, running over to him. “Don’t do it!”

I moved to block his path. I flinched as his body moved through mine without contact. No, this isn’t happening. I drew my sword from its sheathe and swung at him. The blade phased through him, as if I had tried to cut air. At the end of the short trail was the cottage from the previous vision.

Please, no.

The man paused for a minute once he saw it. An awful look spread across his face; one full of hatred.

Please don’t do this.

I ran ahead of him, passing through his body and reaching the front door of the cottage. My hand phased through the doorknob as I tried to open it. Fuck. Hurriedly, I simply ran straight through the door. Thankfully, I passed through and made it inside the cottage. Clara was there, sitting at the edge of her bed, and so was another man. His lips were firmly locked against hers, and his hand rubbed against her pregnant belly. “Clara! You have to get out of here!” I yelled. No one heard me. “Clara, please, please listen,” I exclaimed, tears now streaming from my eyes. I extended my hand out to her face. It passed through her completely.

Bang

The door collapsed and splintered apart, and the tall man entered. His face went still when he saw Clara’s new lover in her arms. The scene became a blur. The man’s sword bit deep into the other’s flesh, nearly severing his left arm from the rest of his body. Clara screamed a high-pitched wail, and tried to grab the sword from the man’s hand. A shot rang out, echoing through the forest. Clara looked down at the crater the blunderbuss had left in her stomach. Her lips curved to say something, but nothing came. She fell to the floor next to her lover, and twitched until she moved no more. The wild expression on the man’s face faded to a look of horror. “Oh, oh no,” he said, dropping his weapons to the floor. As he scooped Clara’s bloodied body into his hands, the scene fell apart.

I’m so sorry.

I found myself once more staring into a set of pale blue eyes. Slowly, the tendrils unfurled themselves from around my arms, causing me to drop to the wet ground. I felt sick. I wretched on the ground, heaving until I vomited at the creature’s feet. “I’m so sorry Clara, I’m so sorry,” I cried as I curled up on the ground. I laid there, expecting the horror to brutalize me, I pondered what sequence of events led me here. This is my reckoning, no more, no less. But it never came. The horror simply walked off, leaving me in my pool of despair. It walked down the steps, its tendrils dragging on the stairs as it moved. It glanced at me one final time before entering the ship through the doorway that I had come from. My heart pounded long after the horror had left. Finally, I got up. There was still one place I haven’t explored. I looked toward the bow, toward the captain’s quarters.

Whatever awaited me, I hoped it would kill me. I opened the door to the captain’s quarters. Immediately, a familiar rancid odor struck me in the face. The room was covered entirely in that ooze from before. I looked down; it covered the floors as well. Wonderful. I sloshed into the room, taking care not to trip over anything that may be covered by the slime. Massive cobwebs ran down the room. At the other side of the room was an oddly placed window. Curious, I walked over to the window and drew it open. There was a lake on the other side. My jaw dropped further than it ever had.

And I heard it again.

La la laaaaa

The singing.

La laaaaaa

It called to me.

Without hesitation, I jumped through the window and landed with a splash on the other side. Although the water only rose up to around my ankles, the lake was massive, stretching much farther than I could see. Actually, there was nothing to see. Aside from the window to the captain’s quarters behind me, there was nothing. No trees, no ocean, no ships, just white and the dusty clouds above.

La laaaaa

The singing pierced through my head and bounced around in my skull. I needed to find the source. It was just so… beautiful. So I walked. And while I walked, I thought. I thought about the visions I’d been shown by the creatures, of my actions, of Clara.

I’m so sorry.

If I could take it all back, somehow repent for my sins, I would. I’d give anything to have her back, to hold her in my arms again.

Is it even worth living anymore?

How long had I been walking? I turned around. The window had vanished, and nothing lied before me. There was nothing for me, nothing at all. I noticed a speck in the distance. Elated, I veered off the path I’d been walking and sprinted toward the speck, sending water in all directions in my wake. I arrived at the speck panting, and with a horrible stitch in my side. I leaned over to catch my breath.

La la laa laa

I heard the singing, it came from here, where I stood. I looked up. Innumerable eyes stared down at me. I stepped back and wiped my eyes, vision still blurred from sheer exhaustion. Tentacles swept down to the water and slowly encompassed me. Slime dripped from its face, but the eyes were still clearly visible. I looked closer, they were barnacle eyes. It had four mouths, two on one side of its “head”, another on its left side, and one across one of the tentacles. It was the monster from the idol. The mouths sang to me.

La la la laaaa

Is this… what I wanted? For the first time since… Clara I felt… contentment. I was… happy. I felt warm. Slugs swam at my feet. I envied them. To sit here and listen to the songs of this thing, it must be a gift. The thing reached one of its tentacles down to me. I didn’t move, not an inch. I let it touch and caress my forehead. I felt warm.

This is what I want.

If only I could be

A slug from the sea

And it granted my wish.

Slither

#lovecraftian #fiction #shortstory #slither #lovecraft #nautical

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hamptoneventhire · 2 years ago

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Wedding Styling Tips and Inspiration

A wedding is a unique celebration which is begotten out of our wishes rather than a commemoration or cause. While it binds two people together in a congruent bond, it also gives you an opportunity to do lots of things with the interior and exterior.

One thing that adds a distinct element to the décor is furniture. Gold Coast Truck Rentals makes the furniture hire in Gold Coast very easy and affordable. When it comes to sprucing up the ambience for occasions, our furniture gives you the best results.

And while beautifying the premise of your wedding, we also share many ideas that you use to do the same. So, here’s a piece that will insight into some ecstatic wedding styles that the level of aesthetics way ahead.

Wedding Décor Tips Will Dazzle the Ambience

Style It with Chandeliers

Chandeliers add a distinct appeal to your surroundings. They can glam up the ceilings, bring more lustre and spruce up the whole area in a matchless fashion. If you pick the most relevant chandeliers as per the theme and arrange them neatly, they can embellish the whole setup.

Spruce Up With Greenery

The garden-themed ambience can totally amuse your guests. It brings elegance and simplicity to the whole area and prettifies the venue. Moreover, there are many types of styles, and plants that you can deploy in your wedding. It also makes the space more fragrant.

Prettify With Flowers

Flowers are totally indispensable at weddings and you use them regardless of the décor theme. However, if you want you can go all-out with flower and gives an adorable touch to the space. With this theme, there are endless possibilities and you bring out your creativity in many ways.

Classy Banquet Style

You can also go for the classy banquet style and welcome your guests with high-brow hospitality. It brings elegance as well as neatness to the whole arrangement. And if you want, you can add some elements to this setting and do a customized décor.

Beautify With Illustrated Backdrops

The backdrop could depict anything, it could be flowers, a romantic film, or any other motif. You can do a lot with this theme and give a harlequin appeal to the overall setting. And at the same time, you can try many things and get creative to the fullest.

Get Groovy with A Disco Theme

Disco balls and neon signs can help you get a jazzy setup. They make the whole thing very attractive and eye-catching and are especially very appealing to the youngsters. You can amp up the whole affair with some congruent music in the background and get everyone on the dance floor too.

Dazzle It Up With Lights & Lanterns

The classy lights and lanterns can add great lustre while making the whole setup alluring to everyone’s eyes. They add a very distinguished appeal to the entire ambience while jazzing up the whole ambience.

Well, there’s a lot that you do with the wedding décor. From styles to props, there are many things that help you get affable environs. And if you have the right furniture, you can do much more. With Gold Coast Truck Rentals, furniture hire in Gold Coast for weddings becomes easy and accessible for everyone.

We let you embellish your wedding with sublime & superior furniture.

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bookthecake · 4 years ago

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9 Birthday Party Places You Must Explore to Make the Moments Ecstatic

In the life of beauty, everyone will have desires and ambitions. It’s a natural response of a person to take care of the family members. As the summer heat is coming up to give its blow through heat, every one of us will think - “How best we can spend summer and to experience the breeze that could chill us physically?” And, celebrating a birthday at a place where you have visited is just awesome. So, give a touch of happiness along with some memories by celebrating at the best birthday party places.

The fantastic journey of your life can be seen in the memories you have made. The made memories are enough for any individual to be happy for rest of his/her life. In the winter’s kicking atmosphere, in fact, again it’s a challenge to stay in the shivering climate.

The best of the most remarkable birthday party places are the places which will be captured in your heart until you live.

Explore the World’s Most Beautiful Birthday Party Places

1. Belgrade City’s Sava River

Travel to the most beautiful and feel the air rhythm like the bass beats when it flows over the Sava River in the month of late June where every night appears as Friday night. The waves slowly giving a moment to the rafts those were parked on the other side making a count of more than 300 dance to the air rhythm and river moments while the river looks as if it was gold plated when the sunsets at the Belgrade’s capital, Serbia.

Alongside, hillside appears like a snake and is Belgrade’s natural Fortress snake. The rafts are the restaurants with rooms and give a homely feel when made a way into it. Every day it appears like a Friday night and this place is one of the birthday party places.

The silent and chilling air will involve you to enjoy and feel the pleasure of the atmosphere over here. The Sava river has the richness of food and wine. So, when a party hosted in the home-like structures, it’s a never-ending memory and is the beautiful experience one can have.

This place is chosen as one of the birthday party places just because it’s a refreshing place in summer and regenerative location to have one surprise celebration.

However, the magnificence of this place is - Friday Night Climate created around. When summer heat kicks, locals still visit the place to experience the breeze and beauty that is integrated around the place.

2. Australia’s Great Barrier Reef

It’s the next remarkable location that can be considered as one of the best birthday party places. The great barrier reef is believed to be that it appears even from the outer space. It has a natural beauty that cannot be taken by any of the seas or oceans existing on the earth.

From northwest part to miles and miles away, the Reef has a unique picturesque with tiny islands. Believe it or not, it’s larger than Great Wall of China and this is the place to get thrilled in summer with family members and have a birthday party. Ranked as one of the best in the world, Australia’s Great Barrier Reef will thrill everyone and out of all the birthday party places, this could be a perfect choice to enjoy and watch the beautiful marine life along with a memory-making.

3. America’s Carson Creekside

Just as you lift your head up a path takes you through the Middle River in Florida into the most famous, seafood-rich, lovely, and calm place on an occasion by giving a spirit to celebrate the surprise party you’re planning for your dear one since days. Not one or two, choose any restaurant from the series of restaurants radiating the peace and love from them by staying above the Middle River.Carson Creekside is an astonishing place and rated as the best restaurant and hence became one of the birthday party places.

The cooling effect will radiate through the wooden floor gaps. This sense of pleasure happens because of the air that flowing over the river that will touch you through the mini gaps.Create the moments to charm the dear one.

4. Amalfi Coast, Italy

Here comes another interesting place that you can visit and is the best place for the birthday party venues. The houses and restaurants look like a staircase up to the cliff at the ocean shore. It’s the best destination to have a surprise celebration as well as to enjoy the summer.Italy’s Amalfi Coast stretches to 50-kilometres and one can listen to the beautiful music played by the air and waves in the ocean. This music is never boring and never drops an enthusiasm. That too, choosing this place from the other birthday party places will boost up the mood to be happy and to be joyful.

