#jackpot crash course bones

[racheldrawsthis]

365 party boy

[fl0ydzie]

am I the most fuckin fantastic freak you’ve ever seen?

[vaunteir]

now that is a walking will wood reference if i've ever seen it

[gh0stwithagun]

self indulgent Bones stimboard (Jackpot Crash Course) reqs open <3

x x x / x x x / x x x

[zevuux]

bones jackpot crash course doodles

[mistakes-have-been-made]

Some doodles for the time being

Had thoughts about sigverse tma/tmagp au (this is an excuse to draw archivist Protag again)

Bonus Mr Perseus Jackson bc I finally got some more books :3

[tender-rosiey]

pretty babies – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: idk about yall but I love me some drunk gojo

satoru never drinks, but when he does, ohoho, you’re in for quite the ride.

today was one of the days when he was less of a chaotic handful but more of an emotional mess who apparently can’t even remember his own wife. you sip on your drink, ignoring the drunk satoru leaning on the bar.

he slurs his words as he tries to flirt, “you’re sooo pretty, y’know that?”

you nod with a hum and give him no further reaction. in situations like these, you figured out that letting him go all out until he is tired and sleepy is the best solution. it really is like treating a baby.

thankfully, after many years of being in the presence of one gojo satoru, you’ve built up some patience.

he rests his head on the counter and he looks up at you, eyes wide and in awe, “I bet,” he hiccups and it is followed by a silly little giggle, “we’d make superrrr cute babies! like all round and chubby and we’d much on their cheeks like…mochi! yes! mochi…now I am hungry.”

a smirk makes an appearance on your face as you glance at satoru who is blabbering about building a family with you and spoiling you rotten.

a little teasing won’t harm anyone. so you quip, “you know,” and his attention is already on you, “you already gave me three super cute babies.”

his mouth is wide open in disbelief as he sits up, “no way!”

“yup! and they’re waiting at home for us.”

his eyes crinkle because of his wide grin, “really?!” he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, “you got photos?! please tell me that you do!” and he switches to a pout so quickly, it gives you whiplash.

however, you gladly pull out your phone and show him the multitude of photos you have.

ones ranging from him being in a crib to help the youngest one sleep to ones with two of the three kids ganging up on him and him desperately calling for your help. satoru goes through every single photo, head on your shoulder and cheek squished.

he is silent throughout it all and when he is done, he looks up at you, “so that means that you’re my wife?”

you nod and your fingers, naturally, find their place on his head. he feels a little shiver of satisfaction before he smiles, one lovesick and silly smile, “I really hit the jackpot.”

you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I guess you did.”

so you take him back home where the kids are already asleep. satoru crashes on the bed right away, steady breaths filling the room. slowly, you take your place beside him and you feel his arms wrap around you.

he pulls you closer and buries his face in your hair. and you close your eyes, letting yourself be lulled to the land of dreams.

when you do wake up, you’re greeted by satoru literally on top of you and deep in sleep. you would like to let him sleep more especially since he looks so comfortable, but you’re going to suffocate at this rate. so you pat his back lightly, “satoru, honey, wake up.”

he groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something along the lines of ‘five more minutes’.

not budging? then fine, you decide. you take as deep of a breath as you can then call for your kids, “who will help mama?!”

it’s quiet and you can feel satoru smirking against your skin. it looks like he won, but then a bunch of footsteps are heard and it’s your turn to smirk.

your husband lifts his head to glare at you—of course, not without sporting one of his famous pouts.

the door is then slammed open and your eldest son is there, “WHO DARES HURT OUR MAMA?!”

he gasps, very dramatically like a certain someone, and points at his dad, “PAPA?! you’re suffocating mama!”

“again?!” your daughter pops up from behind her brother, staring at her dad in disbelief.

they both stand beside your bed glaring at him and he glares back, the three of them forgetting why you called for your kids in the first place. so you do them a favor and remind them, “satoru…I AM GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS!”

satoru is pulled  back by his shirt and your kids take turns in—trying—to beat him up. you get up, greedily breathing air till you’re satisfied. you ignore the screams of your husband until you’re done with your morning routine.

luckily enough, when you got out of the bathroom, you found no one except your husband.

laying on the ground.

presumably dead.

with a bunch of drawings on his face and his hair contained with multiple hair bands.

you snap a picture of him very quickly then you sit on the ground next to his corpse. you poke his butt and he groans, making you giggle, “what happened to the strongest sorcerer?”

he turns towards you with a small frown, “his pretty wife didn’t kiss him good morning so he had no energy to fight,” his head snaps towards the two tiny figures giggling behind the door, “these monsters.”

they squeal and run away once again before he catches them.

you gently take the hair bands off, “you’re lucky that our youngest devil is still asleep,” you then smooth down his hair and pat his head, “I love the smiley faces on your cheeks.”

he whines and rests his head on your shoulder, “stop bullying me!”

you hum and stroke his hair, “you know, you did something pretty cute yesterday.”

