#a bear bell and a new guitar strap.

[regenderate-fic]

Tell Me, Is Devotion a Gift or a Thief: Chapter 2 (After)

main post read on ao3

Word Count (Chapter): 2,709

The Doctor was in one of the bar’s back rooms, getting ready for his set. Really, there wasn’t that much to prepare for: he wasn’t exactly doing his hair. But it was nice to have a bit of quiet. No one really bothered him here, except the manager who told him when it was time to go on, and sometimes waitstaff looking for extra towels (or for a quiet moment of their own).

No one bothered him, that was, until the door opened and Bill’s head poked its way inside.

“Your old friend’s back,” she said.

The Doctor jumped. He had been sitting in the corner of the room, using his sonic screwdriver to inspect the graffiti on the wall. He hadn’t expected to be interrupted for at least five more minutes. 

“My old friend,” he repeated, pushing himself cautiously to his feet. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Bill.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause you’re a billion years old?” 

The Doctor tried for a smile. He was never sure if he was doing it right. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Bill said. “Does this ring a bell? Blonde girl, way too young for you, was here last month?” 

The Doctor frowned. Why would she come here twice? Surely she would be somewhere else by now, another time, another place. “You must be mistaken.”

Bill shook her head. “Definitely the same girl.” 

“No.” The Doctor felt himself shutting down, preempting the hope he knew would surge in his veins if he didn’t stop it. But he had to stop it. He couldn’t risk talking to her again. He’d said goodbye to her for the last time. “It isn’t.”

Bill shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just thought I’d warn you before you go out there. Considering last time you made a complete fool of yourself.”

“I did not—”

But Bill was already gone.

The Doctor took a deep, shaking breath. In a few minutes, he would have to go out on that stage, sit in front of that crowd, and he wouldn’t be able to help scanning the room for one Rose Tyler. Ordinarily, he was very good at keeping his persona onstage: he’d had decades of practice, after all. But— well. He wasn’t sure how he’d react, on the one in a trillion chance that Rose Tyler was, indeed, in the crowd. He’d never been able to hide, around her. 

No. It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought. Rose Tyler was in another universe, with a clone of himself, and if she was here, either he couldn’t talk to her, or something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. It was selfish of him to have even the tiniest sliver of hope. 

He’d never claimed to be a selfless man.

The door opened again. It was the bar’s manager, there to tell him it was time to go on. He picked up his guitar and slung the strap around his neck, each movement painfully slow, his stomach sinking with dread. He couldn’t go out there. He couldn’t go out there, because either Bill had been wrong, she’d seen some other woman and thought it was Rose, or else Bill had been right, and he would have to hide himself from her for a second time, and either option was impossible to bear.

He couldn’t go out there, and yet he did the impossible fairly regularly, and he’d have to do it now. He couldn’t risk disappointing the bar, after all; he’d been playing here for upwards of fifty years, and they’d always been good to him. It was a point of respect, really, to show up when he was scheduled, to play his full set, even on days when he really would have preferred to be in his office, reading or drawing up a new schematic for one of his side projects or even arguing with Nardole. He had said he would perform tonight, and so he would perform, even if his mind felt like it had scattered on the wind, drifting in a million directions.

He opened the door and stepped out into the bar.

He kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he walked out to his seat. He didn’t look up— didn’t let himself look up— as he sat down, plugged in his guitar, struck the first chord. It blared through the speakers, clear and pristine, and he closed his eyes. He pulled a breath deep into his lungs, and expelled it as the start of a song, his eyes still closed as his fingers moved along the frets. He was lucky, he realized, that he had so many years of practice: his hands and throat knew what to do, even when his mind didn’t seem to. 

He got through a song and a half this way before his curiosity began to eat away at his obstinance. The urge to look up was overwhelming, overpowering, and by the end of the second song, he simply couldn’t bear it. 

His fingers moved along the frets, positioning themselves for the next song. He took deep breaths, steadying himself— 

And then he looked. 

For a moment, he couldn’t see anything. Most of the bar was dark, and although the light on him wasn’t bright, it was still shining in his eyes, preventing him from really looking at the rest of the space. He started his next song, glancing back down at his guitar, and when he looked up again, he could make out the tables just in front of him, the people sitting on stools along the bar, the bartenders and waitstaff moving around in their white aprons. Bill was a few feet away, grinning up at him; he avoided her eyes. 

He looked back down. His fingers were still moving of their own accord, strumming the strings, moving along the frets. It wasn’t his best performance, but it would be passable— with any luck, the audience wouldn’t know the difference.

He looked up again— and for a millisecond, his voice faltered, his fingers slipping on the strings.

She was there.

Bill had been right. Rose was there, and what was more, she was looking back at him. His eyes met hers with a jolt, and he stared at her for a long moment, still playing, still holding the tune. 

No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t talk to her. He wasn’t the Doctor she was looking for. He weighed the odds— there was no way she didn’t know it was him. He couldn’t imagine her looking that way at anyone else. But he couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t risk messing up the timelines any more than he already had. His only option was to get out of there as fast as possible after his set, before he had the impulse to do something stupid like go up and actually talk to her. 

He looked up again. She had a basket of chips in front of her, and she was holding one between her fingers as she watched, an image so endearingly familiar he felt it in his chest. She was smiling, too, not her full-on grin, but a small smile. It almost looked… knowing.

He couldn’t keep looking at her. If he looked at her, he’d want to talk to her, and if he talked to her, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from touching her, and then it would all be over. The timelines would implode, and the Doctor couldn’t justify that. Not even if he really, really wanted to.

It was the fifth time he looked up that he realized she was wearing a different jacket.

She’d been wearing a blue jacket, the last time he’d seen her. She’d been wearing a blue jacket all those years ago, too, when she’d returned to him. It was seared into his mind, that jacket, matched with his clone’s suit, disappearing behind the TARDIS doors.

But this jacket was new. Unfamiliar. Dark brown leather, snug against her body. Wide lapels. Hair falling into the neckline. The Doctor frowned— although, considering where he was, it would be best if he kept his frown on the inside. He forced his expression back to neutral. 

A different jacket didn’t mean anything. He was overanalyzing— he always did. It was practically his job description. Of course Rose wouldn’t always wear the same jacket. She hadn’t back when she’d traveled with him: she’d had a new outfit every day, sometimes twice a day, always a different color scheme. It was foolish to think that, just because the jacket was different, the circumstances would be too.

He looked for just a second longer.

Her hair was falling into the jacket’s neckline. 

Her hair hadn’t been that long before, had it? The last time he’d seen her hair long enough to even touch her collar— it had been just after he’d regenerated. Christmas dinner. She’d had a little braid in it. The next day, before they’d left, she’d gotten Jackie to cut it. 

Was this Rose from that far in the past, then? 

No. She couldn’t be. Could she? He would’ve remembered, if he’d taken her here. And she wouldn’t have gone anywhere without him— not unless Jack had taken her when he wasn’t looking, which was possible, but somehow didn’t seem likely. And why would he have taken her here, and why would she be looking at him like this, and why—

He was at the end of his set. He struck the last chord, the sound of the guitar diminishing into nothing, and tried for a smile. Usually he said something here, some sort of thank you, but not today. Today, he just cleared his throat and stood up, hovering awkwardly for a moment before setting down the guitar and bolting off the stage. 

He’d meant to go directly back into the back room. It was what he usually did, anyway, at the end of a set. His guitar case was back there. And this guitar had been a gift from an old friend; he was very careful to keep it in its case when he wasn’t using it. He really should have been going to get it. But the second he stepped off the stage, he couldn’t move. He caught his arms about to start flailing, and he managed to redirect them to his hair just in time. He didn't see Rose in the crowd anymore— he'd had his eyes on her, but then in the shuffle of getting off the stage and failing to regain his bearings, he'd lost track. Bill was coming toward him— he wasn't ready to speak to her— he turned around—

There she was. 

Her eyes were shining as she looked up through her lashes at him, biting her lip in a self-conscious smile just like she used to. 

He cleared his throat. 

“Rose?” The word came out on a choked-up breath, the syllable barely intelligible. But it was enough: her smile grew, and before he could register what was happening she had flung herself against his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. It took a second for his body to catch up with his brain, but once it did, his arms were around her, one hand cradling her head close against his chest. This body wasn't a hugger, as a general rule, but oh, he would've made so many exceptions to have Rose Tyler in his arms again, and now she was here, and it was better than he had dared to hope. 

Until— he pulled away. The timelines. He'd forgotten about the timelines. Who knew what he was messing up, just by interacting with her? His time with her was long over, diverted into another universe. It would have been the height of hubris to think he could ever be with her again. 

“How did you get here?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. 

Her smile settled into a more serious expression, her eyes searching his. “That's a long story.”

He took her in. Her hair was longer, and her jacket was new, but that wasn't it. Something had settled behind her eyes, a cool understanding that he saw every time he looked in the mirror. She was older. “Exactly… how long?” he asked. 

She looked away. “Hundred years?”

“A hundred—” He reached for her again, his hands clutching at the leather of her sleeves. “Rose. How—” But it came to him before he could say it. “Bad Wolf.”

She nodded.

“Oh, Rose.” He could feel the threat of tears at the back of his throat. “What happened to—”

“He was part human,” Rose said, her voice soft. “Specifically, the aging part.”

The Doctor winced at the echo. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known.”

Rose shook her head. “It's not your fault.”

“I should've known,” he repeated, although looking into her eyes he found it horribly, selfishly difficult to see Rose’s lack of mortality as a bad thing. 

Rose looked back at him, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Breathless, the Doctor took her in: her slightly-flushed cheeks, her hair falling in her face, her steady and warm gaze. She was old; not as old as him, but he could see it in her eyes, all the years that had piled up inside her. But somehow, she looked exactly the same. Not just on a physical level— he could tell, deep down, that it was her, the same Rose Tyler he’d met all those years ago. 

He reached for her hand, and she offered it, her skin soft and warm against his. For half a second, he worried that his hand might be too rough, but she just smiled. 

“Can we go somewhere else?” she asked, squeezing his hand. “Quieter?”

“Go— yes.” The Doctor looked around. “I’ve just got to get my guitar.” 

Rose squeezed his hand again. “Go on, then.” Her tongue poked out as she smiled, and an immense relief washed over the Doctor. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The Doctor wanted to say something in response, but if he opened his mouth he was sure the tears he’d been holding back would start to fall, and he couldn’t do that, not in the middle of this crowded bar. Instead, he nodded once, and then he dropped her hand and wrenched his eyes away from her. His guitar was still on the stage, and the case was in the back room— he stepped towards the stage, but he didn’t make it very far before Bill blocked his path.

“Told you it was her,” she said, craning her neck to look behind the Doctor. “Who even is she?”

“Old friend,” the Doctor replied. “Like I said before.”

Bill raised her eyebrows at him. “How old? ‘Cause I don’t know if you noticed, but that girl can’t be much older than me.”

“Ah, but looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” The Doctor spread his hands. “I, for example, look young and handsome, when in reality I am very old indeed.”

“Yeah, all right,” Bill scoffed. “Young and handsome. If you say so.”

The Doctor gave her his best glare. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Fine. Monday.” Bill turned on her heel, stepping into the crowd. 

“And don’t be late!” the Doctor called after her, more out of habit than anything. With a sigh, he made his way to the stage, where he picked up his guitar; in the back room, he laid it carefully in its case. When he came back out, he saw Rose standing exactly where he left her; true to her word, she had not gone anywhere. He stepped up beside her, slipping his hand effortlessly into hers, and she looked up at him. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Er— I’ve got a place.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Not the TARDIS?”

“Not at present,” he said. “Although—” He shook his head. “I’ve got so much to tell you, Rose Tyler.”

She grinned up at him. “Me, too.” Her laugh hit him right between the hearts; he had missed the joy she brought him. She redoubled her grip on his hand, tucking her head against his shoulder, and he was sure his smile matched hers as they began to walk together.

[plungermusic]

A thrill-ride across the border into Terra Incognita ...

Phenomenal Canadian singer/songwriter/guitarist Terra Lightfoot is probably best known for her blend of bobbysox-drugstore-chocolate-malt pop and freeway-cruising rock but her new single Cross Border Lovers (from her upcoming album Healing Power) takes her material into new territories, while still delivering the classic ‘Terra tingle’. 

The high chanting and hefty syn-drum kick-and-snare stamp-and-clap intro (sounding like a tribal elder conclave making free with the nitrous) tells us "We’re not in Ontario anymore, Toto", underscored by the entrance of Old Skool synths churning out a relentless throbbing New Wave electronica riff (think Human League/Depeche Mode/OMD) that somehow still bears a whiff of top-down-sundown-Sunset-Strip-cruising with Pat Benatar at the wheel, and that West Coast undercurrent bubbles to the surface in the chugging, muted plucking of the chorus (seemingly the only deployment of Terra’s fabulous guitar throughout). 

One constant though is Terra’s fabulous champagne-fizz voice: liquid velvet at lower registers, seductive and warm (but still with enough oomph to punch through sheet steel), with thrilling higher peaks and ecstatic sinuous line extensions, combining in gooseflesh-raising multi-part harmonies in the closing bars before a crisp dead-stop.

There’s a real 80s polished positive vibe to Cross Border Lovers (we found ourselves mysteriously drawn to Don Henley’s solo works shortly after) as well as Terra’s usual vibrancy and joie de vivre among its genre-hopping eclecticism. So for Plunger it’s still “like being fire-hosed with ice cold Dom Pérignon while flying at zero feet over sunflower fields strapped to the front of a Lockheed Starfighter…” only this time with our jacket sleeves pushed up.