Amalfi Coast has the series of restaurants and visited by most of them. This became the tourist spot and continuing its charm at its core lying on the seashore line. The restaurants can be the best venues to have a bash.

5. Pune’s Lonavla, India

Framed up with trees and mountains, Lonavla in India is a hill station. The cool air and awesome climate can be seen here. Lonavla has the legacy of nature within its border and one who has a question those are staying in India - “What could be the party places near me?” then this could be one of the best birthday party places. The climate all around the year will not go beyond 35-degree Celsius. A perfect destination if you’re searching for the places to have a birthday party.

6. Yacht Surprise

In the Persian Gulf Coast of Dubai, there are a number of yachts to travel into the sea and in the middle of an ocean, in a yacht, hosting a birthday party is an adventurous party indeed. This could be one of the best places to have a birthday party. The feeling created at that moment will continue to stay in the heart as long as it beats.The excitement and enthusiasm you receive at this place stand out and no words can come out from your dear one but you can see tears of happiness rolling down from his/her blue eyes.

It’s something beyond the expectation and birthday surprise at this place must be experienced as it is amazing!

7. Hampi, India

Thinking about visiting a historical place and to have a birthday party? Then, it’s the most beautifully engraved and most beautifully designed space that spreads over more than 250 km with temples - famously known as the Vijayanagara Empire is Hampi.In the list of birthday party places, this is one. Hampi’s palace endurance and carvings carnival will shine the eyes and mind will be filled with pleasantness. Having a party surprise in the borders of Hampi’s coliseum thrills the body giving a positive vibration to the body.

8. Switzerland’s Muottas Muragl Mountains

The Muragl Mountains of Muotto has a long history. In order to escape from the winter-chilled climates, one can visit these mountains and just below the cliffs, the mountains will have restaurants that will taste the best. You don’t need a woollen jacket to visit this place, especially during winter.The place is warm enough and never loses its green looks. The mountains and the restaurants is an awesome place to host a party surprise. Among the other party venues, this could be the one to have a gala.

It’s one of the ecstatic places to be awe-inspired and to have a party celebration.

The experience of the heritage of artistry is hidden in the Netherlands capital, Amsterdam. The narrow lanes and awesomeness of the city just mesmerize anyone who walks even for a mile at any place. Such is the city’s beauty.

9. Amsterdam

Amsterdam is a place to visit and is one of the birthday party places that could add a beauty to your face along with your dear ones The nine places are chosen to give a kickstart to the birthday surprises is because of their uniqueness and the richness of beauty equipped in them. These nine destinations have an ecstasy to turn your moment into a remarkable memory. You can never forget a memory when had at any one of these places.

Hence, the nine places - Belgrade’s Friday-like night at the Sava river, Island equipped and beautifully glowing with blue colored water Great Barrier Reef of Australia, wood structured restaurants lying over the river beds in Australia, staircase-like houses and restaurants on the 50-km coastline in Italy, hillside experience in Pune, a travel into the ocean in a yacht over the sea in Dubai, the carving carnival in Hampi, Muottas Muragl Mountains where temperature remains warmth for most of the year in Switzerland, and artistry heritage in Netherlands capital are the best birthday party places or any party celebrating places.

Have a safe and happy journey and get back with the mind full of memories and heart full of happiness.

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strangersihavedrawn · 7 years ago

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170ish albums/EPs you should have bought in 2017.

This year has been a strange one. After a pretty desperate 2016, our bubbles remain burst, our political systems are still in shambles, the planet is slowly dying. It’s business as usual pretty much, except this time all of our heroes are sex pests (Cue a bit of guesswork as to which album has been redacted from this list). Fortunately, business as usual means there’s too much good music to even keep track of, but I’ve done my best. So, without further faff, here’s my annual list in chronological order, with my featured album from each month in a doodle, as I am want to do.

January

04/01 Pink Guy - Pink Season (Self-Released) 13/01 Code Orange - Forever (Roadrunner) 13/01 Omar Rodriguez-Lopez - Roman Lips (ORL Projects / Ipecac) 13/01 The xx - I See You (Young Turks) 20/01 As It Is - okay. (Fearless) 20/01 When We Team Up - Shut Up and Fly (Self-Released) 20/01 WSTR - Red, Green Or Inbetween (No Sleep) 21/01 Palladino - Supersymmetry (Hembleciya) 27/01 Japandroids - Near To The Wild Heart Of Life (Anti-) 27/01 Omar Rodriguez-Lopez - Zen Thrills (ORL Projects / Ipecac) 29/01 On a Hiding to Nothing - Formaldehyde (Umlaut) 31/01 Push Over - Demo EP (Esque)

February

03/02 Less Than Jake - Sound The Alarm (Pure Noise) 03/02 The Menzingers - After the Party (Epitaph) 03/02 Smile and Burn - Get Better Get Worse (Uncle M / Grand Hotel Van Cleef) 10/02 Homebound - The Mould You Build Yourself Around (Rude) 10/02 Omar Rodriguez-Lopez - Chocolate Tumor Hormone Parade (ORL Projects / Ipecac) 13/02 Glowbug - Fantasma Del Tropico (Self-Released) 24/02 Broadbay - Five Year Plan (Hanger / Copper Top) 24/02 Crystal Fairy - Crystal Fairy (Ipecac) 24/02 Decade - Pleasantries (Rude) 24/02 Guillotine - Sapphire (Failure By Design) 24/02 Nightlife - Salt & Acid (Speaking Tongues) 24/02 Thundercat - Drunk (Brainfeeder)

March

03/03 Converge - Jane Live (Deathwish, Inc.) 03/03 Minus The Bear - Voids (Suicide Squeeze) 10/03 Can’t Swim - Fail You Again (Pure Noise) 10/03 Self Defense Family - Bastard Form b/w Maybe You Could Explain It To Me (Alternatives Label) 11/03 Atta Girl - Betty’s Begonia (Trrrash) 13/03 Traits - Limits (Self-Released) 17/03 Pulled Apart By Horses - The Haze (Caroline International) 17/03 Sorority Noise - You’re Not As ____ As You Think (Triple Crown / Big Scary Monsters) 17/03 Stolas - Stolas (Equal Vision) 17/03 Western Addiction - Tremulous (Fat Wreck) 24/03 Catch Fire - A Love That I Still Miss (Rude) 24/03 Coast To Coast - The Length of a Smile (Fox) 24/03 Creeper - Eternity, In Your Arms (Roadrunner) 24/03 Fucked Up - Year Of The Snake (Tankcrimes) 24/03 Great Cynics - POSI (Specialist Subject / GUERRILLA ASSO / Lame-O) 24/03 Lotus Eater - Lotus Eater EP (Self-Released) 31/01 Mastodon - Emperor of Sand (Reprise)

April

07/04 Blood Youth - Beyond Repair (Rude) 07/04 Father John Misty - Pure Comedy (Bella Union) 07/04 The Flatliners - Inviting Light (Dine Alone / Rise) 07/04 The Smith Street Band - More Scared Of You Than You Are Of Me (Specialist Subject / Pool House / Side One Dummy) 14/04 Loathe - The Cold Sun (Sharptone) 15/04 Lost Avenue - Best Friends (Rustys Rekords) 16/04 Kendrick Lamar - DAMN. (Aftermath / Interscope) 20/04 Eternity Forever - Eternity Forever (Esque) 21/04 Bear Trade - Silent Unspeakable (Everything Sucks / Dead Broke / Waterslide) 21/04 Have Mercy - Make The Best Of It (Hopeless) 21/04 Self Defense Family - BBC Session (Deathwish, Inc.) 21/04 what gives - feels good (Skeletal Lightning) 21/04 The Winter Passing - Double Exposure (Big Scary Monsters / 6131) 28/04 Gorillaz - Humanz (Parlophone / Warner Bros.) 28/04 He Is Legend - few (Spinefarm) 28/04 New Found Glory - Makes Me Sick (Hopeless) 28/04 Thurston Moore - Rock N Roll Consciousness (Ecstatic Peace!)

May

01/05 X-TV - EXIT (Self-Released) 05/05 At The Drive-In - in.ter a.li.a (Rise) 05/05 Gnarwolves - Outsiders (Big Scary Monsters / Tangled Talk) 05/05 Mac Demarco - This Old Dog (Captured Tracks) 09/05 Self Defense Family - Wounded Masculinity (Triple B) 12/05 Gun Shy - The Long Dance (Wrong Way Round) 15/05 Jordan Mackampa - Tales For The Broken (Self-Released) 19/05 Employed To Serve - The Warmth of a Dying Sun (Holy Roar) 19/05 Higher Power - Soul Structure (Venn / Flatspot) 19/05 Miss Vincent - Somewhere Else (Uncle M) 19/05 Tigers Jaw - Spin (Black Cement) 26/05 Create To Inspire - Sickness (Basick) 26/05 Frenzal Rhomb - Hi-Vis High Tea (Fat Wreck) 26/05 Pet Symmetry - Vision (Polyvinyl)

June

02/06 ‘68 - Two Parts Viper (Cooking Vinyl) 02/06 Dystopian Future Movies - Time (Oak Tree) 02/06 Grove Street Families - VOL 1.0 (Venn) 02/06 Mutoid Man - War Moans (Sargent House) 02/06 Rainfalls - Creep (Self-Released) 05/06 EAT DIRT. - I (Self-Released) 08/06 Bares - Salty Kiss / In Lieu (Self-Released) 09/06 BROCKHAMPTON - SATURATION (BROCKHAMPTON / EMPIRE Distribution) 09/06 Donnie Willow - Exhibition (Sunbird) 09/06 Kamikaze Girls - Seafoam (Big Scary Monsters) 16/06 Broadside - Paradise (Victory) 16/06 Chon - Homey (Sumerian) 16/06 Color Film - Living Arrangements (Epitaph) 16/06 Faux - Faux (Speaking Tongues) 16/06 Fleet Foxes - Crack-Up (Nonesuch) 16/06 Harbinger - Human Dust (Basick) 16/06 Portugal. The Man - Woodstock (Atlantic) 16/06 Single Mothers - Our Pleasure (Dine Alone / Big Scary Monsters) 23/06 Aviator - Loneliness Leaves The Light On For Me (No Sleep) 23/06 Rozwell Kid - Precious Art (SideOneDummy) 23/06 Slowlights - I Try So Hard (Killing Moon)

