#hudson valley music
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"The day is gone The shadows are long The moon is a sliver in the skies If we cross the line Tonight would be the time Because the moon is a quiver in your eyes"
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CATS (2019)
Director: Tom Hooper Cinematography: Christopher Ross
#cats#cats 2019#cats musical#andrew lloyd webber#jennifer hudson#francesca hayward#judi dench#idris elba#taylor swift#rebel wilson#laurie davidson#robbie fairchild#ian mckellen#jason derulo#musicals#uncanny valley#movie screencaps#movie screenshots#movie frames#film screencaps#film screenshots#film frames#cinematography#screencaps#screenshots
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Ginger Radio Hour #054
[Playlist from Radiant Point radio show.]
Show Notes December 19, 2023
Listen to archived episode.
Theme: Best songs of 2023.
Nick and Lysa host Radiant Point on WGXC 90.7 FM — it's a monthly show featuring two hours of new music across all genres. They're musicians, partners, friends and a lot of fun. We hung out in the studio together as they ran through their top songs from this year.
Playlist:
Yo La Tengo “This Stupid World”
Tengger “PANAPTU”
Clarissa Bitar & Nabil Bitar "Nasak"
Chief Adjuah “Blood Calls Blood”
Night Court “Little Darkness”
Home Front “Faded State"
Etran de L'Aïr "Nak Deranine"
Noname "namesake"
Checkpoint 303 "Gaza Sea Minor"
#ginger radio hour#community radio#radiant point#music#new music#catskills#hudson valley#wgxc#inspiration
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What drew you to Love’s Labor’s Lost? How hard it was to understand at first. It took a lot of thinking, puzzling over it, and letting my mind wander around the characters and figuring out what thread there was in it for me as a director to pick up and follow. It’s like a puzzle. What’s fun about getting a chance to do plays that aren’t produced as frequently is that they are either a little less well-known and when you do them you really have a chance to figure out your own journey through them as a director. That’s definitely Love’s Labor’s Lost.
#shakespeare#william shakespeare#lll#love's labors lost#hudson valley shakespeare festival#hudson valley#shakespeare and music#amanda denhert#directors#directing
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another flyer i made for a show you can’t come to, updated bc a band dropped out
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On the Verge: Celebrating Emerging Talent in Design and Culinary Arts
On the Verge: Celebrating Emerging Talent On the Verge highlights the rising stars from various creative realms, including fashion, food, music, art, and design. This year, the cozy dining-room fires of Stissing House, the charming restaurant located in Pine Plains, New York, were ignited on September 26. In contrast, last year, the fires were lit a week later, on October 4. Chef Clare de Boer,…
#American design#art#Black Dog Ironworks#Clare de Boer#culinary arts#design#emerging talent#fashion#fireplace accessories#home decor#Hudson Valley#Luke Sherwin#music#On the Verge#Roseland#Shaker style#Stissing House#vintage American furniture
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Get ready for an unforgettable day at Spring Fest Milton NY Enjoy Craft Beer Food and Live Music Brew Scoop. Join us for an amazing experience with delicious craft beer from Kings Court Brewing and Locust Grove Brewing food trucks live music by Paynes Gray Sky and fun activities for all ages Dont miss this ultimate Hudson Valley celebration See you there at Locust Grove Brewing Company
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My Page
Gotta cultivate an Upstate NY scene, right?
Here I'm gonna feature a bunch of Upstate NY bands, but mostly from the Hudson Valley, which stretches from Yonkers to Troy.
Reviews and show promotions. Not associated with the Instagram account of the same name.
There might be some personal observations about the scene, and maybe a few anecdotes. I don't know, still figuring this out.
#crust punk#hardcore punk#metal#punk#hudson valley#underground music#punk rock#alternative#upstate ny#poughkeepsie#albany#troy
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Premiere: Sam Kogon Will Haunt Your Thoughts With The Ghostly "All I Wanna Do" Music Video
Intertwining a retro charm with a modern perspective, Sam Kogon has mastered the art of fusing something you already love with something you’ll love even more, pushing his psychedelic influences into fresh new landscapes anyone can enjoy. And today, TREMG is proud to premiere Sam’s latest music video for “All I Wanna Do!” Filmed in Yonkers, NY, the clip alternates between the natural and the…
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#all i wanna do#entertainment#entertainment news file#hudson valley#Music#Music news#music video#music videos#new music#new music video#premiere#sam kogon#westchester ny#yonkers#yonkers ny
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hi vylet! i come from an area that's. somewhat near the hudson bay, or at least near enough that like. i'm very aware of it. i was wondering, if you're comfortable with answering. what's the significance of the hudson bay clip used across I Was The Loner of Paradise Valley?
i wrote this in the paradise valley digital booklet but i may as well talk about it here!
a lot of the mixtape is dedicated to and mindful of my middle school classmate pedro. i won't go into great detail about him, but he was probably my best and only real irl friend ever until i reunited with sylver.
pedro and i, after becoming friends a year prior, were put into a final project together for our history class. the class groups were instructed to write a song that incorporated the key vocabulary and events of the american revolutionary war into the lyrics.
what was expected of everyone was just like song lyrics and nothing more. but i was rlly deep into music production at that point and pedro was also keen to do a bunch of actual tunes for the project. so along with two other classmates who were also assigned to our group, we made an actually, 'fully produced' ep of music for the class. everybody else in the class had done like covers of other songs or just wrote poetry essentially.
i'm going to brag about this forever, even though the ep was actually terrible, but we impressed the teacher so much with it that — while everyone only had one song they were allowed to present — we were allowed to, and requested to, play the entire ep for the class. of those, was "In the Hudson Bay" which was played SEVERAL times because the class liked that song so much apparently.
the hook of "in the hudson bay, you know how we do it" is a bar that pedro came up with himself. the flow, the attitude, the delivery, and even the phrase itself is extremely hype still lmao. that is pedro himself though. he had a natural talent for rapping. i would have loved to see him keep going ahahah. i don't think he'd really be interested in that, 10 years later.
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˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗
Chapter Five: Mess Around
Kyle Broflovski x fem reader
The heat is rising and only getting hotter, ready to blow. I think I’ll pour myself a glass of water, let it flow.
Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!
Premise: You’ve practiced all season for this track meet, time to show off your skills.
Warnings: cause language + humour / brief mentions of blood
MASTERLIST
Amidst the chatter of athletes, coaches, and spectators, one figure stood out—you with bruises swallowing your under eyes like Halloween makeup, the bandage covering up the break and the dried blood that stayed beneath your nostrils. You had tried to get rid of the dried blood several times though the swelling kept pushing pressure onto blood vessels and forced it back out leaving you to look like you had gone straight from Fight Club to the track meet.
No matter how many times you raced around the oval track, adrenaline still surged through your veins like an untamed wildfire. You had gone somewhat nonverbal while you reached back to what your PE teacher had taught you about the most successful athletes using mental imagery to win their respective heats.
You stood on the outside of the track, sneakers sinking into the grassy field while you shifted your weight back and forth between your legs, hands on your hips as you stared dead at the track. The rest of the kids from South Park were either catching their breath beneath the shade of the pop-up canopy or they were on the track competing. Currently, speed walking was in session so there wasn't much to watch even if you had been paying attention to anything other than the thought of you winning.
The music blasting through your headphones was nearly turning you deaf, you wanted to block everything out until the time came when you got back on the track for the relay. Your other heats went well though you knew that you wouldn't be satisfied unless all of them were blue ribbons.
The playlist that was spilling out of your headphones was one that Bebe had made for you to listen to before soccer games though you chose to ignore the fact that her absence made her feel even more present in your life than ever.
A boy wearing a maroon Cedar Valley Wildcats uniform had strolled up, saying something with a huge smile on his tanned face. You hadn't assumed he was talking to you until he stood awkwardly, maintaining his crooked smile while he waited for you to answer him. You pulled a headphone out, eyes narrowing at him "What?"
"I asked if you got a nose job," He repeats, pushing his tousled waves of chestnut hair away from the frame of his chiselled jawline.
"No," You answer, face stoic and voice to match. The past few days you heard this question more times than you could keep track of, the first time it was asked you didn't care but the next thirty or so times, it grated in your skull whether it was intended as a blandly unfunny joke or a genuine question.