Cross Border Lovers is available to stream now on Spotify, Deezer, YouTube Music, Apple Music and other sites.

Watch the video for the single (co-directed by Lyle Bell and Terra) here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn-gX3C3huA

The new album Healing Power will released 13th October on Sonic Unyon Records - pre-save your copy here: https://orcd.co/terralightfoot-healingpower

[horce-divorce]

I've had 2 family members offer to buy me an "early birthday present" this year on the fly and I panicked and said no thanks both times and I'm getting kind of pissed off about it tbh. Incomimg rant abt one of those aspects of disabled adult life that sets you apart from other adults and makes you feel fucking useless.

my family is affluent but I can't ASK them for help. if I do that they're sorry but no :/ so sad :/ but if my dad sees me counting quarters. he'll give me a bag of $50 worth of quarters. he can gift me 50 whole dollars but he can't just GIVE it to me like normal money, he cant "afford" that. I have to be willing to take it to the coinstar or whatever.

I can't ask them for clothes or point out that I've only had one (1) pair of pants for 2 years and its fucking sweatpants. theyre prob embarassed by the fact i wear the same stained sweatpants every day, but I can't afford new pants and I cant just ASK for new ones because That's Entitled, No Thanks. But if my dad sees me so much as looking at a pair of $60 Tevas while everyone else is shopping, he'll offer to buy me an early birthday present all of a sudden.

and that's nice and I get that it's a nice gesture and it has to be offered but here's the thing. my family members can afford all the things they need and then some, so shopping and buying gifts is just that; its frivolous, its just for funsies. I can't fucking do that. I can't afford ANY one thing that I need. Not one. The meds fucking keeping me ALIVE rn I only get bc I beg online or my dad feels bad and gives me his pocket change once every 6 months or whatever.

Which means when ppl ask me "what do you want for your birthday?" That's my ONE CHANCE PER YEAR to get the things I actually need. It means I don't ask for the things I want for my birthday. It means I always have to ask for the things I need and couldn't afford for the last year (or maybe more depending on which necessities I asked for last year). It means I never get anything that's just for funsies or to play with because I can't buy that stuff on my own and I certainly can't afford to waste a gift request on it.

But it also means I have to budget my gifts. I can't ask for things that are for fun and entertainment. If I don't ask for pants or shoes for my birthday I DONT GET THEM. Ever. Period. End of story. It doesnt fucking happen.

so my family keeps coming around at the worst possible moment and going "don't you want a tripod grill for camping?" when I don't even have pants or a proper fucking tent with a COVER or a sleeping pad or even my own damn bug spray (where the F am i gonna get $7). or my dad going "don't you want these Tevas?" when I don't even have basic proper clothes.

but nobody wants to hear that shit cus then its not fun for them as the gifter. it's not a fun silly cool time to be 'gifting' people basic necessities. sorry I'm so poor I'm not even fucking fun to shop for.

I know this is like a dumb stupid thing to complain about when they're at least not kicking me out this time and that my dad will sometimes grab my groceries when he goes to the store. But it's really honestly making me a little fucking insane that all my family members treat me like I'm The Same as them and like I'm living the same fucking life as them just bc they see me every day when in reality we live wildly different lives. And just bc I'm In Their House doesn't make me, like, part of Their Household financially speaking you know what I mean. I don't wanna sit here and listen to them talk about fucking real estate and then turn around and offer to buy me a tripod grill or fucking tevas when I've been rotating thru the same 3 pairs of underwear for over a year. But I can't fucking say that bc then they'll feel bad so I'm here instead

[bluefirewrites]

T.Rex, Velveeta, and Other Fun Names

A one shot I made, thanks to @lydias--stiles and @blush-and-books. 

We were talking about what Luke’s middle name could be and it sparked an idea for this quick little one shot (which is neither quick or little actually.)

Could also be read on AO3. 

ENJOY!

____________

Lucas T. Patterson

The madness of this week all started when Julie thumbed through Luke’s journal and found her songwriting partner’s messy scrawl inscribed in the behind the front cover.

Yeah, it was his name, Julie would have griped about how illegible it was and moved on to whatever song she and Luke had been workshopping the day before and thought nothing of it-

If it weren’t for the fact that there was a flurry of deep inset scratches of pen scribbling out the space where his middle name was supposed to be, leaving only the ‘T’ unscathed…

“So I was thinking, maybe we change the key. I thought I was feeling A Major,” Luke rattled off, playing the aforementioned series of chords on his electric, “But now, I think we could really intensify it by flipping to a minor key-”

“What’s the 'T' stand for?”

The ghost looked up, confused, “Huh?”

Julie held up the inner cover of the journal, pointing to his name, “Lucas T. Patterson. The ‘T’- what does it stand for?”

It was a simple question, but all color drained from his face.

“O-Oh. Oh that?” Luke stammered through, struggling to rid himself of his guitar, the skull and rose strap kept swatting his face in his hurry.

She nodded.

He was across the room in seconds, back facing her, pretending to fiddle with the amp settings, even going as far as inspecting Alex’s drums. Thank goodness the drummer wasn’t there right now or else he would be getting a thorough lecture. ("Tell him to stop touching my drums!" extended to his bandmates as well).

“It, uh, stands for my middle name,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I get that. So what is it?”

“It’s nothing,”

Julie rose from the piano bench, traversing the studio until she was right behind him. She forced him to pivot and face her, “No, it’s clearly something.”

Luke gave a dismissive wave and a weak nonchalant laugh, “It’s not a big deal,”

“It clearly is if you won’t tell me,”

Then his head cocked to the side. He cupped his ear, “Uh, what’s that? I think I heard Carlos!”

“What?” She couldn’t hear anything.

“Oh, you need help, Carlos? On my way!”

“He can’t even-”

In a flash of light and warp of reality, Julie was alone in the studio.

“- hear you...”

Oh boy.

Now what was that about?

________________

Ever since then, Julie’s curiosity only grew. Why was Luke so evasive when it came to his middle name? What could possibly be the reason?

With all the secrecy and going great lengths to omit it from his journal, she was betting on it being insanely embarrassing.

Which made Julie want to find out even more.

Luke didn’t get embarrassed so easily, not much to weaponize against him whenever they all made playful jabs at each other from time to time, like the friends they were. Really it was stuff like ‘Beware, Luke this shirt has sleeves’ which basically translated to ‘Haha, you’re attractive’.

Which did not pack quite the punch.

She was determined to decode Luke’s middle name, if not to quench her curiosity then to humble the guy.

He couldn’t be attractive and talented. Something’s gotta give.

(And no, she didn’t often think about how attractive and talented he was… Nope. Not at all).

“Tristan?” she threw out while they were backstage at their next gig.

Luke tuned his guitar, “Nope”

“Thomas?”

“Nuh-uh”

“Terrence?”

He finally looked up, smirking, “You will never find out.”

The tech burst in, phasing through the ghostly forms of the boys, to lead her out onto the stage.

She inwardly cursed. Saved by the bell.

“Break a leg, boss,” Luke wiggled his fingers at her before she was practically pushed past the curtain.

Even when she sat down to play the piano, Julie could not get the image of Luke’s smug face out of her mind. Oh, he probably thought her attempts were just so cute.

Yeah, cute for now.

But she wasn’t done yet.

____________________

“Alright, guys. Help me solve the mystery. What’s Luke’s middle name?”

It was one of those rare occasions where Luke was out of the house, leaving her, Alex, and Reggie alone.

The boys had been present for her previous tries to weasel Luke’s middle name out of him, and they were amused for the most part- Well, never as amused as Luke ‘Thinks He’s All That’ Patterson (not a serious contender in her guessing, by the way).

With their reactions, and however many years of brotherhood shared among the three of them, Alex and Reggie just had to know.

They were all chilling in the kitchen, Reggie perched on top of the counter and Alex lounging at the table. Julie poured herself a juice, waiting on the answer.

The bassist straightened up, “Oh. It’s-” Then he stopped, face scrunched up in a frown of concentration.

Julie directed her gaze at Alex, who was ready to jump in.

“No, wait it’s…” He faltered.

The two boys’s heads snapped to stare at each other as they pieced it together.

“Dude, I don’t think-”

“No. He had to have. I’m just blanking,”

“Guys?”

“Oh my god,” Alex uttered, pushing his golden locks back into his cap, “It took us this long to notice?!”

They were now on their feet, sandwiching Julie.

“We... don’t...know,” Reggie winced, admitting it out loud.

“How could you not know?”

“I don’t think he ever told us!” was the bassist’s defense, “He’s Fort Luke when he wants to be!”

He made the gesture of locking his lips and throwing away the key to which Alex nodded.

“Now I wanna know!”

“Me too!”

Now this was a development. If Luke’s boys had no clue, then it must be really juicy.

Taking a sip from her cup, Julie was all ready to recruit two new members for the noble cause…

_________________

Julie, Alex, and Reggie huddled in a circle at the studio, all bearing notebooks and furiously whispering at each other and scribbling away when Luke decided to make an appearance.

They dispersed, making their collusion all the more suspicious.

“Luke,” They all greeted, with the same level of enthusiasm… at the same time.  

The guitarist eyed them skeptically. Then he took in the notebooks, “You’re having a band meeting. Without me?” he asked, hurt flashed in his hazel eyes.

“No, silly. We’re having a band meeting about you,”

“Reggie!” Alex and Julie hissed.

That only added to Luke’s hurt and confusion.  

Sending him a reassuring smile, she guided him to an empty chair, placed right in the middle, just beyond the coffee table, “Sit down. Please.”

“Okay?” Slow steps and weird stares later, his butt plopped onto the seat, “Can someone tell me what’s all this abo-?”

“Lucas Theodore Patterson?” Alex leapt in front of Luke, reading his guess off his notebook.

Luke’s shoulders slumped, seeing where this was all going.

“Guys, really? You too-?”

“Is it or is it not Theodore?” Julie backed Alex up.

“God no,”

Reggie was up next, “Lucas Timothy Patterson?”

The nose scrunch answered for them.

“Lucas Tyrone Patterson?” as was Julie’s turn.

“No flow,”

And so they were stuck in a circle for the next 20 minutes, everyone taking turns guessing Luke’s middle name, their lists growing more desperate and random as they continued, even going as far as borderline yelling the names at him- that was how frustrated they were.

“Lucas Troy Patterson,”

“No”

“Lucas Trixie Patterson?!”

“That’s not even- that’s not even a guys name-”

“It’s Tyrannosaurus Rex. I’m telling you. It has to be!” Reggie slammed his notebook down, poking Luke hard in the chest with his index finger,  “Admit it! LUCAS. T. REX PATTERSON!”

“Boy, I wish,”

Their guessing game, once the last of the names have been recited, left all of them breathless (even though two of them were ghosts!).

On any other occasion, Luke would have been sympathetic, especially seeing how broken up and defeated they all looked collapsed onto the couch, glaring at him like he was the enemy.

But their fruitless attempts only made him all the more victorious.

“Nice try guys,” he patted each of them on the shoulder before heading out.

Best to give them a break.

Ya know, to deal with the defeat.

____________________

She was nothing if not persistent.

But Julie knew she might have been taking things too far when she had made the trip to Emily’s.

Look, she thought she could just pay the woman a visit, to check up on her, catch up-

Maybe ask leading questions in order to trick her into telling her her son’s middle name?

Yeah, the plan was flawed from the start because how could she so subtly direct the conversation to her dead son’s middle name.

Maybe get her to tell a story about Luke getting in big enough trouble that would have warranted the whole ‘yelling-out-your-full-name’ treatment? Which was a total stretch.

But she didn’t expect it to be the complete and utter disaster that it was.

If Alex and Reggie hadn’t gotten impatient and started snooping around Luke’s old room and digging through his things to find some sort of sign for his name, and if Luke hadn’t decided to intervene, creating all kinds of ruckus in other rooms for his mom to stop and check-

Then maybe they wouldn’t all be sitting on the Molina living room couch hours, getting read the riot act by Luke Patterson of all people.

“I had to tip over my aunt’s vase!!”

“Well, if it's any consolation, your mom always hated that vase?” Reggie chuckled before being promptly silenced by one look from Luke.

Alex spluttered, “But, like, you didn’t have to break it??”

“I did what I had to do,”

“Your mom was so freaked out!”

“Well, that’s on you guys,”

Julie just about had enough with all these games, she pushed herself up from the couch, squaring up against Luke’s unwavering gaze, “You’re being ridiculous!”

“Me?” he yelled, taken aback, “ You went to my house!”

“We just wanted to know!”

“Oh my god!” His hands gripped at his hair, “Why do you wanna know my middle name so badly?”

“I like knowing stuff about you, okay!”

Luke stepped back. Eyes wide.

That-

That wasn’t meant to come out.

Especially in the booming, shrill tone she used.

“Oh…”

Luke was playing with the sleeves of his oversized flannel, the air between them thick and brimming with awkwardness. It didn’t help that Alex and Reggie took this as the opportunity to flee.

Now it was just the two of them in the living room.

Breathing deeply to collect herself because it finally hit her- they were in a screaming match all because of a middle name . Like, Luke wasn’t the only one being ridiculous. It was her too. This whole quest to figure out what the T in his name stood for was so pointless.

They were fighting and Julie didn’t like it.