July

07/07 Melvins - A Walk With Love and Death (Ipecac) 07/07 Puppy - Vol. II (Spinefarm) 12/07 Baggage - The Good That Never Comes (Self-Released) 14/07 Bad Sign - Live & Learn (Basick) 14/07 Fights and Fires - Live Life Like a Tourist (Lockjaw) 14/07 The Gospel Youth - Always Lose (Rise) 19/07 Listener - Being Empty: Being Filled I (Truth Seeker / Black Bassett / Smiths Food Group DIY) 21/07 Energy - The Witching Hour (Self-Released) 21/07 Tyler, The Creator - Flower Boy (Columbia) 21/07 Wot Gorilla? - Angel Numbers (Self-REleased) 21/07 Young Hunger - Wear Me Down (Self-Released) 25/07 Converge - I Can Tell You About Pain (Epitaph / Deathwish, Inc.) 27/07 MC Lars - The Jeff Sessions (Horris Records) 28/07 Manchester Orchestra - A Black Mile to the Surface (Caroline International) 28/07 Milk Teeth - Be Nice (Roadrunner) 28/07 Oceans Ate Alaska - Hikari (Fearless)

August

04/08 Dale Crover - Fickle Finger Of Fate (Joyful Noise) 04/08 Dead Cross - Dead Cross (Ipecac) 11/08 The Cribs - 24-7 Rock Star Shit (Sonic Brew) 11/08 Mush - Protect Your Brand (Skeletal Lightning) 18/08 Everything Everything - A Fever Dream (Sony RCA) 18/08 Wallflower - Where It Fell Apart (Self-Released) 24/08 Fizzy Blood - Summer of Luv (Killing Moon / Ayla) 25/08 BROCKHAMPTON - SATURATION II (Question Everything, Inc. / EMPIRE Distribution) 25/08 Queens Of The Stone Age - Villains (Matador) 25/08 Turnover - Good Nature (Run For Cover)

September

08/09 Comeback Kid - Outsider (New Damage / Nuclear Blast) 08/09 Death From Above - Outrage! Is Now (Last Gang) 08/09 Stray From The Path - Only Death Is Real (Sumerian) 08/09 Such Gold - Deep in a Hole (Bird Attack) 08/09 Angelo Badlamenti - Twin Peaks: Limited Event Series Original Soundtrack (Rhino) 08/09 Various Artists - Twin Peaks: Music from the Limited Event Series (Rhino) 15/09 The Apology Tour - This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (Save Your Generation) 15/09 Arcane Roots - Melancholia Hymns (Easy Life / Red Essential) 15/09 Beaumont - Honestly (Reclaim Music) 15/09 Hot Water Music - Light It Up (Rise) 15/09 Seaway - Vacation (Dine Alone / Pure Noise) 22/09 The Bronx - V (Cooking Vinyl) 22/09 Caracara - Summer Megalith (Flower Girl) 22/09 Circa Survive - The Amulet (Hopeless) 22/09 Mastodon - Cold Dark Place (Reprise) 22/09 Metz - Strange Peace (Sub Pop) 22/09 Prawn - Run (Topshelf) 29/09 Primus - The Desaturating Seven (ATO) 29/09 Propagandhi - Victory Lap (Epitaph) 29/09 The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die - Always Foreign (Epitaph)

October

06/10 Citizen - As You Please (Run For Cover) 13/10 Beck - Colors (Capitol) 13/10 Courtney Barnett & Kurt Vile - Lotta Sea Lice (Matador / Marathon / Milk!) 13/10 The Front Bottoms - Going Grey (Fueled By Ramen) 13/10 Iron Chic - You Can’t Stay Here (SideOneDummy) 13/10 Knuckle Puck - Shapeshifter (Rise) 13/10 Roam - Great Heights & Nosedives (Hopeless) 17/10 FUCK *(It’s Pronounced SHIT!)* - It’s Still Pronounced SHIT! (Self-Released) 20/10 Movements - Feel Something (Fearless) 20/10 Muskets - Chew (No Sleep) 21/10 Listener - Being Empty : Being Filled Vol. II (Black Basset) 27/10 Gold Key - Hello, Phantom (Venn) 27/10 Heavy Hearts - On a Chain (Failure By Design) 27/10 Jamie Lenman - Devolver (Big Scary Monsters) 27/10 Slaughter Beach, Dog - Birdie (Lame-O / Big Scary Monsters)

November

03/11 Converge - The Dusk In Us (Epitaph / Deathwish, Inc.) 03/11 Lifetight - Self-Tightled (Crooked Noise) 10/11 Listener - Being Empty : Being Filled Vol. III (Sounds of Subterrania) 10/11 Quicksand - Interiors (Epitaph) 10/11 Versus You - Birthday Boys (Noiseworks / G Chord) 17/11 Milk Teeth - Go Away (Roadrunner) 17/11 Onsind - We Wilt, We Bloom (Specialist Subject) 17/11 Valliers - Lost In Familiarity (Dream Atlantic) 24/11 At The Drive-In - Diamanté (Rise) 24/11 Björk - Utopia (One Little Indian) 24/11 Lightcliffe - For a While (Failure By Design) 24/11 Rain - Abstract Vision (Venn)

December

01/12 The Dear Hunter - All Is As All Should Be (Self-Released) 01/12 Glassjaw - Material Control (Century Media) 15/12 BROCKHAMPTON - SATURATION III (Question Everything, Inc. / EMPIRE Distribution) 15/12 Gun Shy / THE EAST / summerbruise / Superdose Gangway - BSR / OPR 4-Way Split (Beth Shalom / Old Press) 15/12 Lemuria - Recreational Hate (Turbo Worldwide / Asian Man / Big Scary Monsters) 15/12 N.E.R.D - No One Ever Really Dies (i am OTHER / Columbia) 21/12 Original Sharks - Hundred Grand to the Man (Self-Released) 26/12 Scum Couch - Ignorant Bore (Self-Released) Okay, that’s your lot. Now go away.

#top of 2017 #brockhampton #strangersihavedrawn #converge #citizen #circa survive #wallflower #manchester orchestra #portugal. the man #gun shy #kendrick lamar #can't swim #the menzingers #CODE ORANGE

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daiguit91 · 5 years ago

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Top 50 álbumes del 2019

Este es mi top de discos favoritos del año.

Menciones honoríficas:

55.- Kai Whiston - No World As Good As Mine (UK Bass, Experimental Rock, Post-Rock)

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54.- Leprous - Pitfalls (Art Pop, Art Rock, Progressive Rock)

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53.- Baroness - Gold and Grey (Stoner Metal, Stoner Rock, Prog Metal)

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52.- FKA Twigs - Magdalene (Art Pop, Glitch Pop, Ambient Pop)

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51.- Liturgy - H.A.Q.Q. (Avant-Garde Metal, Black Metal, Glitch)

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50.- Jessica Pratt - Quiet Signs (Contemporary Folk, Singer/Songwriter, Psychedelic Folk)

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49.- Adia Victoria - Silences (Singer/Songwriter, Pop Soul, Chamber Pop, Jazz-Rock)

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48.- Copeland - Blushing (Art Pop, Indie Pop, Dream Pop, Chamber Pop)

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47.- Lucy Rose - No Words Left (Singer/Songwriter, Contermporary Folk, Chamber Folk)

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46.- Caterina Barbieri - Ecstatic Computation (Progressive Electronic, Ambient Trance, Ambient)

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45.- Stella Donnelly - Beware of the Dogs (Indie Pop, Singer/Songwriter, Twee Pop, Indie Pop)

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44.- DIIV - Deceiver (Shoegaze, Dream Pop, Indie Rock)

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43.- Ariana Grande - Thank U, Next (Contermporary R&B, Pop, Trap, Electropop)

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42.- Denzel Curry - Zuu (Southern Hip-Hop, Trap, Hardcore Hip-Hop)

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41.- Brockhampton - Ginger (West Coast Hip-Hop, Pop Rap, Alt R&B)

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40.- Dorian Electra - Flamboyant (Bubblegum Bass, Electropop, Synthpop, Dance Pop)

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39.- The Tallest Man On Earth - I Love You. It's a Fever Dream. (Singer/singwriter, Contemporary Folk, Chamber Folk)

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38.- The Comet Is Coming - Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery (Jazz Fusion, Nu Jazz, Spiritual Jazz, Jazz Rock)

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37.- Wilco - Ode to Joy (Indie Rock, Alt-Country)

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36.- Pip Blom - Boat (Indie Rock, Indie Pop)

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35.- Deerhunter - Why Hasn't Everything Already Disappeared? (Neo-Psychedelia, Indie Rock, Pychedelic Pop, Art Rock)

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34.- Fontaines D.C. - Dogrel (Post-Punk, Art Punk, Indie Rock)

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33.- King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard - Fishing for Fishies (Boogie Rock, Psychedelic Pop, Psychedelic Rock)

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32.- Matmos - Plastic Anniversary (IDM, Glitch, Electroacustic)

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31.- Aldous Harding - Designer (Contemporary Folk, Singer/Songwriter, Indie Folk, Chamber Folk)

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30.- Angel Olsen - All Mirrors (Art Pop, Chamber Pop, Baroque Pop, Dream Pop)

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29.- Thom Yorke - Anima (Glitch Pop, Ambient Pop, IDM)

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28.- Big Thief - Two Hands (Indie Folk, Folk Rock, Indie Rock)

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27.- King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard - Infest The Rats' Nest (Trash Metal, Stoner Metal, Heavy Psych)

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26.- Common Holly - When I Say To You Black Lightning (Indie Folk, Singer/Songwriter, Indie Pop)

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25.- Uboa - The Origin Of My Depression (Dark Ambient, Death Industrial, Harsh Noise)

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24.- Laura Stevenson - The Big Freeze (Indie Folk, Singer/Songwriter)

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23.- Wilderun - Veil of Imagination (Progressive Metal, Symphonic Metal, Melodic Death Metal)

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22.- Big Thief - U.F.O.F. (Indie Folk, Dream Pop, Slowcore)

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21.- These New Puritans - Inside The Rose (Art Pop, Darkwave, Chamber Music)

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20.- Tyler, The Creator - Igor (Neo Soul, Experimental Hip-Hop, Alternative R&B, Pop Rap)

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19.- Blood Incantation - Hidden Story Of The Human Race (Death Metal, Progressive Metal, Technical Death Metal)

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18.- Richard Dawson - 2020 (Art Rock, Singer/Songwriter, Progressive Folk)

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17.- Vanishing Twin - The Age Of Immunology (Neo-Psychedelia, Dream Pop, Space Age Pop, Krautrock)

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16.- Cult of Luna - A Dawn to Fear (Atmospheric Sludge Metal, Post-Metal, Post-Rock)

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15.- Julia Jacklin - Crushing (Singer/Songwriter, Indie Folk, Indie Rock, Soft Rock)

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14.- PUP - Morbid Stuff (Pop Punk, Post-Harcore, Indie Rock, Power Pop)

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13.- AURORA - A Different Kind Of Human (Step II) (Art Pop, Synthpop, Electropop, Folktronica)

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12.- Valgur - Zapandú (Synthpop, Indietronica)

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11.- Better Oblivion Community Center - Better Oblivion Community Center (Indie Rock, Folk Rock, Indie Folk)