"Oh," His grin falters for just a second "I'm Hudson,"
"Okay," You move to put your headphones back in but Hudson interrupts the process.
"So, does it hurt?" He gestures at his nose.
"Feels great," You answer with sarcasm dripping from your voice like syrup "You should see the other guy."
"Yeah?" Hudson says this like it's a challenge "Where is he?"
You swerve your head to look for the ginger and after a moment you spot him at a concession stand, he was tasked to buy Gatorade for his friends though two girls in Maplewood t-shirts keep prodding him with questions. One of the girls has her arms crossed as she looks up at him with a smile, the other is on her phone, seemingly bored. Even with a black eye, he was still drawing attention from girls. Maybe it was the black eye and bruised cheekbone that caused the intrigue, he should be thanking you. "Right there," You point at him.
Hudson's eyes widen a little bit before he cracks into the huff of a laugh "Holy shit, I thought you were joking," He's undoubtedly tall though you couldn't shake the thought that Kyle would tower over him with his sky-scraping height.
"Cool," You return to the one-word responses.
You would've thought him to be a surfer if you weren't in Denver, he almost checked off every box with his athletic build, bronze tan, and effortlessly charming smile, all he was missing was a puka shell necklace. "I saw you run in the four hundred, you were really good," He smiles once again, his teeth blindingly white in contrast to his skin.
"Thanks," You press your lips together in a thin line. No matter what Hudson was doing to try and flirt with you, it fell flat and rested in awkward silence before he forced out another attempt at small talk.
"Ayo," Another guy from Cedar Valley rolls around, slinging an arm around his buddy. "My boys got W rizz!" He looks back and forth between the two of you, expecting you to laugh or react in any other way that wasn't cringing so hard you felt the urge to gag.
Hudson slowly turned to look at his friend, silently cursing him for ruining what wasn't great to begin with. "Dude," He says, friendly tone and smile dropping completely.
"He's the rizzler," He gives Hudson a firm pat on the shoulder while beaming at you like he was a good wingman "Rizzly bear," he tries again but is met with unnerving stillness from both you and Hudson.
"Ignore him, please," Hudson turns his attention back to you.
His friend didn't seem to catch onto the fact that poking this dead horse wasn't funny in any manner "He's the rizzard or Oz, if you give him your number you can spend Chrizzmas together."
"I'm good, I think I'll just get a rizztraining order," You say, face contorting into a look of disdain as you turn to leave the conversation, putting your headphones back in until the sound of him yelling after you had gone completely.
You spot Red sitting beneath the canopy, a track and field hoodie thrown over her uniform of a green jersey that read 'Park County High' on the front with a graphic of a cow paired with black shorts, the same thing you were wearing.
"I can't fathom that speedwalking is a sport," She says, eyes focused on the track out of boredom while she soaked up the coolness of the shady grass.
"Fathom it, babe," You pause your music to listen to her. Red's hair had been secured tightly by you during the bus ride, you French braided it then secured all of the flyaways from her shaggy haircut with barrettes and bobby pins then finally pushed any hair that dared to touch her face away with a black headband. Her hair had held out through each heat that she ran, only budging slightly during hurdles.
"What was going on with those two guys?"
"I don't know but I feel strangely violated," You respond truthfully, almost shuddering at the thought of the short smiley wingman.
"Checks out," She nods, looking back to the track.
Absentmindedly, your eyes shift back to the concession stand where Kyle still stands, trying to balance entirely too many bottles of Gatorade while he chats with the same girl from before, her friend had disbanded but the short brunette girl held her ground. Kyle was laughing at something she had said, nearly craning his neck to look down at her.
Red follows your gaze and sees the same sight as you "Why the hell is he getting game with a fucked up eye?"
"I wouldn't know, man."
"I mean, you're getting game and you look like you've been lobotomized."
"Thank you, raggedy Ann."
"You're so welcome," A small grin splits onto her face though you look past her at Kyle instead of focusing on your friend. It was compulsive, really, how your eyes just shifted to the dark bruise enveloping his eye.
Maybe it was because he was laughing at the girl in front of him and in turn she put a hand on his forearm. What you had pulled from your head was that he laughed harder at your joke the night he got that bruise which was already drastically lighter while the pain from your broken nose didn't seem to let up.
"I was joking about the lobotomy thing but you're being more off-putting than usual," Red says, eyebrows furrowing in, a glimmer of light bouncing off the copious amounts of jewelry skewered through her ears.
"I'll off-put you," you say, trying to figure out how that statement made sense as it came out of your mouth.
"Sounds kinky," She shrugs, pulling some grass up from the soil until it's spilling out of her hand. She drops the balled-up blades of grass and wipes the remainder on your arm which left nothing more than a little dampness and a few pieces limply stuck onto your skin.
You brush the grass off your arm, ripping some out to toss it on her lap like you were still a petty kid in elementary school.
Shot put was taking place at the same time as speed walking, a little evil part of you snorted at the idea of one of the balls hitting the walkers. You thought back to the one year when Stan had joined track and excelled at shot put though he didn't return the following year due to a little awkwardness between him and Tolkien.
"How funny would it be if one of the shot puts hit someone on the track?" Red asks.
"Oh my god," Your face softens slightly "I love you so much."
"Where you just thinking that?"
"Yeah, I was," You nod, reaching to snatch up her left hand into your right and clutch it tightly. Using your free hand, you rip up more grass and tuck it into the hood of her sweater, she doesn't fight you over it, all Red does is accept the fact that she'll be finding bits of pasture in her hoodie for the next week or so.
"We look kinda gay right now."
"We usually do," You answer.
"Yeah, I guess."
A figure looms above the pair of you and as you glance up at Kyle you can't fight the reflex of narrowing your eyes at him like he was always about to do something evil. "Here you go," He tosses a Gatorade to Red and to you, a Powerade.
"Thanks, man," Red looks from the bottle to him with a little smile.
"No problem," He says, pressing his lips back together and taking off. You did nothing but study the drink with intensity like it was an ancient code waiting to be cracked. While everyone else got a standard bottle of Gatorade he gave you a Powerade.
"That was nice,"
"Too nice," You glare at Kyle as he returns to his little huddle of friends to distribute the drinks.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"He gave me a Powerade instead of Gatorade because he knows that I like them more," You tell Red, eyes still hyper-focused on Kyle where he stood. You had always made a fuss about preferring one to the other even though everyone told you that they tasted exactly the same, you could always tell the difference and made sure that everyone in your vicinity knew that.
"Okay?" Red raises an eyebrow, she had the sense that you were going to break out into a conspiracy theory.
"This isn't right," you conclude, breaking your gaze away from the ginger to turn your attention back to the bottle he had given you.
"What? You think it's poison or something?" She asks.
"No, it's just weird," You tell her dropping the Powerade onto the ground "It's unsettling."
"It isn't unsettling, it was just Kyle being nice."
"Yeah, and that's unsettling."
"Not really, you're always worse to him."
"Nuh-uh."
"Oh my god," Red cracked the lid of her drink open, the icy condensation dampening her palm as she took a deep swig. "It's so weird that nice gestures make you so squirmy, I could put you in a nice meadow with a gentle breeze and you'd find something to seeth about."
"Maybe I don't fuck with meadows."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," She shrugs, taking another sip.
"And nice gestures don't make me squirmy."
"You're squirmy as fuck right now," Red gives you an up-and-down look, your knees are pulled into your chest while you stare at the bottle of Powerade on the ground. "Is it possible that you're becoming friends?"
Your face contorted into a look of terror and disgust, mouth hanging ajar, upper lip curling in while your shoulders tensed "Jesus fucking Christ, don't say that ever again, I might have to take a couple shots of Clorox."
"Alright," She raised her hands in defence "My bad, dude."
"Yeah, it is your bad," Your eyes shifted over to the girl Kyle was talking to. She was short and had mousy brown hair long even in a ponytail, it was so silky that it almost looked like it was shimmering gold the way the light hit it. "Why do we like pretty people?"
"Isn't it called the halo effect or something?"
"Yeah, but I mean do we find super good-looking people attractive because it's rare to see someone so beautiful?" You ask "Like if everyone got nose jobs, BBLs, filler, and botox would their beauty dwindle in value because what was unique becomes common like inflation?”
"Have you been online? Everyone already has all of those things and they're still pretty hot."