“And,” she cleared her throat, dislodging the unpleasantness, “there’s something clearly bothering you about it. Just… maybe thought I could help?”

Julie had been kidding herself. Messing with Luke might have been her initial goal, but what bugged her most about not knowing his middle name was the fact that even after all the time they spent together, there were things that Luke still wouldn’t tell her.

He was entitled to keep his secrets, yes, and she still felt bad for spying on him on his birthday. But, they were bandmates, writing partners, friends . She had confided in him a lot and he with her, and they just…

They always had this closeness. A closeness that she appreciated and didn’t take for granted.

And she had acted so recklessly because of it.

Luke nodded, taking it in. He didn’t look mad, but he understood. Julie could tell he was able to get more from her than the words she spouted at him.

“It’s, just,” his voice lowered into a self-conscious whisper, “It’s just something I don’t like a lot of people knowing...”

“I’m sorry. I pushed,”

“It’s okay,” the left corner of his mouth twitched, “You wouldn’t be Julie, if you didn’t” he playfully punched her shoulder.

She gaped at him in mock offense, “Hey!”

“Just saying. Tt’s not the first time you showed up on my doorstep, digging up my past,” she instinctively grimaced but Luke reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, “But I know it’s coming from a good place. Thanks.”

He really shouldn’t be so forgiving, Julie thought. But she was just happy that they could just leave this mess behind them.  

“I’ll get the guys to drop it,” she offered.

That made Luke laugh, “Good luck with that. Reggie’s wearing Alex down. Now he’s seriously considering my middle name to be ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’,”

“If it was that embarrassing, I’d see why you’d keep it a secret,”

It seemed like Luke wanted to say something but shook his head and thought better of it. Instead he tugged her by the hand to the door, “Come on. You never did give me your opinion on the key change…”

_______________

It was months later when it finally came out. 

They were in her room. She was doing homework and he was getting a jump start on their newest song, working side by side on the floor.

Her laptop was open, some randomly chosen Spotify playlist streaming in the background. All was well when the familiar chords of ‘Get Lost’ started playing, causing Luke to visibly tense up.

“Trevor,”

“Right. Sorry, I’ll turn it off-”

“No. That’s…” He sighed and moved into a kneeling position.

Pushing his already opened journal to Julie, Luke flipped it to the cover, where his name was written.

He pointed to the scribbles over his middle name.

Where only the T was exposed…

Trevor.

“Lucas...Trevor...Patterson?”  

“My full name. Ba-da?” his jazz hands fell flat, betrayed by the quiver in his voice.

“Oh,”

“I, uh, never liked how it sounded. And you know how I feel… about things that just don’t flow right”

Julie did. For sure. Scrapped lyrics and melodies were often what happened. Never to be brought up again.

He continued, “My mom would insist on writing out my full name on my notebooks for school- Luke Patterson is already so generic,” and the first genuine chuckle of the night huffed out, “Never used them for class of course. Just to write songs.”

“Tre-Bobby,” she corrected herself “He would have needed proof that he wrote everything...”

“My old notebook. That had ‘Get Lost’ and ‘Crooked Teeth’. Made the mistake of writing it in pencil. It’d be so easy to just-”

Slamming the laptop closed, silencing the song, Julie enveloped the ghost in a hug. He melted against her, hands gripping onto her shoulders from behind, for dear life, the weight of the reveal finally taking its toll.

“I didn’t like my middle name before. Now, I just- I just can’t stand it,” he whispered into her shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Luke”

“Were the songs not enough? He had to steal my name too?”

The ache carried by his voice made Julie squeeze tighter.

She had no words.

What Bobby did, what he took from Luke, was more than she could ever fathom. She didn’t know what to do, what to say to him to soothe the pain.

She only held him.

For as long as he needed.

___________

"How come Alex and Reggie never found out?" she would ask him later.

"Didn't make it habit to show off my journal"

She frowned, "But you let me read it."

Luke, too, had no words in response.

____________

“Hey, wanna go on a walk with me?” Julie asked him out of the blue one evening.

Luke could definitely use a break, especially from whatever row Alex and Reggie had just gotten into. He nodded and took her offered hand.

They took a stroll down her street, hands still joined but hidden in Julie’s hoodie pocket (as to not make it seem like she was grasping at air). The sun was beginning to set over the hills as they could see from their vantage point in the park, their set destination.

Julie seemed to have some purpose for this random walk because she was leading him around until they reached a tree in a more secluded part of the grounds.

Whipping out a pocket knife, Julie replaced her hand in her grasp with the odd tool.

“What’s this?”

“For a while, I lost all sense of what music meant to me. I thought music was my mom. That if she’s gone then there’s no point in going on,”

“Aw, Jules”

Her sunny disposition shone through in a smile, “It’s okay. I had to redefine music for myself. Give it new meaning. Music is not just my mom. It’s my family and Flynn. It’s you and the guys” she shrugged, “It’s me.”

“I would have told you that,” A tender touch to her forearm coaxed an even bigger smile from the girl, “You definitely are music.”

Momentarily distracted by the compliment, it took a moment for Julie to get back on track.

“What I’m trying to say is. I think it’s time for you to redefine yourself. There’s stuff in your old life that you miss, but there’s also stuff you want to leave in the past…”

It dawned on Luke what Julie was referring to.

“That ‘T’ is a placeholder. You could go by a different middle name. You could do whatever you want. You’re a ghost now. You can… move on. So,” she revealed the blade and placed it in his palm once more. She nodded at the tree.

“Go ahead. Go give your name a new meaning, Make your mark,”

Grinning, Luke picked up on her plan and began carving into the trunk, his initials, all three letters representing his name, with each mark easier to craft than the last, imbuing more love and meaning into them, just like what Julie said.

Once done, he admired his handiwork, floored by how cathartic it was, to have his name on something that was gonna last.

L.T.P

He was taking back his goddamn name.

He beheld it with pride.  

“I’ll ask again,” Julie leaned against the tree, tracing the letters with her fingers, “What’s the 'T' stand for?”

With no hesitation he said-

“Thundercat,”

“W-What?” Julie choked.

He lost it at her reaction, “You said whatever I want. I loved that show as a kid!” he giggled.  

“Lucas… Thundercat… Patterson,” Julie so badly wanted to make a comment, Luke could tell. But she changed her mind, “You know what? If it makes you so happy then go for it. Who am I to stop you?”

“Nah, I’ll think of something else later on. But it’s my afterlife. I could go through as many middle names as I want, right?”

“Exactly,”

Luke returned her knife and thought she was going to slip it back into her pocket. Instead, she strode up to the tree and proceeded to carve her own initials right below his.

“There. So your name doesn’t have to be lonely up there,” she folded up the blade and put it away.  

“You know that, uh, couples usually do that kind of thing,” Luke couldn’t help but notice that, with the way their initials were oriented on the tree.

A rosy hue graced the girl’s cheeks, “Oh...yeah.”

A beat of silence followed, just the two of them staring at the tree.

“I like how our names look next to each other though,”

Luke nodded, a warm feeling settling in the pit of his stomach and rising, “Me too.”

Squinting, he read Julie’s initials, “ J.V.M. What does the ‘V’ stand for?”

A devious glint sparkled in her eyes,  “Maybe you’ll just have to guess.”

“Aw come on!”  

She raised an eyebrow, “Oh as if you made it easy for me?”

Ok. She had him there, “Fair enough.”

The whole walk home, Luke ran through all the ‘V’ names he could think of.

“Julianna Valeria?”

“Nope,”

“Julianna Vanessa?”

“C’mon, songwriter. Where’s the flow?” she teased.

Luke snapped his fingers, believing he cracked the code, “Victoria. After your aunt,”

“No. But imagine how mad she was when she found out,”

“Venus, Vanilla, Vaseline-”

“Vaseline?”

They were at her doorstep, and he bounded in front of her, blocking her path, “I won’t give up.”

“I don’t expect you to,”

“Velveeta. Like the cheese”

“It’s Valentina,” she finally said, pushing him aside, fishing through her pockets for the keys to open the front door.

“You got Valentina while I got stuck with Trevor?” She lucked out in the middle name department, that was for sure. 

Of course someone like Julie got shacked up with a beautiful name like Valentina…

“I could change mine too. In solidarity,” she said offhandedly.

“If I go with Reggie’s suggestion: Tyrannosaurus Rex then would you be Velociraptor?”

“T.Rex and Velociraptor?” she laughed in disbelief, finally walking through the threshold of her house. Thank goodness everyone else was already upstairs.

“From this day forth, I will be known Lucas Tyrannosaurus Rex Patterson!” he confidently declared

“And I’ll be Julianna Velociraptor Molina!” she repeated, taking much pleasure in the absurdity of it.

“Were you a dinosaur kid?”

“You saw my slippers and my PJs...”

“True,”

_______

Luke didn’t expect for them to take the whole new middle name thing so seriously.

But if they so happened to greet each other next time with prehistoric roars and with him tackling her onto the studio couch and pretending to bite her like the carnivore he was, then that was for them to know…

And for Alex and Reggie to remain confused about.

__________

Bonus:

And after some years down the line and one magical reincarnation later, Luke decided to change his name again.

“Patterson’s okay,” he said to Julie, “But I think I need something new.”

“Oh yeah? What are you thinking?”

Luke went down on one knee, in front of the tree they marked up when they were teenagers, ring in hand.

“Molina sounds pretty good to me…”

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 2

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their little journey together, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning, they endure a number of small trials, which bring them closer to one another as well as to the unchecked plights of the natural world.

Masterpost | AO3 

Thanks @bearlytolerablethethird for the banner!! ^_^

Chapter 2: Inside

About a week later, while asleep in the hotel above the saloon in St. Denis, Arthur had a dream. He dreamed that he had killed and skinned a polar bear, and he had stepped inside of its skin whole. It was wet and chilled inside. He lived there for ten whole years while in the dream, aging and growing soft for his lack of movement and oxygen. Just as he was about to die from starvation, he realized he had grown a beard, and he stepped out of the polar bear skin and back into the world which had all burned while he was away. The cities and the railroads were all ashes, and the trees were black sticks going straight up into the sky. It was a hellscape. Everyone he had ever known was dead.

When he awoke, he was out of sorts. He looked around at the empty room and he fell into a kind of panic. He was thinking about Mary. He had forgotten what year it was and what day it was and he realized that when he was looking around, he was looking for Mary. Where was Mary? He was looking for Mary, and he was thinking about her, and about her skin for some reason, and of all the things about her, he thought of her skin and the ways he once knew its shapes and colors. Why was he thinking of her skin. And then he realized that, along with her skin and the way she felt and the way he felt when he was inside of her—all that had faded now, in his memory like an old pair of boots. He could not remember. It all happened so fast. It was a complete shock.

It had been such a long time since he’d been with any woman in any meaningful way. He never thought much of it, but now, he asked himself why. Why, Arthur. Why. He should have married Mary. He should have just married her, he thought. Fuck her father, fuck Dutch. That was his anxious brain now at the age of thirty-six. He should have married Mary Linton and put a child in her, and they should have lived somewhere in the warm woods far away where it snowed in winter and it was his only job to chop firewood and perhaps be some sort of warden in the local town. He should have been a fisherman. He should have been a trapper. He should have gone to college. He should have been a father. Where was Mary. His heart was beating like a fucking drum in his chest. He held himself until the panic went away and then he curled back into a ball beneath the smooth covers and he tried to close his eyes and return to sleeping, but that was all he could do. His body and his mind. His whole soul was awake. He felt ruined.

Downstairs in the saloon the next morning he had a bowl of soup and the bartender was a nice man who tried to make conversation. He wanted to talk about Arthur’s hat and thought the red feather in its strap was neat. Arthur tried making good with the bartender. He did not wish to seem surly as he knew he looked surly. He smiled and tried to explain the origin of the hat, but the bartender was shining a glass and seemed confused.

“You skinned an elk for that?” he said casually.

Arthur didn’t know how this could possibly be so unbelievable. He had skinned much worse than elk for must less than hats. He finished his soup and tipped his feathered hat, and he went outside to feed and water Sarah. Then he was on his way.

This city is getting in my blood, he thought. It’s getting in my dreams. He rode out into the swamps to fish. But Sarah drew constantly skittish due to the gators. He was sick of killing them, as they were a waste of bullets, but they always seemed to be getting in his way. He caught a fourteen pound catfish and then another. He killed and pruned a white heron for its decorative feathers. He cooked its tough meat over a spit and ate it while surrounded by wet bugs and trees. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a woman screaming. He stood up with his ears wide open and his shot gun in his hand for five whole minutes trying to hear it again.

“My fucking imagination,” he said, tucking away the shotgun and sucking on a sugar cube. He was out of smokes. He bit his nails a little and drank some water, and after heading back to the butcher to sell off his catch, he bought a pack of cigarettes and a new neckerchief and then he rode back to Shady Belle.

I have been actually choked, he wrote in his journal, still saddled on Sarah just outside the perimeter of their camp. He smoked. I have been actually choked by a man’s bare hands and yet it is nothing so suffocating as this swamp. If I have to kill one more gator to save my horse from heart failure, I may just lose my composure. I have thought of beating men senseless and I have done it on occasion. This place has sucked a great deal of life from my bones. I need to get the fuck out of here, if only for seven days.