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10.- Little Simz - GREY Area (UK Hip-Hop, Conscious Hip-Hop, Jazz Rap)

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9.- Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow (Indie Pop, Synthpop, Art Pop)

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8.- Lana Del Rey - Norman Fucking Rockwell! (Singer/Songwriter, Art Pop, Dream Pop, Soft Rock, Chamber Pop)

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7.- The Chemical Brothers - No Geography (House, Big Beat, Acid House, Progressive House)

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6.- Charli XCX - Charli (Electropop, Bubblegum Bass, Dance Pop, Synthpop)

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5.- Hatchie - Keepsake (Dream Pop, Synthpop, Shoegaze)

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4.- black midi - Schlagenheim (Noise Rock, Math Rock, Experimental Rock, Post-Hardcore, Post-Punk)

Sample:

3.- 3776 - Saijiki (Progressive Pop, Art Pop, Glitch Pop, J-Pop, Synth Pop, Japanese Folk Music, Experimental)

youtube

2.- Otoboke Beaver - Itekoma Hits (Hardcore Punk, Noise Rock, Art Punk, Garage Punk)

Sample:

1.- Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising (Baroque Pop, Art Pop, Progressive Pop, Dream Pop, Psychedelic Pop)

Sample:

0 notes

garethcohenau · 4 months ago

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Unleashing the Best DJ Events Gold Coast Has to Offer

The Gold Coast, with its vibrant nightlife and beautiful beaches, is a prime destination for unforgettable DJ events. But when you add the unique flair of live percussion to the mix, you get something truly exceptional. This is where The Gareth Cohen Experience shines, transforming ordinary nights into extraordinary experiences. Let's dive into what makes our DJ events on the Gold Coast a must-visit for anyone looking to dance the night away.

Elevate Your Night with Live Percussion

A Symphony of Beats

At The Gareth Cohen Experience, we're not just about playing tracks. We're about creating an atmosphere. Our events feature live percussion performances that elevate the energy of every party. Whether it's a subtle rhythm accompanying a soulful house track or explosive beats during a high-energy electronic set, our live percussionists add a dynamic layer to the music that you can’t find anywhere else on the Gold Coast.

The Heartbeat of the Party

Live percussion isn’t just an addition to our events; it’s the heartbeat. It brings a raw, primal element to the night, connecting everyone on the dance floor on a deeper level. This immersive experience is what sets The Gareth Cohen Experience apart and keeps people coming back for more.

The Best of Ecstatic Dance

Ecstatic Dance Gold Coast

Our events go beyond traditional DJ parties. We embrace the spirit of Ecstatic Dance, offering a space where freedom of expression and movement are paramount. At The Gareth Cohen Experience, every event is a journey through emotions and energy, expressed through dance. Whether you’re in Gold Coast or making the short trip from Brisbane, our Ecstatic Dance sessions provide a safe and exhilarating environment for everyone to let loose and find their rhythm.

A Community of Dancers

What makes our Ecstatic Dance events special is the community. It’s about more than just dancing; it’s about connecting with others who share a passion for music and movement. Each session is an opportunity to meet new people, make friends, and become part of a growing community of dance enthusiasts.

Why Choose The Gareth Cohen Experience?

Choosing The Gareth Cohen Experience means opting for a night of unparalleled excitement and community. Our DJ events and Ecstatic Dance sessions on the Gold Coast are curated to ensure everyone has a memorable time. From the first beat to the last, you’re not just attending an event; you’re becoming part of something bigger.

Ready to Dance?

Are you ready to experience the best DJ events Gold Coast has to offer? Visit our website to check out our upcoming events, sign up for notifications, and join our community. Whether you’re a local or visiting, The Gareth Cohen Experience promises a night of fantastic music, live percussion, and the best Ecstatic Dance sessions around.

Don't just hear about it; experience it for yourself. Come join The Gareth Cohen Experience and unleash your passion for dance and music on the Gold Coast!

#Live Percussion Gold Coast #Dj Events Gold Coast #Ecstatic Dance Brisbane #Ecstatic Dance Gold Coast #Ecstatic Dance Near Me #Wedding Drummers

0 notes

tantric-witch · 5 years ago

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🌺The power of tribe is unreal.🌺 18 days ago I decided to start a fundraiser for Kit Gratton and Raquel Parkinson and the tribe baby they are bringing into the world. With incredible DJ skills of Mark Pringle and the contribution of cacao and intention from Karina Henwood the Cacao Ecstatic Dance started to take place. On the night Krysie James got here early and helped clean the place and walk Maurice, then with little advance warning Daniel Cuming agreed to create an opening ritual to share the magic of winter solstice. In this short time, the whole tribe came together and raised $1808!!!!! And people are still donating. (please contact Kit if you wish to still donate). Even people who couldn't make the event contributed. Thank you all so much to all the showed up, contributed, danced, partied, sang, built the fire, and donated to the tribe baby. You all blow me away with your magic and generosity ✨✨✨✨✨ (at Gold Coast, Queensland) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzAITHJndaXjAvLab_ZSrRs8tYn4tGBfaqI7_00/?igshid=3yhyrd51ke7b

0 notes

b-o-s-t-o-n · 7 years ago

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Infatuated- Part XI

"Your hand touching mine. This is how galaxies collide." -Sanober Khan

Spencer woke up in his own bed for a change.

After successfully arresting the unsub in Seattle, the team was finally able to fly home and rest. Belle and Reid had gone to their own separate apartments because they were exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

Plus, they didn't want anyone to see them leaving together.

Reid got up and got himself ready for work. He wasn't dreading the day ahead as much as he normally would, mostly because he knew he'd get to see Belle.

Fighting with her had drained him so much, physically and mentally. He was excited to get back on track and be happy again with his new girlfriend.

Reid got everything he needed and headed to the BAU building. When he arrived at his desk, he noticed a large stack of files waiting for him.

Reid groaned.

The only downside to having no current cases was that it meant having a lot of paperwork. Even though it was easy, it was still the part of the job he disliked the most.

He surveyed the room and saw everyone else working on their own share of files. He sighed before diving into his own.

By lunch time, Spencer was nearly finished with his paperwork. His hand was cramping from the constant writing he had to do so he let himself take a much earned break. He took his phone out of his pocket to check his texts.

He had a picture message from Belle so he clicked on it. He couldn't quite make out what it was of so he enlarged it.

Reid's eyes widened.

The picture was of Belle's body, minus her face. She was wearing nothing but black panties and a matching black bra with gold straps. Her bellybutton ring glistened against her slightly toned abs, making Spencer's palms sweat already.

The caption read "Come take a break."

Reid felt his pants tightening as he looked over to Belle's desk. It was empty. He glanced back down at the picture to try to figure out where she was. It looked like a bathroom, but one he didn't recognize, which meant it was probably the ladies room.

His girlfriend had a thing for bathrooms, he guessed.

Spencer got up from his seat, trying to look as calm as possible. The last thing he needed was Morgan trying to profile him and figure out why he was grinning down at his phone. Reid quickly made his way into the break room and pushed open the girls bathroom door, hoping nobody saw him.

"Finally!" Belle exclaimed as she closed the door behind him.

He gulped as her exposed skin brushed against him.

"Wha- what are you, uh, doing?" Spencer asked as his eyes raked up and down her body.

He subconsciously flicked his tongue out across his lips.

"Am I not allowed to want to see my boyfriend?" Belle asked as she took his hand in hers and lead him over to the sink.

She hoisted herself up so she was sitting on the counter.

"No-no.. You are," Reid whispered as she beckoned him to come closer.

He nervously took a step forward and put his hands on her waist. Something about Belle made him so confident yet so timid at the same time.

"Good. Then let me see you," she said, putting emphasis on the word see.

She began unbuttoning his cardigan as fast as she could before she tore it off and threw it in a random direction. She then worked on getting his tie and shirt off.

Reid's mind was screaming at him that this was wrong and could get them in so much trouble, yet he couldn't help himself. He moved her hands away from his chest because he knew he'd be able to get his shirt off faster.

Belle smirked, clearly proud of herself for getting him to oblige. Reid rolled his eyes before yanking his shirt off so that his upper half was completely naked. He tossed it off to the side and put his hands back on Belle's hips. Her hands immediately made their way into his hair.

"You're gonna get me fired," Spencer groaned as her fingers twirled themselves in his curls.

She responded by pressing her lips harshly against his, swallowing him into a heated kiss. Her tongue glided softly across his bottom lip and he happily opened his mouth to her. He felt her tongue graze against his own, but only for a second before he decided to fight for dominance. Their tongues danced around together for a minute before she let Reid win and became submissive in his arms.

Spencer ran his hands through her long, dark hair and pulled her closer. He heard a soft moan escape her lips as he began grinding himself against her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, attempting to get as close to him as possible. Reid's hands moved to her thighs, rubbing up and down at a pace that he knew would drive her crazy.

He moved his mouth to Belle’s neck and began leaving open mouthed kisses. He bit at her soft skin just hard enough to leave a mark. He was about to put more hickeys lower down when he was interrupted by someone shouting.

"MISS HOPKINS, YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO D- OH MY GOD," a voice came from the door as Belle and Spencer jumped apart.

She covered her half-naked chest with her hands while he just stood there.

"Penelope, I- it's not what-" Belle began to scramble for something to say to the tech analyst who had just walked in on their make-out session.

"Young lady, next time you send provocative pictures, try using snapchat instead of iMessage. It's so easy to trace," Penelope said as she put her hands on her hips.

Reid looked up at Belle who seemed mortified.

"Why were you looking at my pictures!" Belle screeched, embarrassed.

Reid knew she wasn't that mad though, because she had a small smile on her face.

"It's my job, girlie," Penelope said, walking over to them with a huge grin.

She had always 'shipped' the two of them, so Reid knew she was probably ecstatic right now.

"No it's not," Belle laughed, hopping down off the counter.

Spencer still stood there, unsure of what to say. He didn't know how to feel about Garcia seeing him shirtless.

"But you can't tell anyone!"

"Your secret's safe with me," Penelope squealed while she pretended to zip her lips shut.

Reid sighed, relived that they wouldn't be exposed to the whole team. Belle handed him his shirt and tie with a small giggle.

Maybe one person knowing wasn't the worst thing in the world.

After the incident in the bathroom, Penelope, Reid, and Belle decided to walk out in intervals so nobody would suspect anything.

Once they were all back at their desks, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room. Belle walked in with Emily, trying to keep her distance from Reid, just in case anyone had seen them go into the bathroom together.

The coast seemed clear, so she decided it would be okay to take her usual spot next to him. That had been her seat since her very first day at the BAU, so it wouldn't be weird to sit there.

She was being paranoid.

Hotch began briefing them on their newest case about some freak who was drugging young women at clubs and dragging them home where he would kill them.

Belle started zoning out halfway through, daydreaming about being wrapped up with Reid in his bed while he read stories to her. She sighed grimly to herself, thinking about how they'd probably be working for the next week on this case.