"Am I right though?"
"Maybe," She takes another beat to think it over "I guess, yeah, like if everyone looked the exact same then someone with different features might become the new standard."
"I think we should start celebrating grotesque ugliness instead of beauty."
"Or maybe we should just stop being so obsessed with appearance.”
"Yeah," As much as you pretended to be above picking apart appearances it was something drilled into your head since childhood that you weren't sure you would be shaking anytime soon "Maybe."
In your peripheral, you caught a glimpse of the girl from the concession stand. She was making her way in your direction which you didn't think anything of until she flashed a blindingly white smile "Hey."
Red looks to you for a reaction but you just stare up at the girl with gaping eyes and a crease between your brows so she takes the hassle of answering "Uh, hey."
"I'm Alyssa," She says, briefly gesturing to herself before hiding her hands behind her back.
"I'm Rebecca," A faint smile touched her lips, barely noticeable.
"That's a pretty name," Her lips, softly curved and naturally rouge, formed an easy, inviting smile. She had a litter of freckles over her button nose, faint over her caramel skin.
"Thank you," There was a tinge of confusion in Red's voice, it wasn't often that you came across girls your age that were so forwardly kind.
"So, are you guys friends with Kyle? I saw you talking to him," Aylssa's voice gets quieter towards the end of the sentence as she quickly glances around to see if he's in the area.
Once again Red looks at you like you're going to answer, she takes it into her own hands to respond "Yeah, I guess."
"Great!" The relief is evident on her face "I wanted to ask him for his number but I sorta chickened out, is there any way I could get it off one of you?" She looks between the two of you and her face drops at your expression "Unless he has a girlfriend-
"No, you're good," Red waves her off "I don't have his number but she does," She gently elbows your bicep.
"Awesome, is it cool if I grab it off you?"
"What the fuck is happening today?" You mutter to yourself.
"Mixed *mmph* will begin shortly, all competing *crack* to the track, please," A pot-bellied man with whispy grey and white hair calls through a megaphone, his voice is muffled and staticky through it, though the message is intercepted by a decrepit microphone, you were well aware that this was the announcement of the final relay.
You stood next to Tolkien and Kyle, the three of you watching Red where she prepped herself for the lead-off. She stood a few meters down the track, bouncing lightly on her toes and rolling her shoulders. She shook her hands out in front of her while taking deep breaths to loosen her body. It wasn't often that you saw Red so focused on something, the last time you saw her this earnest was at the soccer tournament last summer where she had to face off against her ex.
The man with the megaphone looked past the three of you to Coach Dawsey, who was chewing loudly on three pieces of bubblegum, from metres away you could hear him smacking his lips. Megaphone man held up a thumbs up and a thumbs down to the coach, a subtle way of asking whether our team was set to go.
"Yeah," Dawsey says through a mouthful of gum "We're good to go Marty."
"Huh?" Marty narrows his eyes and cranes his neck forward to get a better look at you coach.
"I said we're good to go, Marty!" Coach shouts, cupping his hands around his cracked lips.
Marty shrugs, megaphone hanging limp by his side while he uses his other hand to tap his ear "I can't hear ya' Steve."
"We are good to go!" He shouts even louder, causing the crowd of Coaches, teachers and students alike to cast him odd glances.
"You gotta be louder, Steve," Marty addresses Dawsey, ignoring the abundance of spectators silently judging his senility.
“We are good!”
"What?" Marty holds the microphone back to his mouth "Park County, are all of your racers accounted for?"
"Yes!" You shout, holding two thumbs up high to be sure the old man can see them before gesturing to you, Tolkien, Kyle, and then Red "One, two, three, four."
"I don't see the fourth," Marty shakes his head. "Young lady, you cannot count well."
"The girl with red hair on the vaguely empty track, in a Park County uniform, do you think she's stretching to watch the relay?" You point at your friend who seems completely tuned out along with the few other people warming up.
Marty says something to a woman with a clipboard then doesn't address you or your team again. It wasn't your first time running the 4x400 though it was the first time without Adam and that thought made you sway a little on your feet. Adam had always been the finisher and now you had replaced that position.
"Runners two to four please line up with your team, lead runners please find your lane on the track," The woman with the clip board's voice carries effortlessly over the others and almost immediately everyone begins to straighten themselves out. Being behind Tolkien and Kyle you couldn't see directly ahead of you so you awkwardly tilted your head to keep your eyes steadied on Red.
"Hey," Hudson calls from the line beside you. He's in the middle of two other runners, meaning he'll be running third for his team, he was parallel to Kyle. You grace him with a brief glimpse before focusing your attention back on Red "I'm sorry about my friend, earlier."
"Sick," You tell him without even looking in his direction though both Kyle and Tolkien were keen to pick up on this conversation.
"Just pretend that never happened."
"Sure."
You really weren't attentive to what Hudson was saying, your mind was elsewhere whereas the two boys in front of you seemed more interested in the exchange, Tolkien had one eyebrow raised while he regarded Hudson. Kyle was however looking at you for any indication that what he was saying mattered to you, your face was unmoving.
"I-uh, didn't catch your name," Hudson still maintains his crooked smile.
"I didn't throw it."
"That's a good one," He chuckles, rocking back and forth on his heels. You were less interested in him and more interested in the guy behind him who was the one you would be racing against, he was pasty, slim, and tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Tolkien and Kyle though it was hard to tell without him standing next to them. "I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot."
"Yeah," You answer truthfully, asking if you got a nose job wasn't a great opener and bothering you before what you considered the most difficult sprint wasn't aiding his case.
"Maybe I could get your number and we could redo this whole thing?"
"No."
Kyle and Tolkien glance at one another before Tolkien whispers "What's going on?"
"Dude, I don't know," He wasn't entirely sure why this boy was chasing someone clearly uninterested though he may have been one to go for the mean girls.
"How about if my team ranks higher in the relay, you give me your number," He proposes.
"And when my team ranks higher you'll put a shotgun in your mouth while I watch?" You say with ease. Like usual you were teetering very dangerously on the line between standoffish and obscenely confident.
"You're really funny," Hudson smiles and there was not a single speck of evidence that he took any of that statement poorly.
'What the fuck?' Tolkien mouths with furrowed eyebrows, he couldn't tell whether Hudson was truly self-assured enough not to be bothered with your cold regard or if he was stupid enough to consider it flirting.
"So if I win, I get your number?" He presses for confirmation.
"Yeah, sure, stop talking."
When Hudson finally turns back to his group Tolkien looks past Kyle and at you "You're going to give that guy your number?"
You shake your head "We're not losing to him," You and Kyle manage to say in sync, staring at each other and horror. It always scared you when your words happened to match up with Kyle, as rare as it was, it happened more than you would've liked.
"Runners, on your mark," Marty's crackly voice sounded out amongst you. The three of you fell silent while you trained your eyes on Red, her muscles tense and ready for the long sprint ahead. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, and visualized her lap—every stride, every breath, the smooth curve of the track.
She adjusted herself into the blocks, clutching the orange baton in her right hand while tapping her fingers lightly against the turf. You were glad that you had been given the fifth lane, it would prove to be gentler as opposed to the inner lanes and their sharp turns.
"Get set," He announces and Red angles herself on the starting block, eyes narrowing on the length ahead. Marty holds the air horn to the sky and the very moment it sounds the runners take off.
Red launched forward with powerful, determined strides, her legs pumping rhythmically as she rounded the first bend. The cheers of spectators blurred into a distant roar as she concentrated on maintaining her speed and form. She was neck and neck with a girl in a bright yellow uniform who took up her pace and passed her.
You wanted to cheer for Red until your lungs felt like sandpaper but she never paid any attention to the cheering and yelling, just the stretch that she had to cross and the amount she had left. Tolkien shifted forward along with the others taking the second lap of the sprint, the volunteers had been quick to move the starting block out of the way. He took the fifth lane, standing sideways on the curve of the track, he bounced slightly on his feet to stay light.
The final leg of her sprint approached quickly, and Red leaned into it, her body angled perfectly to maintain speed without losing balance. Her breaths were deep and controlled, her focus unbroken. The wind rushed past her ears, carrying the faint cheers of the crowd. She knew the other teams were right behind and ready to swallow her. She neared the handoff zone as two other teams pushed past her narrowly, their bright uniforms a blur past her eyeline. Physically you winced as you watched this.