That night, he ate a little stew and drank whiskey to calm his nerves. Javier wrangled him into a game of poker, which he won handily, and then he decided to cash in and go to bed. Javier took to playing his guitar, and some of the boys continued to drink. Dutch was somewhere else in the camp, limited in his interactions and stewing in his obsessions. Arthur did not wish to speak to him that night. He was still tainted by that dream and did not wish to speak to most anyone about anything beyond the most surface level conversations.

Inside, he ran into Mary Beth again. In the dining room, she was having a conversation with Karen. The two of them seemed overcome with their private laughter. Seeing them like this, these women for whom, in some wide, chivalrous sense, he felt an overwhelming responsibility, it was a reassurance. There they were, existing. He thought the two of them were more like opposites—Mary Beth and Karen, but watching now, he supposed that opposites can attract. Karen was crass and immediate while Mary Beth approached all of her airs with distance. She was too sharp. They were sitting at the dining room table drinking bottles of beer by lamplight, and when they saw him, they invited him to come sit and to have a drink with them. At first, he thought to decline, but then Mary Beth held out a bottle like a right welcome, and with this small interaction, he gave in. Inside, it was softer. They taught him a card game he had never played before, one he would forget by morning, but it was exciting. Lots of slapping the table, and there was this entire mechanic where you had to hide a wooden spoon near your person and if somebody stole it from you, the hand ended, and you lost. They played several hands. Arthur won two out of three. When Karen left to get a refill on their bottles, he put his elbows on the table and breathed steadily. He felt something small release inside his heart, just sitting there, but he wasn't sure why.

He felt Mary Beth's hand on his then, a fast touch, then gone. "You all right, Arthur?"

He looked up and half-smiled. "Why do you ask, Mary Beth?"

She shrugged. "You seem tense. Then again that's not all that unusual."

"It was a long day," he said, shifting in his chair. He felt big at that table.

“What happened?" she said.

"Nothing much to make it seem long. It just felt long."

"I get that."

"What happened around here? I heard Hosea killed a damn gator."

"He did!" said Mary Beth. She was laughing. "You ought to have seen it. I think he emptied a full chamber on that bastard and it was still waddling away. Anyway, it's dead now. I think Pierson put it in the stew."

"Yuck," said Arthur. "I thought that stew tasted a bit green."

"You should check on Hosea and his heart health," said Mary, sliding the deck of cards across the table to him. "He's too old for that sort of activity, Arthur."

Arthur laughed. “Old Hosea will be fine," he said. "But I'll be sure to check on him anyway."

He lit a cigarette. She asked if she could have one, too. He lit it for her off the end of his, and they sat there, smoking, ashing right on to the table. There was a fly inside, bouncing off the lantern like some sort of idiot. Arthur swatted at it once, and it went away.

"So," said Mary Beth.

"So."

"What are you gonna do tomorrow, Arthur? You heading back to St. Denis?”

He studied the lit end of his cigarette. He remembered that goddam polar bear. He shook out his head. "No, no. I was thinking of leaving the swamps," he said. He looked at her. "I tell you this place is full of ghosts. Old things and people, ideas I can’t contend with no more."

"Where will you go, Arthur?”

"North."

“North for what?”

“Moose,” he said, giving her a look. “I’ve got it all marked on my map. Big moose there's supposed to be, up in the Roanoke Valley. I was thinking of heading up there to hunt a little."

She smiled like a lightbulb. She caught his meaning. She reached across the table and put her hands on his shoulders. “Moose hunting?”

“Yes, ma’am."

"Can I come with?"

"It’s a long ride," he said, dipping his cigarette into the table top. "Will you be all right?”

"You know it."

“That’s what I thought.”

“We're leaving in the morning?" she said, excited. "What time?"

"Sometime after first light," he said. "If you could get some provisions together, for us and the horses, that would be useful. About a week's worth and we can hunt the rest."

"I can do that," she said, sitting up real tall. "And warm clothes?"

Arthur nodded. "Warm clothes," he said. "And I mean it, too. Don't be dainty. You got a bed roll with wool or something?"

"I do."

“I’ll take care of the artillery,” said Arthur. “Make sure you’ve got a sturdy saddle on your filly. I can lend you one, if you need it."

“I’m good,” she said proudly. “I sold a couple a pocket watches last week, and just the other day I purchased a brand new saddle at the stables in St. Denis. I had them beat it with hammers to make the leather real soft.”

“That must have run you extra,” said Arthur, smiling. He shuffled the deck of cards. “Good thinking though.”

“I am always thinking, Arthur,” said Mary Beth, resting her chin in her hands, dreamy. She watched him shuffle those cards like it was no tomorrow. “Just like you.”

“I don’t know about that, Miss Mary Beth,” he said. “But I thank you anyway.”

"This is gonna be fun, Arthur," she said, smiling. "I know it. In my bones."

I sure hope so, he thought.

She sighed long and loud. That is when Karen came back with the beers, and she began to tease them. “You two talking about philosopbies of the weather or something?” she said. “You look about hundred miles in love.” And she laughed.

Arthur was a little confused by this, in a literal sense. He tried to figure out what the hell she meant by philosophies of the weather. “You know I met, uh—an archaeologist a few months back,” he said, dealing them each a hand of cards. “I don’t know nothing about the weather, but she showed me a gotdamn dinosaur’s rib cage. She was digging it right out of the ground.”

“A dinosaur?” said Karen. She flew up with laughter. "You got to be kidding me."

“Oh my god,” said Mary Beth. “Do you remember where it was?”

“Not really,” said Arthur, smiling at her. Of course he did, but he didn’t feel like remembering. He just took a drink from his beer. What had happened to him? Was he awake? “Now," he said, "am I dealing, ladies, or are we gonna talk nonsense all night?”

“Deal, Mr. Morgan,” said Karen. She had big rosy cheeks. It felt like a party, but it was any other day. “And do not expect any easy favors from us, not this time.”

“Oh I would not dare, Miss Karen,” said Arthur. In his ears, his voice sounded like gravel. But there was a fire in the hearth. It was almost enough to make him feel safe again.

[a-tardis-at-downton]

A/N: It’s two in the morning and I don’t have the gumption to do any more editing. Inspired by REO Speedwagon and Nicholas Rush, the prickliest teddy bear in the world.

In which Belle French deejays for the university radio station and enjoys REO Speedwagon way too much, Rush is her grumpy college professor who just wants her to succeed and encourages her in his own way. Belle, as always, sees the best in him because really, Rush did mean well. He’s just awful at emotions.

Belle French was nose deep into Steinbeck’s To A God Unknown, a personal favorite and occasional re-read of hers. The headphones were looped around her neck, the bulky earpieces providing a perfect perch for her chin as she passed time in the silence of the radio station. The sound box was to her left, within arms reach, and the computer awaited her next queue up, blinking steadily as the final strains of U2 faded out. Belle’s focus was pulled away from her book and she popped her headphones on, patching the mic through.

“This is Belle French, the only lonely DJ here at ZZUX, and here we have our next request. Bob, if you’re listening, U2 is the band for ultimate broken-hearted jam, so, well chosen, my friend.”

She was tired, and if it was unprofessional to clear her throat on air, there was no one around to say otherwise. All she had for company is Joseph the fortunate farmer and the steady flurry of snow outside the studio windows.

“Up next is a personal favorite of mine. Let’s take a moment to appreciate REO Speedwagon’s Keep On Loving You,” Belle nearly grinned at that. It was something of a personal joke of hers, considering her and three other people listened to the university’s station at three in the morning. What’s the harm in playing the same song five nights in a row?

Kevin Cronin’s vocals, high and smooth, filled the air, and Belle shifted in the ridiculously uncomfortable office chair she’d roped from her boss’ office. What Keith didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Returning to her novel, she pressed on, eager to discover the fate of Joseph and his paramour, as if she hadn’t read it a thousand times. The words began to blur in front of her, and she blinked blearily. Belle rubbed her eyes, and at that, nearly missed the blinking light of the telephone, and sighed.

Slipping off her headphones, Richrath’s amazing guitar solo faded as she answered the phone. 

“Hello,” her voice chirped, saccharine and kind, despite her annoyance at being interrupting.

“You know, I’ve been listening to this station for some time, and quite honestly I enjoy it. What I don’t enjoy is hearing REO Speedwagon five nights in row,” A unfamiliar brogue grunted out over the crackling line, shaking and unclear. Belle cast a look towards the window, mind drifting to her early morning walk back to her apartment.

“I’m— sorry?” she said after a moment, brows knitted together in confusion.

“Yes, well, see to that, if you will.” Click.

“I— Oh, my god, he hung up on me.” Belle glowered at the phone, jamming it down on the receiver and scowling at it as if the inanimate object were at fault. Her mood had been sullied by this mysterious caller, and she ground her teeth, jaw jumping with irritation.

“It’s three in the morning, prick!” Belle shouted. To absolutely no one. Because she was alone.

God, she was tired.

Heat suffused her cheeks, and a blush of shame erupted across her features.

“Fuck.”

Her head dropped to her hands, and she frustratedly rubbed at her temple. Her physics final was next week, when class resumed after break, and she had no idea where to start, she’d offered to take Mulan’s shifts for the next month, and she was royally screwed after the disastrous Thanksgiving row she and Gaston had gotten into. He’d been a bit awful, honestly, as far as boyfriends went, but she’d thought that perhaps, with a little attention and some more of her time, he might see that they could be well-suited. That hadn’t gone over well.

Instead, she’d been bulldozed by every class she’d had this semester, and her only hope of passing her physics course was by the grace of God Almighty, or Doctor Nicholas Rush, as it were. Rush was everything Belle despised in professors; arrogant, too casual, and cruel to those he perceived as beneath him, which apparently was everyone, he annoyed Belle and she could not wait to pass his exam, though with her luck in that course, she’d have to dredge through it for one last semester until he pitied her and passed her through simply for the joy of never needing to see one Belle French again.

Belle French was an utter failure, and she felt very little joy in passing off the headphones and studio duty to a bright-eyed Fred later, who, bless him, had thought to bring Starbucks. Belle’s walk home was slow and meandering, her eyes squinting at the dappled rays of sunshine that burned through the slate of grey clouds above. Her bag was heavy, and she stopped to readjust the straps a time or two. Augusta was a small town, with a main road blinking out advertisements from shop windows that boasted New Tech! IPA here! Town meeting at four!; it was certainly smaller than Portland, Maine, and as such, the sleepy town was rarely witness to her morning journey home. Today, more than ever, she thanked the unknowing residents, because she had slipped on the unsalted sidewalk no less than three times in the three block walk to her apartment, the snow and ice making travel difficult, and her heels, chosen prior to the unexpected weather, making travel impossible.

A good twenty minutes later, Belle stumbled noisily into her home, hissing out a no as her keys clattered on the table far too loudly for— she studied the clock— six in the morning.

A door squeaked, and Ruby poked her head out from behind, her long hair tangled with sleep and her eyes still shut.

“’S okay?”

“Yes, Ruby, I’m sorry, everything’s fine. Go back to bed.”

Belle plopped onto the couch, staring forlornly at her backpack, it’s keychain winking in the pale morning light. She groaned, guttural and long, and reached for the remote instead.

The next night found her similarly busied, and she thought very little of the caller who had demanded so callously that she stop playing REO Speedwagon. Classic, she thought, and anyone who says otherwise is a complete idiot.

Complete Idiot did, in fact, call again when the opening strains of Don’t Let Him Go played, the steady, staccato drumbeats filling the air.

“Please, stop playing REO Speedwagon. Maybe Def Leppard, Journey, or if you like trite favorites, and you seem to have taste limited by that, try Aerosmith.”

This time is was Belle who hung up.

She played Take It On the Run next.    

By the time dead week was over, she’d run the station’s entire music selection through twice, and not a single person was the wiser for it.

The morning of her final dawned dark and gloomy, and Belle thought wryly, that it was fitting really. The physics study session she’d had with Ruby had been largely unsuccessful, especially since Ruby had taken the course over three years prior. Belle tried not to think about how she’d wished she’d done the same.

Pulling on her leggings and a crisp, blue pencil skirt to match her blue buttoned blouse, she shoved her boots on before lumbering out of her room. The clatter of a plate on the counter had her furrowing her brow.

“Ruby?”

Belle cocked her head, watching as her friend pointed to the clock.

“I thought you left, like, an hour ago. Dude, you’d better grovel now.”

8:45.

Her physics final was supposed to start at—

No.

“Nononononononononono!” Belle shouted as she sped down the stairs, swaying wildly as she peeled out onto the street, running as fast as her boots could take her.

Eight and a half long minutes later and out of breath, she tugged nervously at her hair, scuffing her boots on the shiny marble tile outside of Doctor Rush’s office. She was fully prepared to prostrate herself at his feet, offering up whatever she could— which wasn’t much at all, she knew— in exchange for a chance at the final. Without it, there was zero chance of her passing Rush’s class. An hour had gone by, and rather than bore herself to tears when she was so close to them already, she opened her novel and immersed herself in the dusty California farmlands.

A grunt interrupted her, and she looked up to see Rush fishing in his pocket, his keys jangling as he stuffed one into the lock on his office door. Her book snapped shut, almost of it’s own accord, and Belle sprung to attention, her full height drawn up the length of her spine. She stood straight as he walked into his office, unbothered, it seemed, by her presence. She may walk away defeated, but she could still be pro— no, no, there was no pride to be had here. Not when her entire future lay on the temperament of an ill-mannered professor.

His office door was ajar, and the soft light from the single lamp beckoned her. Still unsure, she gave a tentative knock at the doorjamb.