She'd have to think of more creative ways to get alone time with her boy.

As Hotch was going through more information on the case, Belle decided to tease Reid a little bit. She hadn't quite gotten all that she wanted in the bathroom earlier, so she was still a little hot and bothered.

She let her hand drop to her side and under the table so that it was out of sight from the rest of the team.

Belle slowly moved her wheeling chair closer to Reid's, making sure to go unnoticed by everyone, including him. She let her hand wander onto his thigh.

She felt him tense up under her touch, which only made her want to keep going. Belle kept her poker face on and stared directly ahead at the board Hotch was pointing at while her thumb rubbed deeply into the outer part of Reid's thigh.

As she rubbed small circles, her hand glided further up. She knew Reid was equally as turned on by the way he kept glancing down at her hand but never moving it.

"I'd like you to meet Cheyenne Wolfe," Hotch’s voice interrupted Belle’s thoughts, pressing a button on his computer that made an image of a woman project onto the whiteboard behind him.

The woman was young, maybe Belle's age, and incredibly pretty. She had dark skin which contrasted beautifully with her bright blue eyes. She smiled at the team with the straightest, whitest teeth imaginable.

Belle's hand froze on Reid's leg.

"Hi everyone! I'm looking forward to working with you all on this case!" The woman on the video call said in a voice that reminded Belle of a song bird.

Did this girl have any flaws?

Belle pulled her hand off of Reid and back into her lap, suddenly not in the mood anymore.

She was obviously jealous of the agent that was going to be working with them this week, but she could never say that out loud.

It wasn't Cheyenne's fault that she was gifted genetically and had literally zero flaws. Belle already hated the amount of shit women have to deal with on a daily basis, so she made it a rule of hers to never hate on other girls (unless they were a serial killer or something).

Agent Wolfe being so beautiful was only stirring up Belle's insecurities because she knew all the men on the team wouldn't be able to keep their eyes off of her.

Including Reid.

The briefing conference ended and Belle got up to get her stuff together. The case was in Virginia, so they wouldn't be taking the jet.

Belle walked to her desk, pushing in the chair and shutting her computer down. She crouched down to retrieve her go-bag from underneath the table. The trip wouldn't require a plane ride, but it was still too far away to go back and forth between the case and her apartment.

Belle was hoping Garcia would be able to get them a hotel because they'd had to sleep in the FBI cars in the past, and she just wasn't about that life.

Belle felt a soft nudge on her back as she was checking to make sure she had everything. She turned around, prepared to smack whoever it was.

"Relax babe," Reid said as he grabbed her fist before it came into contact with him.

Belle softened under his touch for a moment, before remembering how they were about to drive to the police station that Agent Gorgeous worked at. She looked behind him, worried that someone might see them getting a little too close.

"They're already downstairs," Reid said, clearly picking up on her paranoia.

"Sorry, I'm just on edge after what happened with Penelope today," Belle said, intertwining her fingers with Spencer's as she picked up her Longchamp bag and let it rest over her shoulder.

The two walked towards the elevator where they'd have their last few seconds together before they'd be forced to keep their distance again.

"You're so cute," Reid said, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she pressed the button for the ground floor.

Belle felt something hard pressing against her backside, causing her to blush.

"Spence! Stop it!" She whispered.

She was only half joking because she knew they'd be in front of the team within seconds.

"I can't help it," Reid whined into her ear as he started to grind into her.

Belle closed her eyes, wishing they were at home instead of in the BAU elevator.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #Criminal Minds #spencer x oc #reid x oc

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strongwithoutrealising · 5 years ago

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Calling all of my Lightworker sisters (Link is in bio) ❤️ Come and join us for an incredible day to expand your light body, activate your medicine, attune your voice and amplify your light. ❤️ Come gather with your sister lightworkers, priestesses, modern medicine women, healers, witches and mystics for this full day immersion to anchor in your purpose and activate your light. ❤️ This lightworker activation combines ceremony, ancient wisdom, sound alchemy, meditation, dance and breathe to initiate a great remembrance of your Divine Light and Godessence. ❤️ This full day intensive activation is intended for those ready to embrace deep inner work to heal, purify and expand their light body in order to magnify their own unique frequency and then transmit it out into the world. ❤️ All of the details: Date: Saturday 25th May 2019 Time: 9:00am – 7:30pm Location: Private Residence, Tallebudgera Valley, Gold Coast Meals: Lunch + Refreshments included Exchange: $111 *This is an intimate gathering and tickets are strictly limited 💥 We will sit in Intention Circle. Experience Light Activation. Qigong. Sound Healing (with my spectacular crystal bowls and light language) Voice Activation. Sacred Ecstatic Dance Ceremony. Fire Ceremony and Drum Circle. 🤗 Do you want to come and have some cuddles with me? . . . . #meditation #meditatedaily #mindfulness #lightworkersunite #thepowerofnow #lightworkeractivation #strongwithoutrealising #ecstaticdance #drumceremony #peacewithin #centred #innerself #peacefulwarrior #liveinthenow #personalgrowth #inspiredwomen #spiritualladyboss #empowerwomen #selfempowerment #higherself #soulpreneur #trusttheuniverse #soulconnection #lifepurpose #lifelessons #spiritualjourney #raiseyourfrequency #spiritualgrowth #intuitiveliving (at Tallebudgera Valley) https://www.instagram.com/p/BxqLQ2aD9AI/?igshid=1vti2qjnrxebs

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asctx · 7 years ago

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T*H*E I*M*A*G*I*N*A*L R*A*V*E

This is not so much about what raves are or aren't, than about what they MIGHT be.

So don't bother looking here for a rehash of the obvious: that raves are the latest thing in underground dance parties/about having fun/feeling good/Peace/Energy/Unity ... all of which IS true, needless to say, but there remains so much more to be said, so much more to BE!

CUT through the clouds of trendism and commercialization that attach themselves to any major new mutation in culture. What wants to be invoked (what I want to invoke--what I hope YOU want to invoke) is that imaginal, incandescent core out of which all the smoke & noise is generated; what a rave truly can be, for some people in some situations--what it could BECOME; and then, peeling away at the sides, ... falling off one by one, duller, flatter, greyer ... and ever so much more TAME ... all those would-be and almost-raves, unavoidable byproducts of anything too real.

An old Sufi saying has it that: "where there's counterfeit, there's true gold."

So next time you go to something that calls itself a rave but isn't, don't just write it all off; the real ones do exist, and why SHOULD they be so easy to find? And, after all, it's up to YOU to make them real.

Allright, we already know that raves are THE space-age tribal youth ritual, the return of the dionysian energy that first emerged in 50's rock 'n' roll and erupted in full force in the late 60's with the intertwining of music and psychedelic drugs. But the rave-current is itself only the more visible crest of something broader and deeper.It's no coincidence that it hits the States at the same time as a major resurgence of psychedelic usage.

You can take the toying with neo'60's motifs--day-glo, flowers, smiley faces, flares--as mere fashion recycling by a generation born largely post-Summer of Love. Or you can see these themes as the instinctual recovery of a project left hanging, next breath after a two decade-long lull. Or you can go ever furthur--and why not!?--and see "the 60's" as only one recent intrusion within the Flatland of (take a deep breath now) Gravity-Bound-Domesticated-HumanoidIndustrial Civilization (got that?) of a future that is already happening, a future that beckons us towards itself and sends its echoes spiralling back through the dark and narrow tunnels of terrestrial time to make itself come true...

But only with your help, of course!

Picture a wave forming on the horizon, a big one (talking late 50's, early 60's): the psychick surfers coasting out there, beatniks, nonconformists, oddball academics bored with the small town life at the shore and all its dismal soap-opera games, looking for something to carry them away into a wilder, richer world; the first swells of energy carry with them a tide of psycho-active algaes...

HOFFMAN/HUXLEY/BURROUGHS/GINSBURG/WATTS/LEARY/ALPERT/KE SEY & CO., issue their first reports and manifestoes; munching on the junk food of the gods, our proto-mutants are initiated into the mysteries of the Vortex; they come back to the cardboard facades of Main Street with their evocations of kaleidoscopic infinity, eyes lit with the light of alien suns. Their news answers a gnawing hunger among so many trapped within the greypastelboxroutines of the industrial-consumer-democratic hive; More, they activate dormant circuits of the hive's nervous system, and spawn a burst of deviance: forms of rebellion less interested in disputing what varieties of greypastelboxroutines are preferable and what's right and wrong for everybody, than in setting up scouting parties for heading out to sea...

Underline the word parties.

Dosed to the gills, beatniks in existential black mutate into rainbow-hued hippiedom. Up with the Flower Children, hedonistic and 'escapist'--so called because they withdrew from the arena of domesticated primate aggro-sports known as 'politics' in favor of actually learning about the infinite kingdoms within their own body and nervous system. Drop into the Haight, turn off powertrips, tune out conformism and competition.

Meltdown ensues. All the accelerated bondings through Be-Ins, LoveIns, communes. Awash in the incense of oriental exoticism and occultist bric-a-brac, a renaissance of the spirit decks itself out in raiments of psychic kitsch. And how much can we fault them, really, if their Love&Peace trip undercut itself by becoming a denial of the Darkness; after all, they are there for us to learn from.

But just as everyone is tumbling about in the cosmic froth, anticipating revolution or millenium tomorrow afternoon at the latest, the Wave suddenly evaporates beneath them. No, the Earth Egg didn't quite hatch yet, ...just some initial stirrings. And so the children of the Vortex find themselves hurtling through the air like Wil E. Coyote, wrapped up in all their newfound lifestyles, but the vital juice is gone, and it all becomes so tame and lame so quickly, and in any case, a lot of people couldn't handle the intensity so it comes time to settle back into a safe routine, in some cases lay the ground for those who come after; & all around are the Mr. Jones' of many guises, panicked at the imminent collapse of Normalville; some however take their chance to cash in on what they can of it, a lot of others are wholly freaked, and thus begins a Counter-Reformation. One the one hand, a retreat from direct encounter with the Abyss crystallizes into the New Age, and on the other, it's back to the Bible, dumb drugs, white-bread, and Family Values. And all the hipsters left posing without a clue, all the burnouts/fuckups/addicts & victims of some invisible multidimensional boogeying elephant; over there in the ivy towers, the blind men scribble their learned tomes, dissecting some stray paisley footprints; but something far stranger has happened, and its awfully hard to make out just what till the next, bigger cousin of that wave starts to surface offshore.

Meanwhile even many devotees of the Vortex ascribe it to the decline in quality of their psychoactive goodies, mistaking the portal for the vista beyond (but how do you enter the vista without the portal? hmmm...BE THY VISION! a distant curl of the Vortex whispers back).