Coming into the first handoff, Tolkien was already in motion, his arm extended backward. The baton pass was seamless, a fluid exchange born of countless hours of practice that only one of the two had attended. Tolkien took off like a shot, his long legs eating up the distance. He pushed through the first curve with smooth, even strides, his eyes fixed on the track ahead. His determination was palpable, driving him to push ahead.
His eyes flicked to the runners behind him, gauging their distance. The rival teams were close, their presence a constant pressure, but Tolkien thrived on it. It pushed him to dig deeper, to find that extra burst of speed.
The runners taking the third lap were called forward to take their positions, despite not intending to, Kyle looked back at you to see you already staring at the back of his head. "You'll do good," You would deny that you ever said it but in that moment it was what he needed to hear. You let the words simmer between the two of you only for a second before everyone began to inch forward into their new positions.
"You'll do great," His mouth drew into a thin line, curving upwards so slightly that you would've missed it had he jogged his way to the handoff zone a second sooner.
You look to the boy now standing alone a few feet away from you, the lanky pale kid that was allegedly faster than Adam. Your mind recovered the memories of every coach and PE teacher you had ever come across telling you that running was a mental game; they meant you needed to train your mind so you could push past your current physical capabilities and achieve new levels of success, something like that. Though you had something else in mind entirely "My grandma just died."
The lanky boy who stood behind Hudson minutes ago looked around to be sure you were talking to him "I'm sorry?"
"Yeah," You let out a long sigh "She was doing well until she tried to crawl over the patio of her retirement home to buy Fireball at the liquor store across the street."
"That sucks, did she hit her head or something?"
"No, she made it over the railing but tripped and broke her hip so she got sent to the hospital without Fireball."
"Oh, I'm-
"And then she got better and was sent back to her retirement home and snuck out again, she made it across the street but they were out of Fireball so she had to buy Jägermeister."
"Jägermeister's good too," He said sheepishly.
"That's what grandma thought before she got hit by a truck crossing the street to get back to her retirement home," You shook your head, feigning melancholy.
"That's unfortunate."
"No, it's not," You say "She survived getting hit by the truck but it happened to be transporting cashews and grandma's deathly allergic to tree nuts."
He pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slowly "My dad's allergic to peanuts, that's sad for her."
"Luckily she had her Epi-pen on her and a bystander was able to bring her back from anaphylactic shock."
"Oh?"
"She died a year later from liver failure, she's a terrible drunk, and takes her wig off when she gets tipsy."
"Sorry for your loss-
"Grandma said all she wanted me to achieve in life was to win the 4x400 relay at the Kettle Valley junior track meet," You mustered up your best guilt-tripping look, you weren't sure whether it was working or not but you hoped that your broken nose added sympathy points. Running is a mental game after all.
His eyebrows furrowed "No she did not."
As Tolkien rounded the curve and entered the back straight, he lengthened his stride, his legs a blur of motion. His arms pumped rhythmically at his sides, each swing helping to propel him forward. The strain was building in his muscles, a familiar burn that he welcomed. It meant he was pushing his limits, giving everything he had until he flew past a boy from Northridge leaving two more runners roughly five metres ahead.
The next handoff zone loomed ahead, and Tolkien locked eyes with Kyle, who was already in motion. The coordination had to be perfect. He could see Kyle's hand extended back, ready to receive the baton. Tolkien's focus sharpened, his entire being centred on making a flawless pass.
Kyle felt a surge of adrenaline as Tolkien approached the handoff zone. He began his run, matching his steps to Tolkien's pace, his hand outstretched and steady. The baton was placed firmly into his grip, and without missing a beat, Kyle accelerated down the track. The smooth handoff gave him confidence, and he launched into his leg of the relay with a new determination. As he passed he couldn't help but steal a glance as you stuck up your middle finger to the tall boy beside you who moved on to say he didn't believe your grandma was dead.
"Stop talking shit about my grandma."
"She's not dead," He said bluntly.
"How would you know? Mabel was really sick in the last year of her life."
"Maybe some of that sickness passed to you." He shrugged.
You glared at him "Alright, Slim Jim, I'm gonna kick your ass and then shove peanuts down your dad's throat and make you retrieve his Epi-pen through a saw trap."
"Jesus," He uttered.
While the runners were nearing the midpoint of the track the anchor runners were directed to the final handoff zone. Kyle swung his legs faster than he thought was possible, he was used to endurance running, not the panicky surge of sprints and the anxious feeling of the other teams pulling ahead any moment.
The two ahead were a girl from Summit in a deep blue colour and Hudson, the boy he recognized only as the one who had asked for your number. The one who would be getting your number if he won and that was something that irked Kyle to the point he quickened his strides, chasing down the Cedar Valley boy.
In mere seconds he passed the girl from Summit who was quickly swallowed by another runner and Kyle was feet away from closing the gap with Hudson, His long legs were being put to use. His steady steps pounded in rhythm with the beat of his heart.
Kyle ignored the way his body ached like someone had set in on fire, he kept his mind focused on pulling past Hudson and his smug crooked grin. He thought the muscles flexing in his calves were ready to give out at any second until he said you at the handoff, eyes steady and unmoving on his panting figure. He glanced to the side at Hudson who was paralleled to him, their strides almost fell in complete sync, each time either sped up so did the other leaving them completely levelled.
With a nod of your head, Kyle extended the baton forward, his grip firm but ready to release. Your hand met his with perfect timing, and the baton passed smoothly. Kyle felt the slight resistance of the transfer before letting go, ensuring it was secure before he released it.
His part in the race complete, Kyle slowed his pace, his chest heaving with exertion. He turned to watch you take off, his heart swelling in anticipation. The handoff had been perfect, and now it was up to you to bring them home as he and Hudson had reached the handoff at the same time. Kyle jogged off the track, joining Red and Tolkien on the grassy sidelines of the track.
They were all breathless but exhilarated, their eyes fixed on you. Kyle had no doubt in his mind that you would break the tie and take the lead.
Your powerful strides ate up the track as you took the baton and surged forward. Every muscle in your body hummed with exertion, the focus was entirely on you and you had no intentions of losing to the lanky boy struggling to match your pace.
Kyle watched as you navigated the back straight, your form perfect and pace relentless. The crowd's noise seemed to swell, a thunderous backdrop to the subtle drama unfolding on the track. Kyle's eyes were locked on you, every step pushing you forward seemed like it didn't phase you though your shaky breath displayed otherwise.
The final curve approached, and you leaned into it, your speed undiminished and ever-consistent. Kyle could see the strain on your face, the sheer effort it took to maintain such a blistering pace. But there stood the overwhelming urge to win, the finish line was in sight, and you were giving it everything you had.
With the home stretch before you, your strides lengthened, arms swinging with renewed vigour. The other teams were close, but you had a slight edge with the Cedar Valley boy beginning to pass you. Every muscle strained as you forced yourself to push further, moving so fast you felt like you had broken a record.
The tall boy from Cedar Valley was watching you take the final stride across the finish line, barely passing him but still you did so despite catching the turf with the toe of your runner and tumbling, colliding with the track. Your skin burned with bare friction against the turf as you slid, you had made sure to protect your already broken nose, not bothering to rescue your limbs which were previously fine. It may have not been the mightiest of victories but it was still a victory nonetheless.
You dragged yourself off the ground before anyone could reach you, the skin from your knees and elbows had been scraped a violent shade of red, so raw that spectators visibly watched droplets of blood emerge and pool over the shallow wound. Disregarding the newfound injury, you threw the baton on the ground, sticking the middle finger up to the lanky Cedar Valley boy and then to Hudson "Fuck you!" You smiled brightly. “My grandmas been dead for five years!”
"Yeah, fuck you, her grandmas dead as hell,” Red matched your gesture to the opposing school "Why are we doing this?"
"That's enough," the woman from earlier with the clipboard approached you and the pair of you were quick to drop your hands to your side. Wordlessly she handed blue ribbons to each of you, you slipped yours onto the the safety pin tasked to carry your other ribbons from the day and dangled it in front of Tolkien's face.
Kyle hangs back and watches you drink in the win, unmoved by the stinging of the scrape of the blood dribbling down your shins like juice from a cherry.