“Enter,” came his voice, and he was quieter today, less firm, somehow, and though she’d never say it aloud, and certainly not to him, he sounded soft. Bristles of silver stood out on his cheeks, and he sucked in a breath and let it out in a long suffering sigh.

“I s’pose you’ve come to grovel now, aye?” His glasses glinted in the warm light of his reading lamp, even as he sat, the leather of the chair groaning as he settled. Belle gulped. Bravery, that is key.

“Y-yes. I— really… I had a late shift, and…”

“I’ve not got all day. Out with it, or you can leave and see me next semester.” Rush leafed through the sheaf of papers on his lap, pulling a few out here and there, seemingly at random, his dark gaze focusing on his task.

“You’re a horrible professor, you know.” She hadn’t meant to say it, really, but she was running on three hours of sleep and no coffee and dear god, if the earth could just open up and swallow her now, that would be amazing.

His long hair fell forward limply as his head snapped up, and Belle’s eyes widened, her mouth open to offer any apology for her gross misstep. Instead, a sharp noise jolted her from her stupor, a loud crack filling the air, and then another, and another.

He was— clapping?

“I’m—”

“Miss French, you astound me. Not only do you fail to grasp the most simple of concepts, but you manage to insult me and tell the truth at once. Well, half-truth,” he leaned forward, his lips pressing tightly together as he studied her, and she had never felt more exposed, “You see, I’m not horrible at teaching. You are horrible at retaining what I’ve taught, however,” he considered her once more, “however, I’m not a complete bastard, as some in the rumor mill would suggest. As such, I will let you take my final. I want to see how much you’ve learned.”

Belle’s eyes blistered with tears of thanks, but before she could offer a watery gasp of contented and heartfelt apology, his eyes traced her knotted and mussed hair, her disheveled clothing, and bid her sit. Any further arguments from her would wait until her grade had been submitted and she was out of his class.

“But that final will be taken here and now, Miss French.”

Dread crept up her spine and she dropped into the seat across from him. Rummaging in his bag a moment, he brandished a copy of the final in front her, before handing it over.

“I assume you came prepared?”

Belle searched her bag, but it was with a heavy heart that she remembered lending Ruby her last pencil before heading out for her late night shift the night before. Flushing, she couldn’t bear to see the smug grimace on Rush’s face, instead taking her time selecting a pencil from his proffered canister.

The clock ticked away the time, and an hour and thirteen minutes after she’d begun the exam and fifty-seven questions into the blasted things, she noticed. A gentle hum of a tune had begun, struck up by the man across from her. He had barely moved, except to cross the short distance to his small coffee maker and pour two cups earlier, one of which he had quietly placed next to Belle— unexpected, the coffee filled her warmth. At least, she told herself that it was the coffee and not the act of kindness itself that made her grin. But now, his foot tapped out a beat, soft against the plush carpet of his small, cramped office, and the beat was vaguely familiar.

The bassline for REO Speedwagon’s Keep On Loving You. Suddenly, realization crashed in around her, as though she’d been doused with cold water.

“Yes, well, see to that, if you will.” The snide tone, the deep brogue that demanded so much of her. A brilliant blush of scarlet bloomed across her cheeks, and she was thankful that Rush didn’t look up. Her heart seemed to beat out a thunderous dance in her chest, and she swallowed her nerves. Surely he knew who she was, of course he had. He had to! Belle studied him then, perhaps seeing him for the first time. His blazer was crumpled where it lay on his sidetable and his navy teeshirt had a few snags, and a slight stain, she assumed from coffee, even as he absently lifted his mug to his lips and let a drop dribble from the corner of his mouth.

“Shit!” he hissed, scrambling for the box of tissues that was perched very haphazardly at the edge of his desk, “sorry,” he placated, as though remembering he had company as he blotted at his stubble. His brown eyes found hers, and she allowed a grateful smile to brighten her face, and Rush attempted one, it seemed. His lips quirked into something of a half-grin, loose and unnatural, and for a brief moment, Belle wondered if Rush had many reasons to smile often in his life.

She busied herself with the last of her final then, and with only two questions left, Rush’s voice was clear and pronounced as he called, “Time!”

Belle set the final in his outstretched hand, and Rush nodded.

“Go.”

Though she’d been dismissed, Belle took her time gathering her things, and offered a last smile.

“Thank you, Doctor Rush, really. Thank you.”

She pulled the door shut and went on her way.

Three weeks later and well into her last semester, she spotted him crossing campus, coffee thermos in his hand and files balanced in the crook of his opposite hand. Belle grinned, and started for him.

“So,” she caught up to him, and Rush startled, “why do you hate REO Speedwagon so much?”

Rush paled, and the way his skin drained of color almost had Belle laughing, but she grinned good naturedly instead, and his cheeks soon pinked.

“I—”

“No half-truths this time, Doctor Rush.”

“I don’t, not really. You,” he straightened, drawing to his full height, and his glasses perched awkwardly at the tip of his nose, reddened with the January air, and he coughed, “you were lonely. I thought maybe I would call. You said you—”

Belle’s heart flew to her throat, and her lips parted. Her lungs squeezed out her last breath in a puff of white, and her hands found purchase at the lapels of his blazer. His lips were soft beneath hers, pliant and unsuspecting, and his stubble scratched into her chin and lips and cheeks as he moved with her, pressing close, as if he wanted to be as near to her as he could.

He tasted of coffee.

A shuddering gasp for air parted them, and Belle was unsure which of them had broken their embrace.

“Call me Nicholas, please.”

“You’re an idiot, Nicholas.”

Belle grinned.

Three and a half months later, Belle’s last shift at the university radio station had begun with Nicholas plying her with a new book and a very large coffee, earning him an eager kiss.

Sometime later, nose deep in her novel and with the beat of Seven Bridges Road fading out, the phone rang.

“I’d like to hear Can’t Fight this Feeling,” the caller requested, Nicholas’ voice soft and low over the crackle of the phone line.

“By?” Belle nearly laughed at the long suffering sigh, audible over the line.

“REO Speedwagon.”

[sorenmarie87]

In The Middle of The Ride (1/?)

Word Count - 2,451 

Warnings - None that I can think of.  All grammar mistakes are my own - so if something seems off, please let me know.  Also if you read this and want to see where the story goes, send me an ask and I’ll tag you :)

Tagging - @lovetusk @mirajanefairytailmage @dragongirl420

Opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch, she said bye to her mom and dad then closed door. ‘Today might be an interesting day,’ Ryuichi thought to herself before taking her first step down the road.  Ryuichi is your basic 12th grade student, only child but to make up for it, she has her best friends Cordelia (whom they call Cordy) and Maddie (call her Madeline and you die), and her cousin Lucille (everyone calls her Lucy for short). Having a firm grip on her guitar case and her backpack placed around her shoulders, she walked down the street singing a song to herself.

"Hey Ryuichi, wait up!" Maddie cried out running towards the older girl, making her spin around in place. She shook her head and then stopped to let her catch up. "Hey Maddie, by chance did you finish writing that song yet?" Ryuichi asked curiously with a glint in her eye. "Oh yeah, I finished it last night." She replied while handing her a printout of the lyrics from the folder she held in her hands.  

“Maddie this is really good, you’re going to sound so great when you sing it,” Ryuichi said placing the lyrics within her pocket of her shoulder bag. Maddie only sighed then took a glance at her friend. “I have an idea Ryu.  Why don't you sing it instead of me?" Ryuichi gave the other girl a quizzical look but kept walking, "I’m serious Ryuichi you have a beautiful singing voice. Maybe it’s your turn to sing one,” Maddie said keeping a step behind the older girl.

"Seriously Maddie, you know as well as I do, it’s not possible for me to sing in front of others," Ryuichi stated but Maddie had heard her say this before.  

“Ryuichi, it is possible to sing in front of others. You put yourself down so much that you believe you can’t do it. I know you missy.  You can sing in front of others, you just need the confidence to actually do it,” Maddie said leaving Ryuichi outside the school.

Before walking into the double doors, Ryuichi processed what Maddie was saying. ‘She's right actually, I tend to put myself down a lot… maybe it’s all in my head, I can sing and she’s right, I just need to look at this positively.’ She sighed to herself then kept a hold of her guitar case and headed inside. Without knowing it, Ryuichi ran head first into a guy who only looked about a couple years older than her. He looked about 6’2’’, had crystal blue eyes and had black hair. ‘He must think I’m a klutz or something…’ She thought to herself before rubbing her forehead. "Ms. Madison, I expect you to be in class today and hopefully you’ll pay attention, you might actually learn something,” Mrs. Anderson simply stated as Ryuichi sighed to herself. The guy she bumped into laughed quietly to himself before heading inside the office door. ‘Just great, he REALLY must think I’m accident prone or something. He is kind of cute though’ She blushed then headed towards her homeroom.

"Ryu did you hear the news?" Cordelia asked while she placed her book bag by her desk.

"No what?" She asked while sitting on the top of Cordy’s desk.

"We’re getting a transfer student," Cordy replied as Ryuichi’s eyebrows rose.

“Do you know where he came from?” Ryuichi asked curiously eyeing the doorway.

“No idea actually,” Maddie stated as the bell rang.

“Think he’ll be cute?” Cordelia asked while Ryuichi hopped off of her desk.

"Students! Settle down please." Mr. Parker said after the bell rang. He stood in front of his desk to call the class to attention. "As you all know, we have a new student with us today. This is Will Sparrow from England, Mr. Sparrow is there anything you'd like to say about yourself?"

"You’ve pretty much summed it up Mr. Parker," Will replied with a hint of his British accent kicking in.  All of the girls in the class giggled as he answered.  "He’s the guy I ran into before coming into the school," Ryuichi softly said to herself before looking back at the front of the room.

"His last name makes me think of Jack Sparrow." Maddie commented making Cordy and Ryuichi turn to her. "What, it does.."

"That's only because you watched that movie like fifty times," Ryuichi said quickly before looking up at him.

"You did too..."

“Now that the formalities are out of the way, Mr. Sparrow there is an empty desk beside Ms. Madison." He stated as Ryuichi turned beet red.  Mr. Parker quickly walked around to the back of his desk and watched his class.  Before Will took his seat, he gave a shy smile to Ryuichi.  Murmurs came from everyone around the room but both Maddie and Cordelia stared at Ryuichi, as if something was going on without them knowing.

"As long as we’re all on friendly terms, Ms. Madison would you kindly show Mr. Sparrow around?" Mr. Parker asked before he started taking attendance.

“Yes Mr. Parker, I can show him around.”  Ryuichi stated while glancing over Will.

"Hey Maddie look she’s turning red, I think she likes him," Cordelia whispered to Maddie before Ryuichi hit her in the arm.  The bell rang and everyone filed out of the room.  Will stayed behind as Ryuichi gathered her bearings.

“Which class is this?” He said glancing around the empty room.

“Geometry,” Ryuichi sighed after she answered.  She shook her head then turned to him.  “What class do you have first?” Will took a moment to pull the folded up schedule out from his pocket.  “I have study hall.” He waited to see if she would respond before walking any closer.

“Are you sure?” She asked with a hint of curiosity in her voice as the schedule was handed to her.  “Well this isn’t too bad.  We have some classes together.”

Ryuichi sighed to herself and shook her head before handing his schedule back to him.  For a split second her hand brushed his and her face turned beet red. She noted to herself that his hands, despite being guy’s hands, felt really smooth and had no calluses.  Will noticed this and smiled briefly as he watched the embarrassed girl leave the room in a hurry.  He noticed she was muttering about food or class, but seriously he really couldn’t tell.

As a promise to Mr. Parker, Ryuichi kept to her word about helping Will learn his way around and all about his new school.  She walked him to class and explained to him how everything was run in Lasiter High School.  He absorbed all of her knowledge but kept his questions to a minimum.

Will’s first day at the school seemed to drag on.  In his old school, classes seemed to move more fluidly and he wasn’t as bored.  His thoughts remained on the girl who had been showing him around.  He was clueless as to where his newly acquainted friend was.  He spotted Cordelia and Maddie walking in front of him, at first he didn’t say anything but approached from the behind to speak to both of the girls.

“Oy you two!”  Will cried out, making the two girls turn around.

“If by chance you’re looking for Ryuichi, she’s not with us.” Cordelia said while Maddie stood beside her, waiting beside her friend.

“Is it too much of a bother to ask where she might be?” Will asked hopefully.

“You can check the auditorium,” Maddie replied as he looked hopeful.  “She usually goes there to practice..”

Quickly he said thank you to both of the girls and headed towards the auditorium.  For a few seconds, Maddie and Cordy were silent and stunned, but as nothing had happened, they sprung back and started talking as animated as they had before.

“Do you think they’ll get together?” Cordelia asked.

“Cordy…Ryuichi would tell us if she liked him,” Maddie said shaking her head.

“Do you think she was raised in a satanic cult?”

“She’d have to be if she doesn’t go out with Will.”

Ryuichi sat on the auditorium stage just strumming on the guitar her mom got for her when she had turned twelve.  Beside her was the copied lyrics Maddie had handed her this morning.  During lunch she read them and here she was, trying to put a tune with a song her friend wrote.

I've dipped my toes into something I don't want to escape from

And no one or nothing can stop me from feeling how I do

“Okay so maybe first impressions aren’t as misleading as they say.  Because when I seen you this morning, you read ‘punk rock chick’… boy was I wrong.  You had me fooled Ms. Madison, I thought you only liked heavier music than this…” He said finally approaching the stage.  He hopped onto the stage and sat beside her.