Credit it all to upsurges of the Gaian mind, long-schemed scams of the giggling DNA-consciousness, or the flotsam & jetsam cast down by That Transcendental Novelty Item at the End of Time; choose your metapors--the more the merrier; but there's a mystery-in-process that all the nice rationalistic analyses will never get at: here I'll echo a point once made by Mr. Leary: the most subtle form of conservatism is that which views the present only through the prism of the past!

And yes, (to those for whom it's not patently obvious), IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN.

***

At the heart of the rave is a modern, technologically clad form of non-verbal, ecstatic communion. The ethos of openness, sharing, intimacy, touch and empathy--not to mention the pure intensities of trance itself--facilitated by the use of LSD & MDMA (hey, the fact that you have to take these things to loosen up is a sign of just how far down & lost we all are!!), in tandem with the all-night long pulsation of bodies to the same sound source, can and does create a context where layers of armoring and conditioning are shed, where those willing can find the joyful and mysterious realm of their bodies free of oh-so many enculturated ego-trips and bullshit, ... while also opening the "post-terrestrial" circuits of their psyches. (Whew! Pause, return to beginning of paragraph, read again slowly.)

In other words, a safe space where we can be as weird as we want to be.

A collective molting ritual for the new species.

***

Or take it from another angle: compare the rave-thing to a chemical reaction: a half-dozen ingredients (make your own list), inert & ordinary in the normal course of things; but combine them in right proportions, at the right time and place, apply the CATALYST (& what what THAT be?) and BOOM!, you've set off an explosion, a chain reaction producing ENERGY, LOTS OF IT, and in that process a dynamic that continues to transform many of the starting ingredients into new & unknown qualities. No question, of course, that bystanders can look in from the skeptically, and reduce it all back to something familiar: escapism, consumerism, fashion parade, whatever. But we'll leave them to their nervous calculations...

***

OK, so you want a schoolbook definition of TECHNO-SHAMANISM, that catchphrase everybody likes to invoke but no one seems to be able to actually explain? Prepare to jump levels: As the individual shaman/ess evicts demons and excises magical darts from the sick person through a mixture of magickal sound & motion, so on the level of the diseased and crisisridden 'global village' raves aim to heal the collective body by shaking it loose of its neurotic fixations and death-fetishes.

EXORCISM THROUGH DANCE.

Unhooking the talons and shadowy webs of control. A physical unlearning of a few thousand years worth of BAD HABITS.

Learning to be at once a little more human and a little more alien.

Healer, leader, visionary, outcast: the shaman/ess' role is multifaceted, both at the center but also relegated to the margins of the community; the use of sound and/or psychoactive compounds are central to shamanism. The shaman/ess chants, hums, drums and dances as a way of programming hir voyage into the "spirit realms" (aka hyperspace), as well as of healing the mind and body of others, ... all on a more face-to-face, way lo-tech scale, of course.

So there, chew on that for a while.

***

It's a pretty sad but predictable fact that self-professed "radicals" have been oblivious to this phenomenon, just because it seems to emanate out of NITEKLUBLAND; too bad--when will they figure out that all social alienation is ultimately grounded in an alienation from the body--that realm of nature closest to us but oh-so far away. Their heroine Emma Goldman once proclaimed to the grim socialist militants of her day: "If I can't dance in your revolution I want no part of it."

And what if dance could be a modality of social change?

A heretical thought, no doubt. "Free your ass and your mind will follow," so said George Clinton. But hey, he was just another crass capitalistic rock star, right?

Not to rescusitate, however, that burdensome word, Revolution. Scratch the R, hilite the E. Quote an obscure graffito from a wall in Paris, May 1968: "This is not a Revolution but a Mutation." And say rather, TAZ. Temporary Autonomous Zone.

Like the TAZ, the rave is wild, nomadic, outside the maps of Power. At its best, the rave opens onto a realm of free-form behavior and perception, one in which there is no hierarchy, no leaders or followers, at most the dj and the light-show artists. (Hopefully benign--be careful who you leave your sensorium with!)

...Not unlike the Situationist International's notion of the "situation" (sorry, I just had to drag them in here!), a space of liberated interactions... but where the participants are the art and the show, the synergy between them all the event (or event horizon?). If the insurrection was supposed to realize itself in a festival, we might ask, why shouldn't the festival turn into an insurrection--an insurrection of Love?

Anyone who has been part of a REAL rave, if only once, briefly, knows that its insane, insanely beautiful ferocity is something that exceeds all the contrived parlour-games that pass for alternatives, social or political. The mere fact of this ferocious hedonism is, without words or slogans, A REFUTATION OF DOMESTICATED EXISTENCE.

So FUCK IT if most of this California rave-scene is still ensnared in niteklubbism. Invade the pseudo-raves, instigate roving micro-raves. Doesn't take more than a ghetto blaster and a handful of courageous revellers to start a rave on any streetcorner or park, see how long it takes to catch..., or to be shut down...

THIS is OUR form of protest--our style of dance is angry and combative as well as loving and celebratory; to free our bodies first from the rotting carcass of history,,,

...and from there, ... who knows where we'll go?

***

Prediction: a few years down the road, the rave-scene will be looked back on as the primary networking mechanism for the tribes of starfarers.

But if ravers can't clean up after themselves, how are they going to clean up the planet?

***

DANCE

If you had to have JUST ONE metaphor for it all to live by and through, wouldn't that just be it. The spiral dance of life...so it sounds cliched, but cliched only in words, in words...

DANCE

but (& rave-friends can detour here for a sec, these are words for those who've never raved and long stopped going out to

DANCE

DANCE, --this kind of dance--is FREEING MOTION. Not just moving to the beat but letting the beat help you throw off all the constricted robotic movements that have been imprinted into your heart, your eyes, your ears, your arms, your ass, your dreams, by all the tricks, traumas & seductions of society; and find the REAL YOU; dancing with the world, but dancing off the consensus-trance, that narrow greyout rightangle robotic updown freezeframe pseudoreality.

Raves signal the return to Western culture of sacred dance. A dance that balances discipline with excess, ecstasy with focus. Look at the three great Monotheisms that have pretty much defined our psychosomatic matrix: Judaism, Christianity, Islam: none of them possess any tradition of Sacred movement; they have all been scared shitless of the Body, and have instituted its repression in a thousand and one subtle ways. How appropriate that the advent of a spiritualized form of movement to the center of Civilization should present itself in a totally decadent, seemingly profane form. And people wonder why raves are actively suppressed back in the UK? Raves represent the primal life-force suppressed so long ago it remains only a dim but real memory.

And let's get this out of the way too: dancing on a decent dose of a psychedelic is something else again: communing with the animal spirits encoded into the depths of your skin, letting them out of their millenial cages. Learning how you can be each of them when you need to be; and its also about learning how to fly, how to turn yourself inside out into a spinning glowing disc, though that's a little harder ... and then, once we've got that under our belts, we can do it TOGETHER.

It's been said before, but not clearly enough: UFOS R US.

***

So what if all this prepacked ravitis costs too much. Don't leave it to them and whine about how commercialized it all is: THROW YOUR OWN! AND MUTATE IT WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!

So some of the dinosaurs may not be happy seeing their way of life superseded and want to stamp out those noisy critters scampering between their feet; more intelligence and greater manoueverability will be our response. Haven't we gotten sick enough of the EnemyProduction Line?

Social transmutation can be fun too, right? There's fun, safe vapid alcoholic-nicoteine hedonism, letting off steam so you can return to Monday; and then there's fun that aims high, fun allied with Will. The path of disciplined excess (??).

But watch this--all those scouting parties of the future will be known by their capacity to throw great parties--and pioneer partying as a way of throwing off the legacy of the miserable Dominator culture we've all had to grow up in.

***

RAVERS, look a little ways forward: have you wondered yet what happens once you're burnt out after a year or two of intensive raving, once you've lost half your hearing, the beats become stale, and the Energy has leaked away. Where, what then?

Define the rave for me.

What does the verb TO RAVE really mean to you?

But first let's list all the stuff that seems to go with it: Acid/techno/deep house music; dancing from dusk to dawn; hi-tech light shows; lollipops, floppyhats, dayglo pendants, smart drinks; $15-20 tickets; zillion gigagawatts sound-systems; X,a cid, nitrous and 2CB; goofy outfits, sexy bodies; so many inane and beatific smiles...

SHALL we ask together: just what is the essence of a rave?

Suppose, just for a second that we subtract one by one each of the above accessories. Stretch your imagination to the limit, and take away even, yes, even THE MUSIC; till all we have left are the people, all those people who have found each other in this beat, in these hidden gatherings, but without the beat, just heartbeat, pulserate, breath, ... AND THE EXCHANGE OF LOVE-ENERGIES (isn't that what sex is, ultimately?) and each other's presence ... Radiant and revelling in our unearthly beauty ... so here we are: much as we adore it, do we really need the dance music to affirm our commonality, the patent fact that we are siblings of the the same spiritual family who through the raves have managed to find one another and in that finding remember who each of us truly is, orphan child of eternity. Do we need to confuse the rave with the quality of our common presence, our moving-loving together; can't we take the essence of the rave, freed of all the externals we associate with it, transfer and apply that energy elsehwere, to just about anything...?

It comes down to a challenge, a challenge posed in that leap from normal space to hyperspace that kicks in when the 'rave' really starts to rave: those altered moments when each of us in being truest to our uniqueness enters into a harmonious whole; elusive as this may be, it calls out, and asks to be realized in every moment of our lives; it asks for creation, CREATION OF LIFE, for the nurturing of real communities that last deeper & longer than a few hours on the dancefloor.

That creative energy, apply it not just to your style of dress but to your style of BEING. Free eros & intimacy from the shackles socially-inherited sexualities (gay vs, straight, male vs. female), from monogamy and the neurotic fixation on genital sexuality:

YES, CELEBRATE your arrival here at last after a long trek, but don't forget, this is only the point of departure. These parties are our loading docks and shipyards. (And there is Work to be done: enough healing & cleaning for us all.) Here is where we will build not just a House, but a ship of dreams, a starship. Woven out of LOVE. CHAOS. LAUGHTER.IMAGINATION. WILL.

And embark; post-nuclear families setting sail out along the unwinding multi-dimensional origami strands of alternity...

Our motto:

UTOPIA OR BUST.

#tribal donut #the imaginal rave

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russianspy24 · 6 years ago

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Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 2

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family’s salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire’s.

Word Count: 4,870

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter 2: Don't Fear the Reaper

There was a jingle of metal against plastic. A hand held out an old 7-Eleven slurpee cup. The fingers belonging to the hand needed a good scrub in running water, and there was dirt underneath the nails.

The old man who was hunching over had probably seen better days long ago, and that included his worn, tattered clothes. He made his way under the overpass from busy North Broadway. People who were on their way home or wherever else usually passed him by without a glance, but a few dropped whatever change they could find in their pockets, and he always muttered, "Thanks," and "God bless."

He came to a halt twenty feet away from the glass doors of the Bryn Mawr red line stop, under said overpass, and leaned against the brick wall behind him. A smoke break was in order. So, he put the slurpee cup under his armpit—there was already a good amount of coins inside, maybe three buck’s worth—and rummaged in the oversized pockets of his cargo jacket, using his other hand.