The turf burn hurt far worse when the adrenaline wore off. Sally had misplaced her bag and in doing so held up the bus from departure, a little group of volunteers helped her look for it, a group which you had happily opted out from in exchange for a few extra beats of sleep on the bus.
You balled your hoodie into a makeshift pillow and wedged it between your head and the window of the bus. It didn't take long for you to succumb to sleep despite the sun still shining brightly. Between the pain medication you had taken for your nose and the absurd amount of cardio you had performed that day, you were beyond thrilled to put your headphones in and close your eyes until sleep washed you over.
"Found it," Sally chuckled awkwardly, holding up her lavender duffle bag as she scuttled onto the already overfilled bus. The little search and rescue group piled onto the bus, shoving themselves into seats though Kyle paused next to the driver's seat. "Are we allowed this many people on a bus?"
"Yuh," Dawsey smacks his lips together "Legally we are allowed seventy-two kids on a school bus."
"Kids?" He asks "Like children?"
"Yuh, that's right."
"We're almost adults."
"No, you're good, sit down."
"It's obscenely crowded in here," His nose wrinkles as hazel eyes rake over the rows of sweaty teenagers.
"For god's sake boy, sit down or we're leaving ya' here," Coach yanks off his baseball cap to use it as a fan for his sweaty face.
Kyle shuffles through the aisle scanning for an open seat. The first he spotted was next to Emily Marx and the second was next to you. He tried to be quick about the decision, I mean you were asleep and Emily talked too much. It wasn't that he preferred either company in particular, he just preferred the silence and landed himself next to you.
"Anyone missing?" Coach called back, he took the stillness as a no and geared up for the ride. He wasn't the best driver, there were times when Kyle thought he was so upset about Adam's injury that he wanted to drive the remainder of the team off the freeway as revenge for the tragedy.
As usual, Kyle put his headphones on, ignoring the buzz of chatter from the rest of the team. it was quieter than usual as everyone was so beat, aside from the speed walkers. He was sure you wouldn't be the only one to fall asleep on the hour-long drive.
The bus rumbled down the highway, the soft hum of the engine blending with the muffled conversations of the other passengers. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the windows, creating patterns of light and shadow on the seats. In the middle of the bus, Kyle reclined into the leather chair while you sunk against the window. His headphones securely in place, the world outside a blur as it whizzed past.
His body was pleasantly tired from the day's exertions, the kind of fatigue that comes from giving your all in competition and having blue ribbons to show for it. His playlist was a mix of his favourite tracks mixed in with some of the pop-punk stuff he begrudgingly listened to as per Stan's request, the music providing a not-so-soothing backdrop to his thoughts.
He replayed the events of the track meet in his mind, the adrenaline of his race still lingering. His muscles ached, but it was a satisfying ache that mingled with the thoughts of smiles lingering a moment too long.
The bus hit a small bump, jostling him slightly, but he didn't mind. Kyle opened his eyes and glanced around at his teammates. Some were chatting animatedly, still riding the high of their performances. Others, like him, were lost in their own worlds, headphones in, gazing out the windows or dozing off. Coaches sharp turn failed to wake you, only shifting you until you had slumped against him, head uncomfortably digging into his bicep though Kyle didn't dare wake you or shrug you off him.
He had known you too long to be so childish to make a spectacle over it. Not to mention he made the executive decision to sit next to you.
Still and unwavering Kyle looked at your lulled figure, he couldn't tear his mind away from how serene you looked when you weren't tense with defensiveness and challenge or lying about your grandmother. Then he wondered what you dreamed of that had you looking like you were drifting into eternal bliss.
You had the occasional sniffling, little twitches and spasms in your face from what he presumed to be caused by the broken bone in the centre of your face as well as the abundance of padding to keep it in place. In his pocket, Kyles phone abruptly buzzes.
Unknown Number: Heyyy :)
Kyle: ?
Unknown Number: Oh it's Alyssa lol
Unknown Number: From the concession stand
Kyle: How did you get my number?
Unknown Number: ur friend with the broken nose gave it to me
Kyle: oh cool
Unknown Number: Do you wanna go out in the summer sometime?
His eyes shift from the blue light radiating off the screen of his phone and then to you and you and scraps over your knees, the bandage over your nose, and the half-drunken Powerade he had bought you tucked beneath your arm despite your endless murmuring to Red that you would sooner eat a pack of cigarettes before ingesting anything Kyle bought for you.
Kyle: No, sorry
Kyle: I’ll be pretty busy this summer
Unknown Number: Oh
Unknown Number: that sucks
Unknown Number: I thought we hit it off
Kyle: Sorry
A/N: sorry for lack of updates, I’ve been on vacation. Got home from Greece at three am last night! Missed you guys lol
#kyle broflovski#south park#kyle south park#south park x reader#south park x y/n#kyle broflovski x reader#tolkien black#token black#tolkien south park#south park hcs#south park headcanons#south park kyle#kyle brovlofski#red mcarthur#red south park
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Ginger Radio Hour #045
Show Notes August 1, 2023
Listen to archived episode.
Theme: A painting playlist.
Brian Knauer has been painting his entire life, concentrating on oil painting since 1995. He's a tremendous artist and also my friend. He recently moved his primary studio from Brooklyn to the Catskills. Our conversation weaves around his daily painting practice and listen to a playlist of tracks he blasts while he works in his studio.
Playlist:
Tom Waits "(Intro) Emotional Weather Report" Album: Nighthawks At The Diner 1975
David Bowie "Something in the Air" Album: Hours... 1999
The Clash "Car Jamming" Album: Combat Rock 1982
LCD Soundsystem "change yr mind" Album: american dream 2017
Echo And The Bunnymen "The Cutter" Album: Porcupine 1983
The Cranberries "Loud And Clear" Album: Bury The Hatchet 1999
Sex Pistols “No Feelings” Album: Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols... 1977
Tom Waits "Spare Parts II And Closing" Album: Nighthawks At The Diner 1975
#ginger radio hour#community radio#wgxc#painting#oil painting#music#art#catskills#hudson valley#inspiration
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CRIMSON.
JOHN SEED X FEMALE DEPUTY
Sort of a dump, I was really debating on just publishing this as a WIP but I was halfway through the smut and decided to just finish it. Not my best, but I tried to go for a more canon accurate John, which means he’s a major freak in this sorry :/
I mentioned it in the fic but didn’t go too deep, I kinda love toying with the idea of a more selfish deputy - humanizing them. If I were to ever write a longer fic with more of an oc-ized version of the deputy would anyone read? Let me know.
I probably won’t post about John Seed or FC5 for a little while after this. I have ideas for a Black Noir (my bbg) fic and then a Father Paul Hill one from Midnight Mass cause I love religious trauma as y’all can tell. I do also like indoctrinated!deputy so maybe maybe eventually I write about that.
2.7k words
content warnings: mentions of cutting into flesh. smut — dubcon, choking, blood play (John being a freak sorry), dryhumping, oral (m receiving), fingering, debauchery in a house of God.
She should’ve known from the start, when the crackle of her radio sounded, interjecting her music with his voice; that this request was nothing but trouble. But rage had blinded her, wrath seeped into every pore in her body, selfishness.
It was never the Deputy’s plan to become the symbol for the resistance, even after the blades of the helicopter stopped, and smoke and fire billowed out from the engine. Even after Dutch saved her and enlisted her help, and despite the stories from countless other resistance members, she only really had one prerogative; save her friends.
Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse. Trapped in the claws of the cult, it was her duty to get them back, and despite the help she had been giving to the resistance, those were the only three people she cared about.
He knew this, stalking her like a cat preparing to pounce, he watched every facet of her life from the moment she ventured into Holland Valley that he could. A selfish little thing, ripe for his obsession.
John Seed was a proud man, bold and brave as he had so eloquently begged Jacob to put in his song. His pedestal as a Herald inflated his ego, the knowledge that without him Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have prospered nearly as much fueled his narcissism, which is why he surrounded himself with only the peggies who would do anything for him.
He isn’t sure whether new members are supposed to pledge their lives to him and the cult, but it sounds so sweet when the floor pools with the blood of their atonement and he coaxes those little words from his new followers' lips. His tongue is coated in silver, he loves this new power, and she threatens to take that from him.