“I really do like all types of music, it’s just a friend gave me this song and it just so happens, this was the beat I chose for this song… and besides, not all soft music is bad…” Ryuichi replied with a small blush growing on her face.

“So which one of you three writes music?” Will asked curiously.

“Maddie’s the songwriter, Cordy sings and I play the guitar,” Ryuichi answered without thinking first.

“So you only sing when you’re alone?” He asked.

“Pretty much,” Ryuichi said while strumming her guitar,” I love singing but I get really nervous when I think about people listening to me sing.”

“Well Ms. Ryuichi, you have a beautiful singing voice.  I’m serious when I say this, you should sing more often.” Will said before brushing a stray piece of hair away from her cheek.” And for the sake of everyone, stay true to yourself, the worst thing a person can do is not act like themselves.”

Will hopped off the stage and a smile grew on her face as he walked down the aisle of the auditorium.  Ryuichi watched him as left then she sighed to herself.  “I hope he meant that,” She said to herself while placing the guitar in its case.  Ryuichi hopped off of the stage and fastened the case.  She slid the straps of her backpack on her shoulders then placed her hand around the handle of the guitar case.  Ryuichi slowly walked out of the school and then glanced at the front of the school.  The wind was gently blowing as Ryuichi stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the school building.  As she walked down the street, the wind picked up, and so did the rain.  “This is just great,” Ryuichi said as she quickened her steps.  She walked down the sidewalk on familiar streets as she came closer to her house.  

“Mom…I’m home,” She said while dropping everything in the doorway.

“Hey Ryu, I have some news for you,” Her mom replied as she stepped into the kitchen.   “Luke told us that Lucas is coming down to visit this weekend.”

Ryuichi turned to her mother and grinned, “Cordy is going to love this! ”

“So you figured out that he likes Cordy?” Her mom asked curiously while taking a sip from the cup of coffee in front of her.

“Mom…it’s so obvious with how he acts when she’s around,” Ryuichi replied getting something to drink out of the fridge.

She picked up the black and blue book-bag then headed up to her room.  Ryuichi quickly finished off the can of pop and threw it into the plastic bag she had on her doorknob.  Her mom turned on the sink in the kitchen to clean up the kitchen before dinner.  For the total of three minutes, Ryuichi was silent but glanced around the room.  Afterwards, she felt a familiar pang and rushed towards the bathroom.  Elizabeth laughed that her daughter announced when she had to use the bathroom.  Smiling and humming to herself, Elizabeth began cooking dinner.  A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close very slowly.

“Guys I’m home,” Jack cried out while heading into the kitchen.

“Welcome home,” Her mom said kissing him on the cheek as Ryuichi descended the stairs.

“How are my two favorite girls doing?” He asked while kissing each of them on the cheek.  Elizabeth described how her day went while both of them set the table.  Ryuichi held her plate as she gazed out the kitchen window.  It wasn’t until her mom called out her name that she snapped out of her daze.

“You know, that plate isn't going to set itself...” Her mom asked as Ryuichi sheepishly laughed.

“Sorry mum,” Ryuichi said sitting the plate down.

“Let me take a guess at why you’re so distracted.” Her mom raised her eyebrow then hit one hand into the other. ”Ah I know!  There’s a new guy at your school and you like him.”

Ryuichi’s eyes got wider, “Mom that’s really creepy but how did you know?”

“Oh it’s easy…that’s the same way I met your father,” She asked while Ryuichi went silent.

“Was dad a transfer student?” She asked curiously.

“No it wasn’t anything like that, I had gotten a job in England to be an animator and she followed me over there,” Jack answered honestly.

“This may sound completely random but do you want to know something?  A couple hours after you were born, a little boy passed by while I was holding you and he said to me ‘She’s so pretty when she gets a bit older, can I be her friend?’  He didn't even know you but yet he wanted to be your friend.  He might have liked you,” Her mom said while glancing at Ryuichi,” When we mentioned we'd be moving to America, he seemed so distraught and heartbroken.  All I can remember is his initials were W.S.”

“But after you turned three, they transferred me to America…”

“W.S. huh?” Ryuichi asked quietly to herself and then glanced back at her mom.  She finished eating and went back up to her room.  She sighed to herself then flopped down on her bed.

“Promise me something?” A little boy asked while sitting in front of a big oak tree.

“Sure what is it?” The little girl asked again.

“Remember me when you go over there…we’ll see each other again,” He replied with tears forming in the little girl’s eyes.

“I promise I won’t forget,” the little girl answered while Ryuichi stared up to her bare ceiling.  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t even remember your name let alone your face or what you look like.’  She thought to herself before she fell asleep.

[bennett-tracks]

McCormicks

           Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a soft, early morning light on the alder kitchen table of the empty room. Silence rang throughout the house; it was still too early for anyone to be awake on a Monday morning, though it wouldn’t remain that way for long.           As the second hand of the living room grandmother clock ticked over to show five o’clock, an alarm rang out upstairs, quiet enough to not wake the other occupants of the house. A hand reached out from under the covers and brushed over his phone to silence the alarm. Christian rolled over in bed onto his back, rubbing a hand down his face as he sat up in bed. He has an eight o’clock class on Mondays, plus two others before lunch, and after his classes, he’ll head over to his stepfather’s shop for work.            Picking up his phone, he took a barely awake, good morning photo of himself and sent it off to Ari, though he didn’t expect a reply until well into his first class; The younger Bennetts would be waking for their own classes later that morning. Slipping out of his bed, Christian stretched, rubbing a hand down his chest. He then grabbed his towel from its spot hanging on the wall and padded across the hallway to the upstairs bathroom to take his morning shower.            Standing under the hot spray, Christian couldn’t help but think of Ari and his family. He had learned so much since he’d started dating him, and he was grateful that he’d had the chance to meet him. Was it weird to be grateful that his stepdad’s shop was almost robbed? They hadn’t been; things had taken a very, very different turn that night. Thinking back on it, he sighed softly, head pressed against the cool tiles of the shower stall and letting his hand drift down. A ghost of a smile played at his lips as he worked himself awake.             His shower was accomplished, and it was only 5:23am. Running his towel over his hair until it was only damp, he pulled open his drawer of underwear, pulling out two pairs of his favorite panties and a pair of boxer briefs, laying them on the bed to decide what to wear that day. Honestly, he felt like it was a panty kind of day, but it’d been a few days since he’d worn anything remotely masculine. The thought of rough fabric against his skin, having to adjust all day instead of the way the panties felt so soft on his sensitive skin... Staring at the boxer briefs, he reached out to take them, thinking he should try the masculine thing today. His hand hovered over them before he pulled it back, shaking his head. Nope. The thought of wearing them filled him with disappointment, dread, dismay; he couldn't imagine sitting through a whole day wearing them. He grabbed them quickly and tossed them back into the drawer before returning to the two pairs of panties and picking the soft, lacy pair that sat high on his cheeks. They made him feel special, and with it being a Monday – a Monday with two tests – he needed a little comfort. The remaining pair was returned to the drawer.            Pulling on the grey panties, he grabbed a pair of tight skinny jeans to throw on over them, then a faded black band t-shirt, followed with a jean jacket. He grabbed a pair of socks, his phone, wallet, and house keys before heading out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen for some breakfast.            Through the sunlight, quiet house, Christian made for a box of cereal in a lower cupboard, then proceeded to the fridge for the half-gallon of milk on the inside of the door. He brought them to the counter and prepared everything, topping it off with a spoon from a nearby drawer before leaning against the counter to eat.            The clock on the wall above the entrance to the kitchen ticked away slowly as he ate, and the grandmother clock in the living room rang out six bells upon the new hour. His stepdad would be waking, heading into the kitchen, scratching his head in about ten minutes, and five minutes after that, Christian would put his bowl in the sink, rinsed, and head out the door to the bus stop to hop on the bus to the subway.            At six fourteen exactly, Christian had his bowl rinsed in the sink, grabbed his backpack, put on his socks and shoes in the living room, and headed out to the bus stop. Like clockwork, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

             Classes were long and dull with little texts from Ari and work, duller. Home from work finally, he walked inside just as the grandmother clock hit five thirty that evening. Dropping his backpack on the ground beside the front door where it would stay until the next day, Christian made his way into the eat-in kitchen, where he slid easily into his seat at the table beside Abe. Across from him was Claire’s highchair beside his mom’s chair. His stepdad sat at the end of the table.            “Looks great, Mom,” he praised, looking at the spread of pork chops, a fruit salad, green beans, and dinner rolls on the table.            Abe then copied him, shouting, “Looks gweat, Mommy!”           Christian and his mom both laughed. Turning to Abe, he listened as his younger brother told him all about his day, starting with his preschool in the morning and then his daycare after that. Apparently, Sally from preschool shared her juice box with him this morning, even though the teachers said she couldn’t, so now they were getting married on Wednesday. Christian laughed again and nodded along, exclaiming surprise at the appropriate moments for his brother. Across the table, Claire seemed to think the story was hilarious and threw her hands up in the air, dropping her piece of bread onto the ground.            Dinner was a quiet affair, as it usually was, with small, quiet conversation, laughs, and the clinking of silverware against the plates, glasses accidentally bumping the ceramic plates, or food being scooped out of their pans and bowls. When it was over, Christian helped his mom clear the table before taking Claire into the living room to paint her nails and have a quiet evening tea party with her. All she’d had to do was look up at him with her big brown eyes and he was hooked. And she knew it. Before long, it was time for bed for Abe and Claire, and Christian helped his mom out by getting Abe into bed and reading him a story.            “Okay, bud, go pick out a book and I’ll read it,” Christian said, walking to the toddler rocket ship bed of Abe’s and laying out on it, propped against the headboard. Abe toddled over with a book in his hands. It was one of his favorites, a story about an old bear and a baby bear who loved each other very much. He picked Abe up and settled him into the bed, tucked under the covers, and pulled Abe to himself where he wrapped his arms around his little brother, rested his chin on his brother’s head, and opened the book.            “Old Bear loved his Little Cub with all his heart,” Christian read, showing the pages to Abe as he did. “Little Cub loved Old Bear with all his heart.” Abe mouthed the words along with him, having nearly memorized the story with how often he asked Christian to read it. Christian wasn’t sure if it was because it reminded him of his parents or if it was because the bear was his favorite animal, but it didn’t matter much when it was one of the stories that could have him fading off around halfway through. And like clockwork, Christian turned the sixth page and Abe’s breathing had evened out where he rested his head on Christian’s bicep.            Carefully closing the book and setting it on the bed where Abe could find it in the morning to put it away himself, Christian slowly and carefully pulled his arm out from under his brother’s head and pressed a soft kiss against his temple before heading out of the room, turning the light off and closing the door on his way, the starry night nightlight turning on as soon as the room was plunged into darkness.            Christian headed back to his room, pulling his phone out of his back pocket as he hopped onto his bed. A message popped up before he could even unlock it; It was from Ari.            Sorry princess, going to be a busy night.            That’s okay. Love you.            He set the phone on the bedside table after locking it, then moved into a stare at the ceiling with a sigh. Ever since the night spent at the Bennett’s, having woken up the next morning to make breakfast and distract them from the fact he had been found naked in bed with Ari, Christian’s own home felt empty. It never felt like that before he met Ari; He knew he was loved, cared for, and protected, but his family had their own routines, done separately, albeit around each other, and almost always done in silence.            Sure, it wasn’t always quiet. There were game nights, movie nights, and the days when Claire or Abe had too much sugar and spent the evening throwing themselves at Christian from the couch like a pair of barbarians, screaming as they tossed cushions. Those nights, typically, we outliers. The majority of his family nights, however, were spent quietly eating dinner and talking about their days, silently cleaning up, sitting at the table with homework or on the couch with a show, followed by putting the little ones to bed. Then it was off to his own bedroom.            That first night at Ari’s – at the Bennett’s – he had been introduced to a whole new world and it was incredible. It was loud, boisterous, and chaotic, but hell, it was incredible. Everyone in the Bennett house was stepping over one another, badmouthing themselves, each other, and everyone else around them, but the amount of love he had felt witnessing it? That was indescribable. Christian knew from watching Ari with his siblings that the boy he loved would never let harm come to them and if it did, he would definitely be the first line of defense.            Sighing, he sat up, pulling out his notebook from his back pocket and flipping open to the lyrics he wrote down earlier that day to add to the song he was working on. It wasn’t much yet, just a few lines with chords, but he could hear it in his head already. Scooting to the edge of his bed, he picked up the guitar and threw the strap over his shoulder before settling the guitar on his knee, foot tapping out the rhythm as he started strumming, playing what he had already for the song.            Christian was interrupted by a startling sound behind him and he spun around in his seat, nearly dropping his guitar. It was saved by the strap he had been wearing. That noise turned out to be Ari, stumbling through his window and not expecting there to be a chair just below it. Christian had always moved it when he knew Ari would be dropping in. Ari mumbled a cornucopia of curses and Christian grinned, ridding himself of the guitar and making his way to assist Ari in gaining his footing, which turned out to just be him standing awkwardly and waiting for the Bennett boy to do it himself.            “I thought you couldn’t come over,” Christian said, reaching out to drag Ari to him and plant a kiss against his lips once he was close enough.            “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises, princess,” Ari asserted with a grin. “The little shits went off the bed and Mark got home early.”                Christian smiled against Ari’s lips, hands slipping down to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer, only to jump apart when his bedroom door opened and his mom turned on the bedroom light, flooding the room in more bright light than it had previously been with just Christian’s bedside lamp.            “Oh. Hello Ari,” she said, a kind, welcoming smile on her face as she stepped fully into the room, ignoring the slightly panicked look on Ari’s face and instead focusing on Christian. “Don’t stay up too late, baby; remember you promised to help dad at the shop in the morning.”            Christian nodded, not moving from where he was with his arms still wrapped around Ari’s waist. “Sure, Mom. Good night.”            “Night baby. And Ari, do use the front door next time. The children are already in bed; I’d hate for you to accidentally wake them and have them interrupt you.” She winked at Christian before backing out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. At the soft latch of his door closing completely, he turned to Ari and snickered.            “Gonna use the front door next time, babe? Or risk waking up my siblings?”            Ari looked mortified, most likely because of the casual implications and gentle urging that replaced his family's usual loud voices and fist fighting at their house. It was different from his own family, and that change could be difficult to handle at first.            "Not a chance," Ari scoffed. Next time, Christian suspected he'd be a lot quieter now that he knew what to expect if he came over unannounced. At the side-eye scowl he received from Ari, Christian laughed again before leaning up to kiss him and drag him over to his bed. Christian hadn’t anticipated Ari coming over tonight, but it didn’t mean he was less prepared for them to enjoy their night together. And maybe, if he woke up early enough, he could make breakfast for Ari. It might give Ari a few more moments before he had to deal with the way his life had become more complicated lately with the entrance of a half-sister he’d never known about. Amy. They’d have to figure it out together.