Obviously, he had more money than that, which he'd accumulated throughout the day, but he wasn't going to reveal it all if he wanted more. That was not how it was done. Had to show 'em far less than you actually had. A middle-aged man walked by and held out a dollar.

The bum said, like always, "Thanks. God bless," and, in addition, "You have a good night, sir." Then he pocketed the dollar, put a cigarette in his mouth, and prepared to light it with a bic lighter. Only no matter how many times he flicked it, it wouldn't light.

"Hey," he called out to a well-dressed businessman, who stood on the other side of the sidewalk. He looked like he was waiting. "Hey, man, you got a light?"

Cars passed by, honking.

"Hey, man!"

Elijah heard him. He just didn't realize that the homeless man was talking to him. He registered his presence when he heard the shuffling of feet, the jingling of coins, and the musty smell. He looked at the human as if he were an alien.

Then he blinked and saw the cigarette in his hand. The homeless man lifted it and said, "Got a lighter?"

The vampire shifted back slightly. Obviously not because he was afraid, but because the smell of a city street was interesting enough. Elijah wasn't too keen on the new notes, which seemed to be of...general uncleanliness, coupled with the smell of alcohol and whatever else that he didn't want to fathom.

So, Elijah haughtily said, "No. I don't."

The bum deliberately stared at him, not believing him. Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tilted his head of matted hair and regarded the fancy man. "Got any change then?"

Elijah's gaze darted past him impatiently, to the glass doors, before returning sharply to the begging man. Again. "No. I don't."

The bum's expression was blank. He didn't move.

"Bullshit, man," he said after a moment. Elijah's eyebrows rose. "A guy like you has extra change. Bet a guy like you doesn't even live in this neighborhood. You from the Gold Coast?"

Elijah glared at him now. "Come on, man—" The persistence in the homeless man's gaze stilled all of a sudden. He didn't blink, and Elijah narrowed his own eyes, compelling him.

"You will go now." And an annoyed afterthought, "You're quite lucky I am not my brother."

"Who?" the man uttered. His mouth gaped slightly like a fish. Hypnotized, his head cocked the other way.

"Run along."

Obediently, the homeless man took a step back. Elijah straightened the lapels of his suit jacket even though they didn't need fixing. He didn't watch as the beggar proceeded robotically down the sidewalk, out the other side of the overpass, and into the night.

Elijah had looked up as he felt a rumble in the distance, stirring the air, vibrating beneath his feet through the asphalt. He glanced down at the Patek Philippe on his wrist and said to himself, "On time actually." The watch read ten past nine. The train slowed to a screeching stop so that its passengers could get off and head downstairs to street level.

In 1893, there was no Starbucks on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Winthrop Avenues, and no 7-Eleven or the UPS store further down. No hole-in-the-wall Thai places, or trendy, hipster breakfast joints.

Before 1889, this neighborhood of Edgewater was known to be "the only electric lighted suburb adjacent to Chicago," and was a part of the Lake View Township. Mansions, belonging to the elite, lined the shorefront. Then after 1889, Edgewater became a part of Chicago and quickly rose to the status of being one of the most prestigious communities. So, the homeless man was wrong. Elijah could've been part of this neighborhood, at least long ago.

During the year of the fair, he and his sister Rebekah were invited to this northern part of the city to attend a soiree, which was organized by none other than Marshall Field, who was perhaps the wealthiest man in the world in the 1890s. He was the founder of Marshall Field and Company, the Chicago-based department stores. To say that Rebekah was ecstatic was an understatement, for she loved parties and shopping, but that's a story for later.

Now, Edgewater was gentrified, and many students and young people lived there, with or without children. Renting prices were reasonable enough, and it was within walking distance of the beach. Parking was terrible, particularly in the summer, though that was name of the game in the city. Getting around town was what the El was there for.

The area off of the Bryn Mawr stop was generally safe, but at night, girls and young women usually used common sense so as not to walk alone, or if they did, they had to maintain constant vigilance. This was Chicago, after all.

The train started moving again. It was heading north toward its end stop, Howard. Loyola University was up ahead several blocks, and downtown glittered south in the night, the Loop seven miles away. The beach was just two streets over to the east.

A crowd pushed through those glass doors.

The train obscured Elijah's senses far more than automobiles ever could. He almost lost Liza for a moment, distracted by the grinding of metal that ground on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He had moved behind one of the underpass's cracking columns so that she wouldn't see him. Then, as the noise from the tracks receded, he hurried out from under the bridge and deftly followed the girl, who'd already made it across Bryn Mawr, intent on turning left, which was north, onto Winthrop.

She was fast, not breaking her stride. The earbuds were still in, but her music was off. The set of her shoulders projected her instinctive caution. Even though she lit another cigarette, and Elijah caught whiffs of the smoke, he was glad to see that the girl was wary. She'd glanced back over her shoulder a few times, as she passed the breakfast place called Nookies, and the residential part of the street began.

Elijah expertly hid in the shadows as he followed her. He had a little over a thousand years to perfect this. One could indeed call it stalking, but he wasn't a pervert tailing some girl, so he most certainly didn't consider this stalking. This was investigating.

But he knew that when he'd finally reveal himself to her, whenever the time was right, there was a great chance of her reaction not being a good one. This he'd have to handle whatever way he could. And this was another reason why Elijah was following the girl alone. Not with any of his siblings.

This block or two of Winthrop mostly had courtyard apartment buildings. There were also a few worker cottages, but there were more classic Chicago graystones, which were either two level or three. Some appeared to be remodeled. Others kept the iconic gray limestone.

Liza, in particular, lived in a two level one, which was right next door to a tall building that used to be a hotel in the '20s. Present day, it was a residential apartment building. Sure, it might've dwarfed Liza's graystone, but her home was very quaint. She lived on the second floor.

Most graystones were very similar. This one had its wide stone steps to the right, leading up to a shared porch, and a wide bow of projecting, round windows to the other side. The first-floor windows were shielded by a small pine tree. The second-floor bay windows were rounded as well, curtains wide open, the light on, and above the porch, there was a balcony, a nice feature that allowed an overlook of the street.

The small front "yard" was fenced in and grew some sort of plant that was supposed to be decorative. The metal gate swung shut behind the girl, and she jogged up the steps.

The lower level was home to an elderly couple who owned the graystone itself. The Masked Singer was seen on the screen of an old television through the branches of pine. After Liza stepped inside into the small foyer, where her landlord's door was to the left of the stairs, she already heard the telltale sound of...paws upstairs.

On the second-floor landing, the door to that balcony above the porch was left again, and her own apartment door was directly ahead. The balcony was technically communal, but the old folks never went up there.

2B, read the metal characters directly above the peephole. The hanging little bell above the apartment number rang when Liza stepped inside her place. The sound of dancing paws grew only more furious with excitement. A roughly eighty-five-pound red Akita Inu assailed her with a half-destroyed teddy bear in his mouth.

A smile cracked across the girl's face, which was covered with a slight sheen of oil in the T-zone area, something that often happened when riding a subway car that was almost full to the brim with people. It might've been in the high fifties during the day, steadily cooling into the forties with the sunset, but subway trains perfectly insulated that cringeworthy BO.

"I'm tired, Ramsey," Liza said to her dog as she shut the door behind her. She hung her keys on one of the two hooks on the wall—on the other nail hung someone else's set—and gave the destroyed teddy bear a halfhearted tug before letting go.

The Akita's curled tail still wagged as he eagerly looked up at the human, his triangular, brown eyes hopeful. Liza shook her head and went past the canine.

Through the small foyer, in the parlor (or living room as they called it nowadays) was a pile of shit in front of the bay windows. Liza sighed, seeing it, and walked further into the apartment. Judging by the lack of smell, Ramsey must've pooped earlier in the day when no one was home.

"Hey, Ollie," she said. There was another girl there.

This girl sat on the dark gray Ikea couch, which stood with its back to the front door. She was watching that show Harlots that was on Hulu. Their television was a decently sized flat-screen, hanging on the wall directly in front of the cheap sectional. Before her, on the coffee table, which was also from Ikea, was a large plate of steak and mashed potatoes. Oh, and don't forget the bowl of chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, sprinkled with feta. For a girl of her petite size, it was hard to imagine that she could eat it all.

This girl responded with a distracted, "Hi."

Liza stepped past the couch, looking back at the headful of thick, wavy dark hair.

Judging by the way she spoke, even by that one syllable in Hi, Olympia Belugin was in a mood. And instead of following Liza through the rest of the apartment, Ramsey dropped the teddy bear and watched her go. But he didn't watch for long. Oh no.

He quickly went around the chaise part of the couch to sit directly before Ollie and the coffee table, and resumed watching her eat (which was what he had been doing before Liza got there) while Ollie kept her eyes glued to the television. In the show, Lucy Wells was at the opera with her mother, who was taking silent bids for her daughter's virginity. It was riveting, clearly.

The dining room was really an extension of the living space, with its own large windows that looked out into the lovely, narrow alley alongside the building. The dining table, which was hardly used, was from (guess?)—Ikea!

The first door on the right was Liza's room, and just as she turned the doorknob, she heard from Ollie: "Oh, yeah, and you forgot to do the dishes from last night. Thanks. Exactly what I need when I come back from work."

Liza closed her eyes and found no energy to offer up an excuse—which was that she had overslept and had to rush to work that morning. Hence the dirty dishes. Hence the poop. Still, she didn't answer Ollie.

She stepped inside her room, switching on the light, and crossed the floor to put her messenger bag onto her bed. The yellow bedspread and light blue walls were a little too obnoxious at the moment. The color choice hadn't been her choice. Rather, the room had been painted by the previous tenants before they had moved into this place a little over a year ago. The color yellow logically was supposed to brighten spirits.

Not so much now.

Leaving the light on, Liza left. The kitchen was in the back, as all kitchens were when graystones were built sometime during the beginning of the 20th century.

Ollie's room was right next door to hers, and their shared bathroom was directly across from both of their doors, between the dining room and kitchen. One of the few bonuses of living in such an old building was the fact that the landlords kept the vintage pedestal sink and the deep tub.

The back entrance, which had been originally used for receiving deliveries, from say, the milkman, was now where Liza often stepped out onto the patio for a cigarette. When Ollie was in better spirits, she too joined. Or she made enough steak for the two of them on their little grill. The lingering aroma from the food stirred the emptiness of her stomach, but Liza wouldn't dare to ask if Ollie would share. Not now.

The street outside was quiet, save for a few neighbors who were more than likely arriving home late and now searched for parking. They made circles around the block. When he'd noticed one of the cars for a third time, Elijah decided to step further into the shadows. He hid partway in the alleyway that separated the graystone from the newer, red-bricked house on the other side.