He knew she wouldn’t be as proactive if he crooned to her that he had a resistance member or two, and she would swing in guns blazing if he claimed to have Hudson right beside him. So, instead he played on her curiosity, that little nudge in the back of her mind that forced her to seek him out whenever he called. Like a moth to a flame.
“Fuck you, Seed!” Voice so filled with venom it might’ve burned a hole in the floor, he tilted his head at her profanity, a sadistic grin playing on his face.
Hope County was filled with little white churches, chapels with steeples that attempted to reach to the heavens above. She assumed they were much more lively before, now most were barren except on Sundays, when the peggies who could not fit onto Joseph’s compound would listen to him under random roofs of God.
This. He chose to be under the white ceiling specifically, to call her into the thing she had been fighting against. To hear her screams echo against the chipped painting that decorated the walls, for her blood to be stained on the old wooden floorboards.
Curiosity killed the cat. She was stupid enough to venture into his trap, falling to the ground when hit hard enough over the head, and now she was stupid enough to attempt to fight off the peggies that held either arm.
“Such profanity. You’re in a house of God, Deputy, mind your tongue.” He scolded her as if she was a misbehaving child, as if everything she had ever done could be chalked up to that. A spoiled rotten brat.
His fingers danced over the tools he had brought with him, his trusty tattoo gun being at the top, but an assortment of knives he also deemed fit for this occasion. Oh, the blood she would spill for him, he became giddy at the thought.
“Get off of me-! Woah woah woah- hey stop!” Yelping, she still attempted to fight off the peggies that held her arms, she shied away when he advanced toward her, tattoo gun in his hands. He had tried this before, she knew what he was doing.
“No one here to help you now, Wrath. Don’t try and fight, your atonement will hurt much less if you cooperate.” He was too calm for this situation, a practiced art he had been through hundreds of times. It was a skill, making people spill their most intimate secrets, a skill he had perfected.
The Deputy was a fighter, through and through, though John could understand Jacobs words. She was weak without her companions, without pastor Jerome stealing her from her atonement, or Nick Rye strafing his armed convoy, she was nothing now - and it was almost endearing to him.
With her hands bound, she resorted to spitting that same venom that she held in her words, marking his perfect face with her saliva. He grimaced, wiping it off his cheek before it trailed down to his beard, pretty blue eyes flashing with that same bloodlust that dictated his every waking moment.
It was shocking to even the peggies that held her when he grabbed her by her throat, pinning her to the ground and straddling her hips. His hands shook with anger - the same wrath that he deemed consumed her now making an appearance in himself. Two sides of the same coin, two heads of a snake.
Her head ached now, body feeling as though it was echoing. A second blow to the back of her head that surely would’ve knocked her out if the pain of his tattoo gun wasn’t keeping her grounded. She didn’t know how fast he had ripped her shirt, or how long it would take for him to carve her skin, but she was reduced to pained whines and pleas for him to stop.
And he relished in the noises she made. The blood that covered his hands and trickled down her chest wasn’t an unusual sight for the herald - but her being the one under him made it all the more exciting. His Deputy, his wrath, his perfect rival. The peggies that stood above him now didn’t matter, and what are they to him anyways? Expendable followers he could use, the Deputy was everything.
“Yes yes, c’mon, keep pleading…” How could he help it? Her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him, hands no longer bound by the peggies now loosely grabbing the wrist that held the tattoo gun in an attempt to stop him. She looked so pathetic under him, so why shouldn’t he grind himself against her when his pants were so uncomfortably tight?
Her words didn’t quite reach his ears, not as he waved his followers out - who hurriedly scrambled in embarrassment. The old church was silent, save for her soft sobs and his intense breathing. His hand still placed over her neck made her choke on her words, which only fueled his desire. He could crush her windpipe, her life rested in his hands, and maybe he would’ve if the nagging reminder that she was the only way he was getting into New Eden wasn’t playing in the back of his head.
His ticket, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.
He removed his hand from her neck as he finished carving into her pretty skin. WRATH, her own personal scarlet letters. He hummed, looking down at her with lustful eyes, fluttering between hers and the blood that pooled on her chest and trickled down her body to the wooden floor below.
She hated the feeling that bubbled in her chest as the pain subsided, now only a dull ache danced with the look he gave her, how he rubbed the tent made in his pants against her. No doubt, a mark had been left on her neck - his handprint, a reminder. The world felt silent at this moment, when she should've pushed him off.
Selfishness. Prioritizing that small ache he gave her over what she should be doing. Finding anything to act as a weapon against him.
But she didn’t, not as his head lowered and she was greeted with his perfectly slicked back hair, shaking hands reaching to play with a strand. A soft grumble came from his throat, tongue lapping at the blood that trickled down the valley of her chest, tasting what he had drawn out of her.
“What are you doing-?” Her voice was soft, he barely heard it over the ringing in his ears. Too long had he been subjected to resorting to his hand when he thought about her, or messing up his silk pillowcases with his pretty ropes when she teased him over the radio. He had her under him, he wasn’t going to let her go now.
“Shh.” His voice was more scolding then he meant it to be, his tongue traveling from the blood he lapped at down to her budding nipple. He wasn’t gentle, and why should he be? After everything she had messed up for him, he felt it justified to bite down on her pretty flesh, pulling at the bud as much as he wanted.
He relished in the pretty, pained moans that fell from her lips, how her back arched into it. Two sides of the same coin, both reveling in whatever pain was brought to them.
The Deputy’s head tilted back, allowing him a chance to latch onto her neck as a vampire would, smearing the blood on his lips all over her pretty skin. He bit, marking her with his teeth over the forming bruises from his handprint. His hands, decorated in the crimson from his hold on the tattoo gun traveled down her body, painting her in her own red.
He slipped his hand below the rough fabric of her jeans, being met with a contrast, soft and delicate and slightly damp. A soft grumble left his lips at the feeling; which were still pressed against her pretty neck. He felt the way her breath hitched as he ran digits over her most delicate areas. Being so close to her neck, he felt how her muscles tightened and how her breath hitched in her throat.
Lifting her hips to meet his tattooed fingers, a small admission of need. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the noises that tempted to fall from her lips - not wanting to give him the satisfaction. They were still enemies, still rivals, at least to her.
John on the other hand seemed to be on cloud nine, relishing in how she moved against his hand, grinding herself through the fabric of her underwear. He bit down once more, slipping her out of her jeans and grabbing her hips, sitting up and pressing his pelvis against hers.
“John- John cmon…” Head thrown back, panting as she grabbed at the blue silk of his top. He tilted his head down at her, a sadistic smirk playing on his features.
He always took what he wanted, no matter who it was, and the Deputy was no exception to this. To him, it was God's Grace that placed them both here, that gave him the opportunity to rut his hips against hers.
The bulge in his covered jeans met her underwear, fucking himself against her covered cunt. He leaned down overtop of her, panting against her ear. Hot breath on her neck, the sounds of his soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths, and of course his restricted cock grazing just over her clit every couple of thrusts, it was enough to make any girl's eyes roll back.
He stopped, only for a moment, but long enough for her to let out a needy whine, lifting her head to see what he was doing. Tattooed fingers worked the EG belt off, letting his pants pool at his ankles. He wasted no time once they were off, underwear meeting underwear as the outline of his dick was much more pronounced.
“Fuck fuck, put your head back. Fucking-… good girl.” He groaned out, one hand leaving her hips and grabbing at her pretty hair, pulling her head back against the cold wooden floor of the church. She ached, head pounding and echoing from the injuries earlier - but the feeling of him fucking himself against her needy cunt kept her grounded.
In this moment, she needed him, needed this feeling to not pass out.
He tilted his own head back, sweat casting a slick sheen over his skin. A hand dipped against the drying blood on her chest, gathering what he could over his fingertips before bringing them to his lips, sucking on the bloodied digits. He groaned around his fingers, muffling the moans that threatened to fall.
The head of his cock strained against the blue fabric of his boxers, hips thrusting sloppily against her as his hand tightened on her hips, leaving pretty marks in his wake. One thrust, another thrust, and finally another before white pooled at the head, spurting out of the tiny holes in his underwear.
Panting, he finally moved his fingers out of his mouth, cleaned off the blood and tilted his head down at her almost mockingly; he got to finish, the cum that leaked from his underwear dripping down onto hers, and she didn’t get to. He relished in that, that power he had over her.