“I am always cute; what’re you talking about?”

“you flirted with me, your wife, and said we would make ‘super cute!’ babies,” you reveal and satoru seems unbothered. in fact, he seems proud and very happy with himself so you continue, “so I had to remind you of our three little devils and then I showed you pictures.”

he stands up, posing all confidently, “what can I say? I excel at everything even being cute—“

“then you cried like a little baby when I showed you my picture post labor and kept apologizing.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[wrongtvrns]

❝ GIRLS LIKE HER WERE BORN IN A STORM. THEY HAVE LIGHTENING IN THEIR SOULS. THUNDER IN THEIR HEARTS. AND CHAOS IN THEIR BONES. ❞

STATS:

Name: Genesis Tosia Alvarado

Age: 33

Face Claim: Adria Arjona

Occupation: Paramedic & digital artist

Neighborhood: Steele

Gender & Pronouns: Cis female & she/her

BIOGRAPHY:

trigger warnings: drug use, underage drinking, parental neglect

Every now and then the cosmos aligned just right and a soul was born into a name that proved fate to be something real. Genesis was born to Lara and Alejandro Alvarado, a couple who had married right out of high school and were going nowhere fast. The two couldn’t seem to figure out adult life and how to live efficiently; money was often squandered too quickly, often as soon as it hit their pockets or bank account so that they could enjoy young adulthood, forgetting they had a young child who needed proper attention and consistent care. Genesis, or Gen as most called her, spent much of her time in the care of a neighbor while her parents worked and then burned through their paychecks. A latchkey kid was what she would soon become, finding she had personality traits all too similar to her parents — addictive like her father and hedonistic like her mother. Alejandro had a gambling habit, known locally as a bit of a card shark that would ocGenionally take a trip to large cities to hit up bigger games and bigger jackpots. Her mother, Lara, was into anything that made her feel good; whether that was dabbling in drugs and drink or getting in a fast car with a man that wasn’t her high school sweetheart turned husband, she was game for it.

It was two weeks before Genesis’s fourteenth birthday when her father never returned home from a weekend rounders trip out in New Jersey. Missing persons reports were filed and investigations eventually went cold after a month of not so hard looking around. Apparently Alejandro had a reputation in Jersey City and Atlantic City which caused the police to tell Genesis and her mother to expect the worst — he was no doubt gone and not meant to be found. Of course the young teen was devastated by the disappearance and permanent loss, though perhaps not so much as she could have been given the lack of depth to her connection with her parents. They had always been somewhat distant and absent, loving but too invested in themselves rather than creating a wholesome family like much of her friends and classmates at school had. Instead of grieving heavily, Genesis opted for fantasy, imagining that her dad was some explorer or an archaeologist working on a dig in some foreign and far away land. She did it because even then Genesis had the thoughts that there had to be more to life than this.

Coping well wasn’t something her mother did when it came to the loss of Alejandro. It surprised Genesis, she had believed they pretty much lived separate and distant lives. Given that she was the only parent now to put food on the table and provide for Genesis, Lara stepped up and cleaned up her act a bit. Nothing was given up in entirety, things simply slowed and didn’t happen as often. The absenteeism of boundaries and structure in her life set Genesis on a crash course for destruction and ruin for her own life, as it seemed every time life led to a fork in the road she always took the path less traveled — always made the wrong choice and went the wrong direction. It seemed she was determined to learn things the hard way, through mistakes and major fuckups. She wasn’t yet fifteen when she gave into experimenting with drugs, and like her mother — anything that got her heart racing. But Genesis always seemed to get caught or into more than she could handle.