[tanoraqui]

can i has more cr sense8 au percy pls? (if your up for it of course)

*slams 2,000 words on your desk five months later* MY HOBBIES INCLUDE PROCRASTINATING FOR FINALS BY WRITING SCENES FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE HYPOTHETICAL PLOT OF NICHE CROSSOVERS WITHOUT GIVING YOU ANY CONTEXT SAVE A COUPLE OLD POSTS OF BULLET POINTS (posts here. Take this fic as the inter-seasons holiday special, basically.)

“I’mstill not certain we should be doing this.“

Itwas a meaningless statement even before he said it. With her arm in his, withthe warmth of her against his side and the tinkle of her laugh fading in theair, Percy thought he would trust Vex to lead him down any icy path through thewoods, with any blindfold on or off, even if he had never known her moreintimately than he knew himself. Even if they had just met, somehow, one day,and she had smiled and beckoned, he would have followed.

Exaggeratedgagging noises broke into his thoughts—Vax, visiting as almost always, makingVex laugh in the cold Northern darkness. The drugs all but gone from his veins,Percy could feel him again, that knife’s edge of sarcasm prickling overdevotion deep enough to fill the sea.

Two(one? three?) months of isolation was turning him poetic. It was horrifying.

“It’llbe fine,” said Vex, tugging him forward. “Turn right—”

Percyfollowed her instructions obediently. “I don’t know where you get theconfidence that she won’t be looking, just this one night. It’s not like theholidays have stopped them before.”

“Becauseshe’s loony, Freddie,” Vax said with overwhelming fondness.

“BecauseI don’t care!” Vex proclaimed, and Percy felt her toss her hair within herselfbefore it smacked him on the cheek. “We’re taking Christmas back. What they didto your family was horrible, yes, and we willkill them for it, I promise—”

Theothers nodded in agreement, the heroin finally losing its grip.

Vexput her hands to his face—cold, calloused, but the kindest Percy had felt—andpushed up his blindfold.

“Buttonight,” she whispered, wild and soft and fey in the moonlight, “let’s justnot be afraid.”

Theplace she’d led him was beautiful. Vex was beautiful, already shrugging off herbag and dropping down to swap her boots for skates, lithesome and lively as theswaying trees and stars above. They shone down on the iced-over pond, in the centerof the ancient forest, just as they must have in Jerusalem two thousand yearsago. There wasn’t another human being for miles, Percy knew without asking.

“Doyou even know how to skate?” he asked, amused, watching her fumble with thestraps.

“No.”She grinned up at him, entirely impish. “But you do. And Scanlan, I think.”

“Ido,” the man himself confirmed with a smile, making hot chocolate in his LosAngeles apartment.

“Ifyou’re getting gross, I’m leaving,” Vax announced, and vanished—as if thatmeant anything, as if they couldn’t all feel him and see him as well in hiscell in Osaka, or Los Angeles or the Outback or wherever Percy and Vex were.(He didn’t know and she wasn’t telling, and that was how they were safe.)

“Allright!” Pike chirped to her choir straggling into line in her little woodenchurch at the eaves of the Amazon, so newly rebuilt it still dripped tar. “Youready?”

“Let’sdo this!” said Scanlan, bringing two frothing mugs into the living room, whereKaylee was doing her best to scowl at the bright tree and heap of presents.Tary echoed it, squaring his shoulders for a much less amicable familybreakfast, and Grog smashed a beer bottle as he shouted, because it was aChristian holiday but fuck it, it was a holiday, and the peace was still goingand the dirty thugs and criminals of Ankara were going to have a fuckin’ party.

Asfar as possible from any gritty urban party, and more importantly any evilbrain surgeon, Keyleth sat by her campfire and took out her guitar, andlaunched into an offkey rendition of “Jingle Bells” on the warm Australianevening. Across the fire, Kashaw stared at her like she had to be kidding, butwithin a verse she’d smiled enough to draw out his surprisingly rich tenor.

Scanlanblew them both out of the water, of course, and Kaylee didn’t blink as she toreinto a box that she would soon find contained mostly just increasingly smallerboxes, because Scanlan singing was like the sun shining. It just happened. Halfwayaround the world, Turkish pop music blasted out of the bar and down the street,and Grog jumped up and down with Zanror and Worra, mostly on the beat.Tremulous voices strengthening as the sun slipped through the high window andthe rest of Puentamáre’s congregation filed in, swelled by all those coming tovisit the “little angel,” Pike’s choir sang the day in, and Vox Machina stoodand sang with them.

Theydanced in the bar in Turkey, bright lights and pop music pounding against theancient sandstone walls. They laughed over brunch in New York, until Lydiaasked if something was the matter and Mary-Anne kicked Tary under the table,and both his parents shot him dirty looks. They clambered over rocks in theOutback and Tary squealed in fear at a giant spider as Vax laughed and held itup to his face.

Theyjust managed to hold onto the iPhone to film Kaylee furiously flinging sevenlayers of boxes and wrapping paper at their heads, in retaliation for spendingten minutes unwrapping a single guitar shop gift card. But she was laughing,too, so it was okay. Turning state’s witness earned Vax a couple extraprivileges; he spent one on a phone call to Zahra, left bear-sitting, and Vexcried on Percy’s shoulder while they all made kissy noises at the phone andassured a confusedly lowing Trinket that his mama would be home as soon as shecould, and she loved him very much. Percy hadn’t ice-skated since he wassixteen, years before That Night, but they did waltz steps and figure-eights ona moonlit frozen pond somewhere in Siberia, and held each other tight. It wasChristmas and Vox Machina laughed and sang and cried, and held each othertight.

“Whata lovely way to spend the holiday.”

Percyslipped before she finished speaking, eyes clenched shut; he didn’t know whenthe ice was coming until his hands hit, hard, and the spray his face.

“Percy?”Vex.

“Really,Percival,” Ripley said, “You don’t have to so childish about this. I’m not hereto hunt you down, tonight.”

“She’shere,” he gasped, pulling himself across the ice. Eyes shut, don’t even look.Don’t even think. “Vex, she’s here,you have to– get the–”

“Shit!”Vex fumbled for her bag, still on the shore. “Fuck, fuck! Fuck her!”

Ripleyclicked her tongue in disapproval. She stalked silently across the ice, inlight boots rather than heavy winter skates—but then, she wasn’t really there.

“Ithought you might like to go on a trip, actually.”

Andthen they were standing in a corridor, and Percy was the one mis-dressed forthe occasion, bundled up for the frigid wilderness. He had half a foot inheight on Ripley, and he’d worked to keep his machine shop muscles while pentup in…wherever he and Vex were. None of it did anything to ease the way hisstomach turned as Ripley eyed him up and down, judging him for the failedscience experiment he didn’t need to be in her head to know she deemed him. Shelooked almost identical to how she’d been that week starting eight years agotoday, staring down at him. A few more streaks of grey in her bun, but the sameslim glasses, the same purse to her lips, the same damn style of lab coat,sleeves stained red at the end of each day as she peeled him apart. He knew whyshe’d done it, now. It didn’t help.

Thebarest hint of a smile curled up her lips as they both remembered. Then sheturned and strode down the corridor, calling over her shoulder, “Come along.”

Percyfollowed, scanning the hallway for clues as to Ripley’s location. He wasn’tsurprised to find none. The walls were stainless steel and the white-and-blacktile floors were sanitation-clean. It was another Vecna facility, but god onlyknew where in the world.

“Ireally thought you’d be doing better at this, Percival,” Ripley chided, withoutgiving him so much as a backwards glance. “I’ve gotten so much informationabout you and your little group, and you’re just lagging behind.”

“Whatdo you want, Anna.”

Hewas lagging behind, as they walked, but not so far that she’d think he wasn’tplaying along. Every extra second here bought more time for Vex to get theneedle and knock him out.

“I’mgoing to share a secret with you,” she said, with a much younger woman’s senseof mischief. “Just to liven up this little game.”

Theyreached a door at the end of the hallway, steel and locked with a keypad.Ripley smiled at him as she entered the number, sickly sweet. “After all, it’sthe holidays—it’s only right that you be with family.”

Fora long, horrible moment as she swung open the heavy door, Percy thought he wasgoing to see corpses, or worse. A freezer of strung-out piles of tissue andorgans. Eight brains in tanks, still with electrodes attached. He’d seen, onthe opposite side of the laboratory, what they’d been starting to do to hisfamily.

Itwas a teenage girl’s room. The walls were unpainted, but they were decoratedwith posters, of scientific infographics and famous historical women and acouple people Percy vaguely recognized as famous actors. There was a carpet, anelegant shag thing, and a pair of stuffed bookcases, a desk with a very nicecomputer, and a bed with at least two dozen stuffed animals, all of which Percycould name. At least one of them had been his. The girl on the bed, lying onher stomach and reading a book with her legs kicked in the air, was even morefamiliar.

“Cassandra.”

She’dlooked up when the door opened, polite coolness chasing annoyance chasingwariness from her eyes.

“Dr.Ripley. What do you want?”

“Iwas in this wing and I thought I would check on you, my dear.” Despite theendearment, Ripley’s tone had reverted to the crisp professionalism she seemedto show everyone but Percy.

Cassandraclearly didn’t buy either façade. But she rolled to a sitting position withonly a faint sigh, and held out her left arm. There was something attached toit, a cuff with a small screen that flashed first her blood pressure then, asRipley pressed the buttons on the side, several other measurements—BPM, neuralconductivity, and things Percy didn’t recognize. A slim wire ran up from it toa handful of electrodes attached, clearly permanently, to the side of hertemple.

“I’llkill you. I’ll kill you.” His voiceshook.

“Ihaven’t noticed anything unusual,” Cassandra said as Ripley checked thereadings. A bored patient answering unasked questions by rote.  “The new anxiety meds are doing fine.”

Ripleymade a non-committal noise. “Look at me.”

Cassandramet her eyes obediently.

“Leaveher alone. What are you doing?” Percytried to put himself between them, but there wasn’t room. And he couldn’t touchhis sister, couldn’t touch either of them—couldn’t drag Ripley away andcouldn’t take Cass in his arms and just run.(Like that had worked so well, last time.)

“Doyou feel anything unusual right now?” Ripley asked, still holding Cassandra’sgaze. “Physically or emotionally. Really search.”

Awrinkle appeared between Cassandra’s eyes as she frowned. There was a widestreak of white in her hair, family to Percy’s complete bleach. That hadn’tbeen there before. When he’d last seen her, when she was bleeding in the snowfrom bullet wounds as he ran— She was 23 now, the spitting image of Vesper whenshe’d died, except for that streak. The room was still decorated for a teenagerbut Percy’s youngest sister was an exasperated 23.

“Cass.”

Ripley’seyes sparkled at his anguish, but Cassandra remained impartial.

“Nothing.Should I?”

“Youknow better than to ask questions that could influence an experiment,” Ripleysaid. But she stepped back, letting Cassandra’s gaze fall. It returned to herbook.

“Don’tforget,” Ripley added as she re-opened the door, which had automatically lockedbehind them. “The Briarwoods will be expecting you for Christmas dinner.”

IfPercy had thought Cassandra’s expression polite before, when she looked up asecond time it was utterly impassive.

“Ilook forward to it. Was there anything else?”

“Oh,no.” Ripley smiled thinly at them both. “I think everything I need will bearriving soon enough—”

AndPercy was back on the bank, in the snow, in the woods, and everything but Vexfaded as she thrust the needle into his arm and released, the familiar,dizzying haze of cheap heroin washing him clean. Ripley disappeared. Cassandradisappeared. Keyleth, Vax, Grog, Pike, Tary, Scanlan disappeared. Safe. Percystayed as freezing and alone as eight years ago, running from his sisterbleeding out in the snow, assuming she was dead.

“Percy?Percy, are you alright? Is she gone?”