“H-hey! Not fair!”
“Oh, Deputy. Come here, maybe I’ll let you get off.”
He grinned as he stood up, fixing himself before moving back onto one of the pews, watching her scramble over to him. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand as she kneeled in front of him. Her head pounded harder, eyes a little woozy.
“Poor baby, rest your head, sweetheart.” He teased, a sadistic grin on his face as she nodded and rested against his thigh, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He couldn’t help himself, not if she looked so pretty right there in his grasp.
He tangled his fingers in her hair, watching her confused expression as he moved the blue fabric off of his legs, dick springing up as it was freed from the confinement of his underwear. Guiding her head over it, watching her part her pretty lips to suck on his leaking tip.
Milking his cock, swallowing the spurts of salty seed that spilled onto her tongue. She drained him for all he’s worth, looking up at him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was soft and gentle in this moment, noises falling from his lips that told her how good she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be sucking off John Seed of all people.
He grinned as he watched her, once he was satisfied with the way she suckled on him, he grabbed her chin and pulled her off of him. Guiding her up to her feet, he let her loom over him. She wasn’t intimidating like this, he didn’t know if it was because he had just fucked her over their clothes or because she was relying on him for an orgasm, but she seemed almost adorable.
His lips found her neck once more as she leaned against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He forced her to stand, to spread her legs to allow his fingers to feel the now wet fabric of her panties. He hummed in satisfaction, moving them aside and tracing a finger over her slick folds.
A soft gasp left her lips, grabbing onto his shoulder and attempting to move back to look him in the eye. He grumbled, forcing her in that same position as he bit down on her neck, pushing a finger inside of her at the same time. He loved the moans that fell from her lips as he pumped a digit deeper inside of her.
Another finger stretched her out, deep enough to hit those nerves that made her legs tremble. She whined, shaking against him and propping herself up as he continued to pump in and out of her. He pulled away from her neck for only a moment, watching the way she buried her face against him and laughing softly.
He added one more finger before her legs fully began to tremble, grabbing onto his shoulder. Pumping more, fully reaching those nerves, which caused her to spasm around him, her orgasm flooding around his fingers. She rocked against him once or twice, chasing her high.
“Look at you, Deputy, needing me. Did I make you feel good? Use your words.”
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Our new EP "Somewhere On This Timeline" comes out May 26th!
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Featuring Nesta Archeron as the beautiful, but witchy leading lady and Eris Vanserra as the tall, quirky investigator.
Chapter 1 of 6
In the bosom of a spacious cove, which indented the eastern shore of the Hudson, lay a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but it is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there was a little valley, or rather lap of land, amongst high hills. It was one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glided through it, with just a murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, was almost the only sounds that ever broke in upon the uniform tranquillity.
Along one side of the valley was a grove of tall walnut-trees. If one ever wished for a retreat, to steal from the world and its distractions or to dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, no land was more promising than the little value. From its listless repose and the peculiar nature of its inhabitants, the sequestered glen was long known by the name of Sleepy Hollow.
A drowsy, dreamy influence seemed to hang over the land and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say the land was bewitched by an ancient settler. The place held a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie.
Others held the view that the land was cursed.
It was on the first Monday of the tenth month that Eris Crane was called upon to attend matters in Sleepy Hollow from the constabulary department of New York City. Three murders, most vile, had occurred. A father, a son, and a widow, all murdered. Such crimes occurred regularly, as was the state of the world, but three murders within a week in the small glen of Sleepy Hollow was unheard of.
Eris turned the missive over in his hands as the carriage rattled over uneven stones.
Three bodies. Decapitation. No blood loss. Heads not recovered.
The decapitation did not move him, however the missing heads did. A lack of blood loss did not marry together with arterial bleeding either.
Eris Crane would solve this mystery, for all unexplained situations were merely waiting to be unravelled.
When his carriage stopped, the dark had settled into the peaceful village. A chill was in the air of Sleepy Hollow. Tendrils of mist stroked the hard earth as he pressed a coin into the hand of the driver then proceeded towards the home of the town’s lord and lady – Rhysand and Feyre Van Tassel.
A party was being had. Lights lit up all of the downstairs windows and music seeped towards him. Eris was not a man who revelled. The arts were a waste of an education. He would make his greetings then depart to his room using the excuse of a long day of travel to escape.
A circle had formed where a young woman was blindfolded. A tall, strapping male with an arrogant gloat about him held her by the shoulders to spin her five times before releasing her into the centre with a low laugh.
‘The pickety witch,’ she said. ‘The pickety witch. Who’s got a kiss for the pickety witch?’
As she spoke, she made lunges for people who dodged her with a giggle. Eris, whom the game was unknown to, remained rooted to the floor as she grasped his waistcoat.
‘Aha. Who do I have?’
Her cold, delicate hands roved over his face while the circle fell silent. Even with the blindfold on, Eris could make out the scrunch of her forehead.
A child cried, ‘A kiss! A kiss!’
‘She has to guess first,’ replies a woman, with pleated curls and dark eyes.
Reverently, the woman caresses his face one more time. It was most unusual for Eris who had not been touched with any sort of warmth since the day he entered an orphanage in the heart of the city.
‘Is it Azriel?’
Laughter ripples about the circle.
‘Pardon, ma’am. I am only a stranger,’ replied Eris.
‘Then have a kiss on account.’
She cupped his face again then tipped up onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. When the woman released him, she peeled away the blindfold. She was the most beautiful woman Eris had ever seen. Her eyes swirled with a silver glow. Her fair hair reminded him of the luminescence of the moon. It was braided neatly into a coronet to highlight the elegant angles of her face. His eyes traced her skin, followed the downward curve of her neck towards-
Eris swallowed and tore his eyes away from the pale blue gown and ample chest.
She did not smile or laugh as the others did, but regarded Eris as one might an opponent.
‘I am searching for Rhysand Van Tassel.’
‘I am his wife’s sister, Nesta Van Tassel. Upon their marriage, he took our family name.’
‘Most unusual,’ Eris concluded.
‘Quite,’ she agreed.
The male who had spun Nesta stepped forwards. A hand settled on her waist. ‘And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.’
‘I have not said it.’
‘You need some manners.’
Nesta removed the hand from her waist. ‘Enough, Cassian.’
She escorted him through the party-goers to her brother. Where Eris had been expecting a man of stout figure who had indulged himself through many years of gluttony, he found a slim – remarkably young – Lord of Sleepy Hollow. Dark hair was slicked back and matched the sable clothing he wore. Beside him, drinking a glass of wine and speaking to others was his wife, Eris could deduce due to the exceptional resemblance to her sister.
‘Lord and Lady Van Tassel.’
‘Even if you are selling something, you are most welcome here.’
Eris straightened his tie and stood a little taller. ‘I am constable Eris Crane sent to you from New York with the authority to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow.’
A silence fell across the room.
‘Thank God you’re here to arrest the culprit,’ Cassian called which was met with a smattering of laughter.
‘What good will a constable do?’ Another voice asked.
‘I am quite certain this case will be unravelled,’ he replied, directing his attention to the Lord and Lady of Sleepy Hollow. ‘I daresay the day of travel has been ill and I should prefer to retire rather than enjoy the festivities.’
‘I shall see Constable Crane to his rooms,’ Nesta swiftly said, cutting in before the others.
The house had a second floor followed by a conversion of the attic into a living quarter for receiving guests. Nesta swept through the room to ensure all was up to standards whilst her lips remained pursed together. She stared from the window towards the mist-covered forests that encompassed the village, bar the single road, then promptly drew the curtains closed.
‘Miss Van Tassel,’ Eris said, halting her before her departure. ‘If I may confirm details with you: Three persons murdered. Atwell Van Garrett and his son, Tamlin Van Garrett, both of them strong, capable men. They were found together. Decapitated. A week later, the Widow Briar. Their heads were unable to be located.’
Nesta’s grey eyes sought the closed curtains again then flitted back to his, a wariness settling in. ‘Their heads were not found because their heads were taken, Mister Crane.’
‘Taken?’
‘Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to Hell.’
Surely a woman of sound mind and education would not be taken in by ghost stories.
‘There is a scientific explanation for everything, Miss Van Tassel.’
Nesta squared her shoulders. ‘I assure you that in any other regard I would agree with your sentiments. But not in this. The Headless Horseman is real.’