After getting caught drag racing cars, it was determined by the state that she wouldn’t be able to drive a car legally until she was eighteen. Despite it being an ‘oh shit’ moment and quite the wrench in her youth, the minor brush with the law couldn’t set her straight. No, she continued to make bad decisions. At seventeen, Gen was expelled from high school for drug possession and if her own vices weren’t bad enough, the young brunette’s attractiveness also turned out to be a problem. She knew how to use her pretty brown eyes, sun kissed skin, and sweet talk coming from glistening rosy lips to get just about anything she wanted from someone. Usually it was for a fix or a drink, older men always being the best targets — no matter her goals and dreams in life, Genesis just couldn’t seem to get it right. Holding down a job was laughable, giving up on her own hedonistic indulgences generally always turned out to be too big of a sacrifice, so Genesis went on bouncing through life one or more problems at a time.

The town just seemed to get smaller and smaller, too many people knew her and not in a way that would have Genesis holding her head high when sober. Her mother long gave up on her so the official freedom of eighteen sent the girl to the shore, finding Woodside to be cozy and a fresh start. She managed to get her GED and enrolled in college, though again, a normal social structure and schedule was too hard to maintain and it took longer than the average for Genesis to earn an associate’s of arts in art — one of her dreams being a painter. It was during her time in college that the Alvarado began to pull out of society’s labeled boxes. College was also a time where dating a woman opened up to her and just another avenue of life she walked down the path of. Men and women were fun to entertain on the art scene. For some time, she was hardly around, traveling with other artists led her to adventures she wouldn’t soon forget. Such as the trip in New Orleans where she got mugged, or the sex party she somehow ended up at while in Los Angeles — the paths were never clear how she got from one place to the next but it sure as hell wasn’t the rational part of her brain that made the decisions.

Eventually when back in Woodside, her addictions got her in trouble once again and with the threat of jail time looming over her head, Genesis yet again made a one sided pact with God that if he helped her out of the mess she would go clean and straight. The lesson would have been to take the consequences, sell out her dealer and do a little time then work to live life responsibly. She was beginning to edge near thirty and still hadn’t really begun living properly, something that had festered under the surface and nagged at her in the back of her mind. The DEA had another plan for her, one she stupidly took, and that was no jail time if she worked as an informant. What she didn’t expect was that she would find such a kindred spirit and someone she felt the need to help and take care of but also a man she would fall crazily in love with. Partly, she would tell herself that it was the drugs and the partying she did with him but Genesis had gotten very good at lying to herself. Eventually being between a rock and a hard place, she cracked, the pressure from the DEA and the love she had for the dealer sent her running away. She fed the DEA some fairly useless information and made up the rest, keeping all of the dealer’s secrets before leaving town for a couple of months.

It was one thing to break her own heart over and over again in life, it was another to have someone else’s heart in your hands and to take advantage and hurt someone you loved. Her new vow was to get her shit together, to finally live life as a real adult in the world should. When she came back home, Genesis put herself back into college while working as a waitress to barely make ends meet. She had all the credits needed already to meet the educational requirements as a paramedic, she needed course specific classes and training. When it came to it, Genesis actually surprised herself that she was good at it. She filled out her degree and earned an associates in paramedicine. For someone always on the go and needing such a constant state of stimulus, working in emergency and trauma care was a good fit, but it also was quite a bump in income going from waitressing to EMT and paramedic. With the means to do so she was able to move from her roommate situation downtown to her own place in Steele. Still without a clue what life is all about or how to navigate it, Genesis at least and finally had something going right and well for herself.

CONNECTIONS:

Here for a good time not a long time — the party buddies, those down for the rush of a wild time, even if the adventure is a little tamer these days.

You knew me by another name — the mark she went undercover to get close to as a part of her deal with the DEA. they burned hot and bright and then she ran.

Meet me at the altar — the woman she married on a whim because why not?? they can figure out the details later...

neighbors, friends, enemies, people she's helped as a paramedic, hookups, fleeting relationships, good dates, bad dates, best friend, etc.

[beckettj]

Find the Words Tag Game

Tagged By: @laianely - thank you! Rules: Find the words in all your current WIPs and post a snippet containing the words, then tag others with their own words. My Words: Lips, anger, confusion

I stuck to just three WIPs - The Huntsman (snippets in here from across lots of future chapters), A Hell of A Ride (which is a CS fic, despite what the passage below may suggest) and a follow up to Dry as a Bone (which I had no intention of following up until inspiration hit at 1am last night, leading to a few hundred words getting thrown together).