Vex’swarm hands tugged at him and he rolled over obediently, and opened his eyes.She was still beautiful, bright and concerned and fierce. The moon above wasalmost as lovely. Percy lifted a hand to her cheek and caught his breath whenshe held it—no, choked on a sob. That was what his body was doing, now.

“Cass.She– they– I don’t know. She’s alive.” His whole body shook, drugs and cold and every ounce of adrenaline racing through his veins. “They have mysister.”

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Axis:Sova

Photo by Grant Engstrom

Axis: Sova has grown from a one-person operation to full-fledged heavy psych juggernaut with last year’s Motor Earth. In 2015, Ben Donnelly observed that, with Early Surf, “Axis: Sova make heavy psych that bears the traces of bedroom multi-tracking, epic and casual at the same time. Some more fidelity wouldn't hurt their fuzz forms, but the chunks of treble and simple beatbox steps give it an appealing down-to-earth quality.”  Founder Brett Sova contributes a list this week.   

ZZ TOP — “Under Pressure,” “Gimmie All Your Lovin’" and “Sharp Dressed Man” Live On The Tube 1983   

When it comes to the Little Ol’ Band from Texas, the first few records are undeniably hot and where it’s at. But Eliminator is mostly Billy Gibbons working with a drum machine if legend has it right, and top to bottom it delivers with extremely high impact. It’s a big commercial sound, for sure, but that type of ambition following a successful formula is a credit to Gibbons’ vision and willingness to morph and change creatively. BFG’s guitar tone here in particular is one I was after a little bit on Motor Earth — distorted amp saturation that feeds back whenever you’re not playing, bleeding. Something I always listen for with ZZ is the number of guitar tracks on each song — while they’re an exemplary power trio live, Billy tends to at least double track his guitar on a lot of recordings, and sometimes he’ll have two rhythm tracks panned to either side along with another track for the solo (check Tres Hombres, for example). Always pretty tasteful and subtle. (Axis: bandmate) Tim Kaiser and I set out to make our version of a boogie rock record with Motor Earth, and along with Beefheart’s Clear Spot, some Crazy Horse, and some requisite Stonesian scuzz, ZZ provide much blueprint for something of that nature for me, personally. All that aside, this footage of the band doing “Under Pressure” on 1980s British TV show The Tube is simply badass and I'd question the health of anyone who doesn't enjoy it.   

Les Rallizes Denudes  "Night of the Assassins" 3rd Sunset Festival Live 1976  

Been on a mild Japanese psych kick, and this is the original artifact: Les Rallizes Denudes playing one of their iconic songs live (of course) at a festival at dusk against a glorious, mountainous backdrop. Their noise comes atop something simple and repetitive to latch onto, which allows their feeding lead guitar squalor to fully envelop and carry me around as if strapped to a horse on a patient gallop. It's yearning for something, like anything FSA, if FSA was ever accompanied by Link Wray-ish, rhythmic progressions. Melody and groove on the foundation, a screech of feedback over the top: "I Will Follow Him," but decapitated. 

Electric Eels — “Splittery Splat”  

One of the interesting things about growing up in Ohio and then leaving at the age of 18, when your brain is still mushy, is slowly realizing, especially once outside of it, just how much great, fucked up music has come from the state. There are the obvious and hugely successful ones, like, say, Devo, and there are some like Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, a band I saw numerous times in high school and sorta just took for granted as simply being ‘the guy from Used Kids Records’ band.’ I just saw TJSA in September at Cropped Out Festival (a.k.a. the most important festival on the planet), in Louisville, KY, for the first time in 15+ years and they were phenomenal — they represent to me a lineage of Ohio punk/weirdo music that is entirely genius yet also entirely too out for a broader audience (major label support or no), much like V3 or Tommy Jay, or Electric Eels. This Electric Eels song was on a Scat Records cassette compilation that my friend discovered when we were teenagers in the late 1990s. Apparently I borrowed it and never gave it back, because I recently rediscovered it when going through a box of tapes not too long ago. It’s a perfectly fucked punk song, from composition to delivery to recording and mix. Seems like they’ve gotten a lot of reissue treatment, but I’ll always remember this song from the Scat tape.  

Fumio Miyashta (Far East Family Band) Live On Boffomundo 

Embedding is disabled but you can go here and watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHNLtEMl2dg

Killer live performance of mellow headtrips via one of Japan’s psych-rock purveyors in the proggiest sense, Fumio Miyashta (of Far East Family Band). These dudes he’s playing with really lock into it, with tasty, mellow guitar leads and a pulsing bass mingling with the space-synth sounds Miyashta is laying out there. A relaxing and deep listen, but also buoyant and light, at times reminiscent of Blackouts by Ashra, which came out three years prior to this performance on The Boffomundo show, an early cable TV show dedicated to progressive music.  

The Stooges — “My Girl Hates My Heroin” from My Girl Hates My Heroin 

Unmatched depravity — like The Stones recording at Nellcote to get that dusty, humid summer basement vibe for Exile, this jam/gem from a rehearsal around the Raw Power era comes from a neighborly basement with similarly thick air. I make no bones about worshiping at the house of Ron Asheton (Fun House forever), and therefore must point out his nimble and fluid bass playing on My Girl Hates My Heroin, pushing this grimy riff forward, but Williamson really had a gnarled, unhinged nastiness to his playing that’s immediately enjoyable, as well. Iggy sounds like hell, like he should. Bought this on CD at a record store in Paris when I was in high school, and listening to it made me feel like a tough dude for the rest of that year.

Alice Coltrane — Huntington Ashram Monastery  

Lacking depravity — empowering! Impossible to do a list without including Alice Coltrane. Journey to Satchidinanda is one of the few records I’ve ever bought new that I’ve truly worn out from excessive plays. Huntington Ashram Monastery might be more consistently played currently. It’s a power trio album, the Rashied Ali and Ron Carter rhythm section out to quake. Relatedly, last time I was in San Francisco I visited the Saint John Coltrane Church, where we listened to and meditated on A Love Supreme in its entirety. As a congregation — which didn’t consist of more than a handful of people — we collectively chanted/sang along when it was time, and otherwise actively listened free of distraction. The experience felt like an open window into the spirituality so prevalent in his and Alice’s music.

Royal Trux — Untitled (3rd album) 

“Your beautiful skin, your beautiful spine / You’re beautiful all the time.” Chunky acoustics, insulation, isolation and utter abandon in the form of serrated guitar squeals from the edges of Neil Hagerty’s torn up plectrum straight to your ears. The album begins as something earnest, almost pensive, a light haze akin to just waking up, and proceeds to slowly rise out of bed and begin to walk around, shaking out the legs and cracking the joints til the moss rolls off and the stimulant (or analgesic) hits the vein. From there, its loose openness stretches into a broad expanse, allowing for glorious feedback-laden solos to cover the sonic horizon, barely-there rhythm action holding it together by sheer will. Not much percussion, no bass? More room for what matters! Herrera’s voice right in the sweet spot with bad intent, “on top.”  The things I want and need from rock n' roll.  

Randy Holden — “Blue My Mind” from Population II

Randy Holden, the badass who spent a year and half an album in Blue Cheer, realized his vision with the unmatched velocity of his solo album, Population II. I was just hipped to one of his earliest bands, The Other Half, for whom Randy Holden played guitar prior to his stint in Blue Cheer, and the power and brilliance of his song construction is evident and completely identifiable even there— but Population II is the full realization of Holden’s six-string swagger damage, and “Blue My Mind” is the highlight for me. There’s barely a drop of effects (ok there are overdubs), it’s just the sound of one man blasting through a literal wall of 200 watt Sunn Amps (16 of ‘em?) with minimal bass and drum accompaniment. Sunn amps have a distinctive sound: their reverb isn’t close to sounding “sparkly” the way someone might describe a vintage Fender with admiration. Instead, when cranked, they sound kinda like a guitar being played through an overheated A/C window unit or maybe a tube-powered hairdryer in a tile bathroom that’s meticulously mic’d through a high powered PA System. It’s not for everybody, but that gnarled and blunt quality cannot be matched, requiring zero fuzz or distortion pedal whatsoever to achieve a gloriously saturated molten tone that somehow retains bell-like clarity. Early days for Axis: Sova was playing through a ’67 Sunn Sceptre exclusively. While that’s not the case anymore, it’s very present on songs from our previous album, Early Surf, especially the title track’s main riff. Guitars in front!  

Velvet Underground — “What Goes On”  Live at the Hilltop Festival 2nd August 1969  

Featuring Mo Tucker, the human metronome. I wish I could get a snare sound out of my drum machine like this. Its rhythmic simplicity set against skittering guitars produces counter beats and accents that start to feel like Terry Riley’s sat in — especially once the organ begins to fry. 

Sonny Sharrock — “Once Upon a Time” from Ask the Ages   

Stately and serene, a song beholden of wisdom and truth. You know, hopeful. The melody has a patient emotion that doesn’t force itself on the listener, but rather amplifies whatever feeling the listener has at that moment — be it upbeat, uplifting, or melancholy.  Especially gritty tone and saturation. Sonny Sharrock’s last album is amazing, with a killer band including Pharaoh Sanders and Elvin Jones.  

Steve Hillage — “Salmon Song” live in 1977   

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Hypnosis via riff-phrase, let it slip, put a driving, unwavering bass line underneath it, and soar towards a gassy nebula… its space-prog breakdowns and solos cascade and shimmer, and then the riff rises again. The whole album, Fish Rising, is cool, but not as tough to beat as this live performance of its best jam, "Salmon Song."

Rafael Toral — Wave Field   

Wave Field - Remastered by Rafael Toral =

Aside from Flying Saucer Attack, who regularly achieve something similar, there are few pieces of guitar music that convey as much emotional expression through feedback and drone as well as Wave Field by Portugal’s Rafael Toral.  It’s deep, theta brainwave meditation is enveloping and surreal — it drips and distorts reality like the best painters of the genre — to a liquid degree, akin to floating in a sensory deprivation tank. Having gone looking for it online, I just discovered that Rafael has remastered it to create what he feels is a more spacious sounding recording, more in line with his original vision. I’m not entirely sure which sounds better to me: both versions fit like a snug wetsuit in bath water. 

[a-toasty-waffle]

BOLD what applies to your muse. Remember to REPOST. Feel free to add to the list.

ToastyWaffle

[ COLOR ] red. brown. orange.  yellow. green. blue.  purple.  pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac.  metallic. matte.  royal blue.  strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream.  mint green. magenta. pastels. bubblegum pink. blood red. ivory.

[ ELEMENTAL ] fire. ice. water.  air.  earth. rain.  snow. wind. moon.  stars.sun. heat. cold.  steam. frost. lightning. sunlight.  moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. clouds. light. dark

[BODY]claws. long fingers. fangs.teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns.  spikes. feathers. webs.eyes. hands. sweat.  tears. feline.  chubby. curvy.  short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak.  shapeshifting. junoesque.svelte. long hair. short hair. dark circles. big. small. prosthetic. experimented. cyborg. halos.horns. tails. wolfish.    

[ WEAPONRY ] fists. sword. dagger. spear.  scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes.  whips. knives. throwing knives.  pepper sprays.  tasers. machine guns.  slingshots.  katanas.  maces. staffs.  wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. power loader.  flamethrower.  metal rod. shotguns. needles.  

[ MATERIAL ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds.  pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron.  rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet.  denim. linen.  cotton.  charcoal. clay.  stone. asphalt.  brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood.  dirt.  mud. smoke.  ash.  shadow.  carbonate.  rubber.  synthetics. yarn. slime. ivory. bone.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees.  bark. roses. daisies.  tulips.  holly. lavender. lilies.  petals. thorns. sunflowers. seeds. hay.  sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers.  ocean.  river.  lake. meadow. forest. desert.  tundra. savanna. rain forest.  swamp. caves. underwater.  coral reef. beach. waves. space. stars.  clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs.  sunlight.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves.  black panther. eagles. owls.  falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles.  ducks. bugs.  roaches. butterflies.  spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs.  bunnies.  praying mantis. crows. ravens.  mice. lizards.  frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns.  pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons. felines.  foxes. centaurs.  

[ FOOD/DRINK ] sugar. salt. water. candy.  bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices.  herbs. apple. orange. lemon.  cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos.  pizza.  vanilla. cookies. marshmallows.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. piercing. watercolors. gardening.  knitting. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. riding. writing.  composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing.  acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology.  cameras.  video cameras.  video games. computer.  phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy.  cds. records. vinyls.  cassettes. piano. violin.  cello. guitar. electronic guitar.  bass guitar.  harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds.  brass. trumpet.  flute. drums. bells. playing cards.  poker chips.  chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing.  tree climbing. running. vivisection. science. reading.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. robes. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers.  jeans. skirt. shorts. jewelry.earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant.  hat. crown. circlet.  helmet. scarf. neck tie.   brocade. cloaks. corsets.  doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses.  sunglasses. visor.  eye contacts. makeup. pantyhose. stockings.  thigh highs. eyepatch. collar. harness, strapped shoes, strapped anything. 

[ MISC ] balloons.  bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary.  fairy lights.  madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. realism. loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants.  co-workers.  enemies. lovers. loyalty.  smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing. heroes,

tagged by @sasuchu (omg im getting attention)

Tagging: Dont really have anyone to tag, new blog, but do it if ur reading this?

and anyone else who wish to do this!