There had been laughter when Eris had spoken of apprehending the suspect.
‘Indulge me,’ he said.
‘The Horseman was a mercenary, sent to our shores during the war. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came... for love of carnage... and he was not like the others...’ She shook her head. ‘His name was Jurian. He rode a giant black steed. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle... chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points to add to the ferocity of his appearance.’
She told the story in such a way that Eris could not stop himself from being lured in by her voice. It was a siren’s call. He forced his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching for her.
‘This butcher would not finally meet his end till the winter of seventy-nine not far from here in our Western Woods. He had lured a general, Clythia, into his tent and tore her to pieces. He paraded her head through an enemy encampment then they captured him. They cut off Jurian’s head with his own sword, Clythia’s sister among them. To this day, the Western Woods is still a haunted place where none will dare venture for what was planted there was a seed of evil.’ Nesta spread out her hands. ‘And so it has been for twenty years. But now Jurian wakes -- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.’
If it were not for the austerity in her voice, Eris might have scoffed at the tale.
‘Miss Van Tassel, you cannot believe in such stories.’
‘It is no story,’ she vowed.
Eris shook his head. ‘We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.’
‘You are a long way from New York, sir,’ she said, sweeping her head into a bow.
‘I shall discover the motive of the murders, Miss Van Tassel. This mystery will not resist investigation by a rational man.’
Eris moved to lean against the table, in a display of casualness, but the table wobbled on its uneven legs. The empty glass she had placed there for him juddered onto its side and rolled off the table. He winced as it fell, but – mercifully – it did not shatter.
‘You may be as rational as you like. The Reverend Helion will even press a Bible into your hands so that God may be the salvation in this horror. I speak of what I have heard from the lips of those who have seen. Those whose word I trust.’
‘Then, pray, tell me what others have seen.’
‘Rhysand has set a watch since the first murders. Cassian circles the village night after night on duty. He saw the Horseman galloping away on the night the Widow Briar was found murdered.’
‘I had believed you to be a rational woman rather than one in league with the brute from downstairs.’
Nesta stepped back, appraising him with a scowl. ‘You cast a judgement on the first night of our meeting.’
Bashfully, Eris dipped his head. ‘Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-’
‘Female company?’
Blood burned in his cheeks. ‘Society.’
‘How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera - and theatres - to go dancing... Is it wonderful?’
‘I have never been.’
‘But there is an art museum? A concert hall?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gave a disappointed sigh. ‘Then you have nothing to teach me.’
At once, Eris wanted to take back his words. Or to offer Nesta the opportunity to visit museums and concert halls where they could dance. He would learn for her.
‘Nesta, you cannot truly believe it is the Horseman.’
‘Not everyone does believe.’
‘Good,’ he replied, relief flooding him.
‘Some say it is the witch of the woods who made a pact with Lucifer.’
Eris closed his eyes as he sucked in a breath. ‘There are no witches or galloping ghosts. Is everyone in this village in thrall with superstition?’
‘Why are you so frightened of magic, Eris? Not all of it is wicked. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.’
‘If they are truths, they are not magic – and if magic, not truth.’
She threw up her hands, anger brimming in her gaze. ‘You are foolish. When there is fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow's foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire then the fever abates.’
‘Next time, try the herb without the rest. And now I must ask you to leave.’
‘Gladly,’ Nesta replied. ‘I should not have interrupted our town’s saviour from his contemplation. Goodnight. And as for the brute you mentioned, he has proposed to me.’
How could it be? Although Eris did not know the pair, they were already at odds in his mind. She was fair and lovely to look upon. He was big and burly with a rough tongue and rougher hands.
‘I, I, I,’ he stuttered. ‘I am happy that…’
‘He proposed to me several times.’
She gave a faint smile after her ambiguous words then departed with a slam of the door.
#neris#nesta archeron#eris vanserra#acotar fic#did i re-write the entire 133 page script of sleepy hollow#you bet your ass i did#imagine an incredibly stressful moment like moving into a brand new house and trying to finish it#whilst working full time#and thinking yeah i can re-write a script AND write 2 more scripts and book#normal behaviour from me when
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Listed: Amy Rigby
Photo by Bert Eke
The singer-songwriter Amy Rigby got her start in the late 1980s and early 1990s in spry, New York-based country throwback groups Last Roundup and The Shams. Starting with 1996’s Diary of a Mod Housewife, Rigby has steadily released solo work that can break your heart with the contagious ache in her dry, distinctive voice or make you laugh out loud at the concussive put-downs she doles out. Rigby has a particular knack for turning the quotidian mythic and reminding us that the mythologized are ultimately just some guys. The music has remained rooted in country, but not confined by it. Hers is a guitar-forward style that can incorporate the bright highs of acoustic pop rock, crunchy roadhouse grooves, R&B, and even jazz. Alex Johnson, in his review of Rigby’s most recent release, Hang In There With Me, called the album “tough, witty rock and roll…[that] catalogs a lifetime of drags, uncertainties and disasters, but returns, again and again, to the people, moments and experiences that make it worthwhile, or bearable enough.”
Here are some things that Rigby has been listening to lately.
Warmduscher — “Eight Minute Machines”
Discovered via an online review of their Brooklyn show last year, one that made me want so badly to be sweating in a crowd with this band onstage.
Amelia White — “Get To The Show”
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One of my Nashville pals and I love this track from her latest album. Amelia is always out working and rocking, written with the great Gwil Owen… Sometimes I really do miss Nashville!
Daniel Romano — “Impossible Green”
You know when you discover an artist and think wow, this kid’ll go far, then realize they’ve been at it for years, made tons of records, play all the instruments, write, sing and tour their ass off? That’s how it is for me with Daniel Romano. This track comes from his 2017 album Modern Pressure.
Gina Birch — I Play My Bass Loud
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Gina’s debut solo album came out just a year ago — I’ve been a fan since hearing the Raincoats in the late 1970s and getting to see them live when they came to NYC back then. She’s one of my heroines for being an artist and uniquely herself in whatever it is she does — music, video, painting. The bass and her opening line: “Sometimes I wake up, and I wonder — what is my job?” Pure Gina/genius!
Wreckless Eric — Inside The Majestic
He’s my husband and labelmate so what the hell — this is from his most recent album Leisureland. People know Eric for his voice and lyrics and guitar, but this is an instrumental track that’s just glorious. I want to see the movie it soundtracks, or at very least a choreographed dance routine with Eric at the piano in a tuxedo.
Michele Stodardt — “These Bones”
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A big attraction for me with the Magic Numbers was Michele Stodart’s bass playing and cool vocal contributions, love hearing and seeing her do her solo thing.
Meshell Ndgeocello — The Omnichord Real Book
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For the last dozen years, I was bartending/selling books at a small shop in New York’s Hudson Valley. The first time Meshell came in I was tongue-tied, knowing her as a bass playing legend and poet, and thought if she lives here, it’s kind of the center of the universe, right? I really hope to see her play live sometime.
TBHQ — “Planet of Pain” from TBHQ
A radio host on a show I guested on was playing this great track when I walked in. “I really like that,” I thought, and then realized it was my daughter Hazel Rigby who records under the name TBHQ. She’s been performing and recording for years, often instrumental/noise but her voice and lyrics are so wise and honest.
Dory Previn — “The Comedian”
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There’s never been anyone like Dory Previn, the pain and ridiculousness of being a human so acutely depicted in song. There’s a new documentary about her, On My Way To Where, by my friend Julia Greenberg with animated segments by Emily Hubley, just making its debut out there. She had a fascinating, fruitful, difficult beautifully productive life and I can’t wait to learn more about her.
Mary Timony — “Dominoes” from Untame The Tiger
Love everything about Mary Timony’s latest solo album Untame the Tiger — the songs, the guitar playing, her voice, the cover!
Swamp Dogg — “Synthetic World”
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One of my favorite tracks of all time. Jerry Williams (Swamp Dogg) is still out bringing his music to the people. I’m looking forward to seeing the new documentary Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted — there’s just nobody like this guy.
#dusted magazine#listed#amy rigby#warmduscher#amelia white#daniel romano#gina birch#wreckless eric#michele stodardt#meshell ndgeocello#TBHQ#dory previn#mary timony#swamp dogg
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