Lips The Huntsman (Hit the jackpot here.) Her lips parted slightly, as if encouraging him, inviting him. They looked so soft, so red, so warm; his thoughts wondered - as they often had in his younger days, hours spent staring at that photograph - to how her lips would feel against his. His heart threatened to explode out of his chest; he had waited for the nearing moment for so long.

He waited no longer. His lips crashed passionately against hers, simultaneously sending electricity coursing through his veins. He allowed himself to get lost in her mouth, the faint taste of cinnamon unfamiliarly sweet, fuelling his craving for her. His heart danced in his chest; her body pressed against his the way their lips clung together, her hand brushing against his jaw as she reached for his hair the same way her tongue brushed against his lips as their kiss deepened, grew more demanding, more desperate for the moment to last.

A Hell of a Ride The elevator was taking too long. The foyer was empty. She pulled him in for a quick kiss, a taste of what was to come. The elevator pinged the very moment of their lips meeting and she stepped back, smiling seductively at Neal; there was a lot more where that came from. She grabbed his jacket, pulling him into the empty elevator with her. The doors shut and he was on her in a flash, his hands cupping her face as they carried on where they’d left off, deepening and exploring their connection.

The elevator pinged.

“That was fast,” Emma murmured against his lips.

The elevator ride was never that smooth, let alone that fast.

Dry as a Bone follow-up “Today is the last day of January,” he filled her in.

Halle-bloody-lujah.

It had been a long, long month but he had made it to the end. Almost. Just sixteen more hours to go – not that he was on a countdown or anything. He could already taste the sweet, home comforts of rum on his parched lips. A few more hours forgoing his burning cravings and he would stand victorious.

Anger The Huntsman “Killian,” Liam’s voice was softer, desperate, barely more than a whisper. “Please, please, just come to the jeep with me now.”

Killian squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to. He wanted so badly to go to the jeep, to leave the unnatural stronghold behind them but the more he thought about his father, the more the anger rose up inside him. His dad would never leave him, he knew that for sure, just as he also knew Liam would never let them leave their father behind. It meant only one thing; Silver had taken him from them.

Confusion The Huntsman (Double whammy here with two of the three words. Very short snippet because… spoilers!) “You’re not going to shoot me, Killian,” the Hatter sounded bored. “I know you.”

Any anger which had melted away in his confusion soared back through his veins. His grip tightened around the gun, preparing himself for the recoil, and he fired.

Tagging: @mie779 @snowbellewells @zaharadessert with lost, believe and heart

[racheldrawsthis]

their dynamic will be funny in-game

[writing-after-midnight]

If you're taking prompts, can I get some Feysand fluff? or angst either one

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You

Of course! I love taking prompts and asks, send me one any time! 💖💖

Okay so this is set as an apocalypse au, and I went for the angst. It’s probably going to be relatively long? Hope you enjoy reading, and thank you for sending an ask!!

Btw I also seem to have an obsession with Rhys singing to Feyre? Sorry boiiiiiss

WRITING MASTERLIST

**********

The air chilled Rhys’ bones as he and Feyre trudged through the woods. They had both lost track of time months ago, when all power had cut out, but the shorter days indicated they were nearing winter. The backpack carrying most of their supplies weighed down on his shoulders, while Feyre scouted a few metres ahead, and his legs ached from their constant use. Since the world had gone to shit, they had both been forced to trek through dark forests and abandoned towns to survive. They had been separated from Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren days ago when a horde had passed their camp, and they hoped to make it to an old high school they had spotted on their travels to regroup. If they weren’t killed on the way there.

Feyre reached the top of a hill a few metres in front of him, and pointed. Rhys ran the last few steps, to see the school they had been looking for for days. He kissed the top of her head.

“We’re almost there, darling. When we find the others, we could set up a base there for a while.”

“Sounds like a good idea. My legs are going to fall off soon.” Feyre smiled. They stayed there for a moment, looking at the view from the top of the hill. They had both learned to enjoy the peaceful moments in this new life they had been shoved into. But they couldn’t stay there for long, so they kept moving.

He didn’t want to upset Feyre, but he was doubtful that the rest of the group all got out alive. The last glimpse he caught of his friends before the horde descended was Cassian jumping in front of Mor, holding off the first few Dead for her. It hadn’t looked good from where he stood, but the crowd of writhing bodies had forced them apart. If they ever did find each other again, how many of their group would be left?