He was looking up along the corner of the home, that corner of the living room to be exact. There were moans coming from above. They sounded very much like ones that a lady might utter mid coitus. Regardless of who was moaning and then shrieking, he realized after a moment that whatever sexual activities that were going on in the girl's apartment were coming from a television.

After his previous search on the internet, he'd found out that Liza had a roommate. She was supposed to live with another girl. Considering that he still had much to learn about this Elizaveta Belov, he certainly had no idea who the roommate was. He couldn't see much of the apartment at all. He resorted to just listening. But after a moment, he did see Liza's face against the warm beige walls, what he could see of them at least. Mostly his view was of the ceiling and its original crown molding.

The downstairs folk were far too absorbed with figuring out who the masked singer, the rabbit, was to even bother looking out their windows. Plus, their eyesight would've probably been too poor to distinguish the lurker from the moving shadows of the pine.

Having gotten a plastic bag and some clorox wipes, Liza had stepped in front of the bay windows and then ducked down. She was cleaning up Ramsey's mess. Quick about it, she rose a few seconds later, only to disappear again.

Inside the apartment, she lingered behind the couch again. In her hand, she held the plastic bag containing the dog crap. Ollie didn't turn around. She stuffed a forkful of meat into her mouth.

"Did you take the wolfsbane I made?" Liza asked. Her voice was careful. "I know it turned out thick this time…"

Ollie spoke as she chewed. "No' 'et. I'm 'oing 'o 'omorrow."

"Okay," was Liza's reply. Letting out a soft breath, she turned to head back to the kitchen.

Ollie's delayed reply sounded before Liza opened the patio door: "Thanks...for the wolfsbane." It was a reluctant apology from someone who naturally had a hard time apologizing for things, but something about Liza's own tone sounded understanding.

"No problem, Oll." Liza left the plastic bag outside on the patio so it wouldn't stink up the apartment during the night and shut the door behind her.

Below, at the front of the building, Elijah stood very still. Had he heard correctly? Wolfsbane?

He was certainly no expert in mystical herbal remedies, but he knew for a fact that a concoction of wolfsbane was used only in one instance, and that was to subdue, to weaken, a werewolf.

Was that who this second girl was? A wolf?

Next, he heard the sound of clinking china and running water. Dishes. But the sounds were muted because they came from the back. Liza must've been washing said dishes per her friend's request. Although, it had been more like an order that would've come from someone's mother.

"Rams, get away. I'm not sharing," he heard Ollie's voice next.

Then came the sound of paws. He couldn't see this brief interaction, but this is what happened: Ramsey, ever persistent, jumped onto the couch beside Ollie, who turned to face him with unexpected yellow eyes.

There was a moment of silence between them, a stare down, and then the dog finally obeyed. He stepped backward, lowering his head in submission. Ollie said, "Go," and pointed the way.

Rams went, jumping off of the couch and trotting around it, tail a little low. He looked down the way to the other side of the apartment, where he could see Liza standing in front of the sink. The canine was at a loss as to what to do next. The forlorn teddy bear, which was lying where he'd dropped it, was an option.

Maybe. That was until something caught his attention.

His pointed ears turned back, he straightened, his tail went up in a tight curl, and he was moving to the front windows. Akitas rarely barked, only if there was a good reason to. Despite their size, they were far from Goldens or Labs. They were sneaky and very smart, and they didn't do anything without a purpose. So, when Ramsey sensed someone outside, and he released a low, rolling growl, Ollie tore her attention from the television and paused in her chewing, cheeks puffy.

Elijah took a small step back, hearing the dog. Old leaves crinkled underneath a polished shoe, and Ramsey's head peeked above the window frame. The man saw that the animal was very reminiscent of a large fox, or an orange husky, or a red wolf.

"Why are you freaking out, Ramsey?" Elijah heard Ollie ask, suspiciously, too.

Ramsey yowled at the dark. He didn't quite see Elijah, but the vampire had certainly been made. Ollie's face appeared in the window a second later. She too looked out to see who was there, lurking. She scanned the street, then the sidewalk, north and south. The front of the building, the fenced-in yard, if you could call it that.

"Who's out there, Rams? Huh? Who's out there?" A playful note entered her words. Her voice was slightly husky compared to that of Liza's smooth cadence.

Ollie was pretty, her hair darker, thicker, and slightly longer than that of her friend. Her face, rounder, had those slavic cheeks, too. But whereas Liza was fair, Ollie was warmer-toned. Dark, arching eyebrows framed her eyes, which were large and green.

As that green gaze surveyed the front of the building, Elijah deftly snuck away, going unnoticed, even as the dog still ruff'd.

"What's wrong?" he heard Liza call from the kitchen.

"Rams heard something outside," Ollie answered. "It's fine."

Then their feet were moving. Ollie returned to the couch, fell onto it backward. Liza stepped back to the sink. The dog retreated from the window once he sensed the vampire was gone—from the front of the house, at least.

The scandalous TV show was being rewound. It was harder to hear, while the sound of the sink grew louder now. Elijah blended into the darkness, creeping outside of the first-floor patio, looking up at the window of the second-floor kitchen.

Steam rose, fogging up the glass. He could see Liza behind it. Lifting an arm, she wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. She had those yellow kitchen gloves on. Elijah took two steps back to better see her face. As unnerving as it was that her roommate was an apparent werewolf, he was there for Liza, after all. But what the hell did she have to do with his family? The fact that she'd brought up wolfsbane could've meant a couple of things. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, however. He wanted proof first. The most important thing was to proceed with caution.

Liza's brown gaze was set much like the expression that he'd seen on her face earlier that day, when he'd left the tea shop: pensive, somber. Her brows were drawn slightly, her lips pressed together, far from a smile, but not quite a frown either. She didn't appear to be one of those girls who were quick to smile, or easily amused. She might've been a deep thinker. She looked like something heavy was on her mind. Maybe not. He could've been wrong. This was only what he was assuming as he tried to read her features.

She was putting the dishes by the sink. Once she was finished, she shut the water off and took off her gloves. She hung them over the faucet, but before stepping away, she looked out the window.

Beyond the first and second floor patios, there was a short driveway and a small single-car garage beside it. An old, Ford sedan from the mid 2000s was parked before a much newer silver Mustang.

In front of the garage on a chunk of dead grass, there were a few pieces of patio furniture—nothing special, just two lawn chairs and a glass table. The place needed some sprucing up, but it wasn't too terrible. There was one of those round, unused charcoal grills near the lawn chairs. The whole area was surrounded by a fence, as were most of the backyards of these graystones. At the end of the driveway, on the other side of the gate, was the alley.

There were no milk men nowadays. Only garbage trucks on Tuesdays, and sometimes scavengers with their trunk beds in the evenings on Mondays before. The homeless were known to waddle past with carts as well. And bordering the alley were the above-ground El tracks.

Liza watched the tracks as a train—no, maybe two trains—neared, for the sound was louder than usual. Elijah too looked back, past the garage, and up at the rails beyond the back street. How the hell a person could get used to the noise was beyond him. When he glanced back at Liza, he saw that her attention was riveted on the train line. The rushing trains, going in opposite directions, snapped with electricity and clanged rhythmically against the rails. Yellow windows with silhouettes, which were sitting or standing, blurred past.

Her face was unreadable, almost in the way of Elijah's own natural physiognomy, everything there below the surface, yet all of it hidden. His own face usually obscured his thoughts, leaving most people floundering as they would try to figure him out. Liza was clearly far, far away now. Maybe there was something hypnotic about the sound of the train—because it did something to the girl. He didn't take his attention off of her.

The trains passed each other with a whoosh and sped to the south and north ends of the line. Even as the roaring receded, Liza kept her gaze there for a moment or two longer. Then, her eyes lowered to the yard.

Elijah shifted closer again to the first-floor patio, to make sure she didn't spot him.

There was a clink sound. When Liza had jumped, he tensed. She was turning around, and although Elijah had a harder time seeing her through the window now, he heard the girls.

"Jesus," Liza had gasped.

Ollie had brought in her dirty dishes. Liza obligingly took them and turned on the sink again.

"Sometimes I forget you're not a wolf after I'm around them all day at the daycare," Ollie said with a hint of dark amusement. There was a smirk in her voice, too.

Elijah heard Liza's heart rate go up as she scrubbed her friend's plate, foregoing the gloves this time. He wouldn't blame any human for being taken aback like that. The wolf's heart beat was steady. Of course, it would be. The vampire found himself on edge. He couldn't help it.

"I thought you said that every woman can find her "she-wolf," Liza quipped, sounding bemused. It was a reference to the Shakira song, which Elijah didn't catch.

"Well, yeah. But you know what I mean. You're so jumpy." Ollie laughed, a rougher edge in her throat.

Elijah took hold of one of the wooden balusters of the patio.

"Shut up."

"Can't I tease you? You have something smart to say all the time."

Liza was silent. She certainly wasn't acting sharp-tongued right at that moment. Ollie yanked the fridge open.

Liza's pulse skipped a beat. She turned off the faucet, added Ollie's now-clean dishes and utensils to the dish rack on the counter, and turned around to find the shorter girl chugging out of a plastic bottle of kefir. Liza crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. Ollie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave her a look.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive."

Knowing better than to argue with a wolf, who was feeling the effects of the coming full moon, Liza forced a smile. She hid her face by turning around to get a glass out of a cupboard.

Ollie threw the now-empty kefir bottle into the trash can, which had a secure lid—so the dog couldn't get in. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"See you in a couple days," Liza bid. Her tone now belied a relief that she couldn't help but feel. Ollie didn't take offense if she even noticed.

"I won't be bitchy then." Ollie's footsteps were already receding down the hall.

Liza was filling her glass with water from the fridge filter. "I know," she said.

However, they needed a break from each other. It was hard living with a friend. And female werwolves were bitchy twice a month, not once. Sometimes their time of the month coincided with the full moon, but not always.

Elijah was calmer but waited still. He heard, "Come on, Rams," as Liza stepped out of the kitchen, the lights going out. Ollie's door, the closest to the kitchen, closed shut.

Liza continued to speak to her dog: "No? You're not coming in? Fine then." The hallway light dimmed next. She stepped inside her own room, but there was no sound of the door closing, which meant she left it open.

But instead of following his owner, Ramsey stepped into the kitchen, not ready to call it a night. His part-time job of security dog wasn't over yet for the day. Elijah heard the growl. Then a scrape of paws at the back door. The vampire took this as his cue to finally leave. So, he vanished into the darkness, around the building, without making the slightest of sounds.

Sensing the reaper's movement, Ramsey ran out of the kitchen and bolted into Liza's room. She gasped as he skidded to the window, putting his paws up on the frame. He barked loudly and his snout pressed against the glass, fogging it up. Having taken off her shirt, in her bra, Liza quickly reached to yank the curtains shut.

Rams stuck his head past the fabric, anyway, and huffed out a low, threatening snarl that must've translated as, "I know you were there, asshole."

"Shut up, Ramses!" Ollie yelled through the wall.

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