Rhys didn’t let his fear show as they carried on in the direction of the school. Hopefully, it would be a school that hadn’t been used as a safe place while the disease was still spreading. All the ‘havens’ ended up practically being vending machines for the Dead, and quickly became overrun.

To calm himself, he took Feyre’s hand in his, and started to hum “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You”. It had been the song he had sang to her all around their house before the world turned upside down. When they were waking up, when they made pancakes in the kitchen, when they were snuggled up on the sofa, enjoying each other’s presence. It always made Feyre grin, and her smile each time he sang it was imprinted into his memory. Even now, the corners of her mouth tugged up, and Rhys couldn’t help but smile too.

What felt like hours later, they reached the clearing. In front of them stood the small school. Rhys weighed up their options. The school was out of the way, and was too small to have housed a lot of people for safety, so they stood a fairly good chance of not walking in to a horde straight away. Still, they both grabbed their knives, and cautiously made their way out of the clearing.

Rhys lead them to a back door he had spotted. It must be an entrance to the kitchens, meaning they could hopefully stock up while they were here. Rhys entered first, silently placing one foot in front of the other, machete raised high. A couple of work tables had been tipped over, and a few cans were strewn across the floor, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw stacks of large industrial cans filled with food. It looked like someone had been there before them, but had left the food behind.

“Feyre,” Rhys whispered, “I think we just hit the jackpot!”

Feyre padded in and saw the cans, and her jaw dropped open. They hadn’t found proper food like this for months.Her eyes lit up.

They couldn’t help but practically run towards the food, their growling stomachs goading them to be quicker. But this momentary loss of control stopped them from seeing a long piece of wire connected to a door on their right side. Feyre caught her leg on the wire and was sent careening into the cans.

“What the –” Feyre started, but then looked up to see the door that had been connected to the wire crash open, revealing hundreds of the Dead, processing the loud noise. They turned and started to shuffle through the door.

A trap. It had been an elaborate trap, set by the last person who stayed here. Rhys didn’t know why someone would do such a thing, but he didn’t have time to contemplate before the horde started to close in. He dashed towards Feyre, hauling her up from the floor.

“Go for their heads!” Rhys roared as they circled them both.  He wished he had time to get the handgun out of his backpack. Would they get out of this alive?

Rhys didn’t stop swinging, and neither did Feyre. But when one of the Dead fell, another one took its place. More and more poured out of the door way, overwhelming them. They needed to cut a path through and get to the exit on the other side of the room.

Before he could put his plan into action, however, he saw one of the Dead break off and lurch toward an unsuspecting Feyre. No!

Rhys turned and swung his machete into the side of the Dead’s head, but didn’t realise another took its place and lunged towards him.

A sharp pain flashed through his forearm, before Rhys used his other arm to elbow the Dead off his arm and grabbed Feyre. They needed to get out. Now.

The next minute was a blur. The movement swirling around them almost putting in a trance. Swing, thud. Swing thud. The Dead were groaning all around them, the noise almost deafening. But they made it closer and closer to freedom with each sickening crunch. They shoved the last of the horde away from them and dashed for sunlight. Rhys tugged on Feyre’s hand, insisting that they keep running until they were lost in the trees.

Finally, they both collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Feyre panted, sucking in the cool air beside Rhys.

“I’m sorry I set that trap off; I should have checked.” Feyre wheezed.

“It’s alright. If you hadn’t, I would have anyway.”

An almost hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. “We survived, though! When we find the others, we’ll have to tell them.”

The laugh warmed Rhys’ heart slightly, but it didn’t outweigh the crushing weight forming over his heart. He managed to smile at Feyre, before he told her they needed to find some water and walked off.

He didn’t dare to even acknowledge his arm until he was out of sight from Feyre. Please let it be a scratch. Rhys prayed, but he knew deep down that it wouldn’t be. The Dead’s teeth had been too close to his arm.

Rhys peeled back the sleeve of his coat and stared for a moment. Blood oozed out of the punctures in his arm. Teeth punctures. Mother above. He sank to his knees, and a tear slid down his cheek. How would he be able to keep Feyre safe when he was going to die?

**********

Rhys returned to find Feyre sitting against a tree, sorting the supplies in her backpack. He plastered a smile on his face and wrapped her in a hug. He must have sat in the woods for the better part of an hour before he steeled himself to go back to Feyre. He couldn’t tell her. She would only get upset and insist they go to find a derelict hospital to find medication that worked. Nothing worked against the infection once you were bitten.

She pulled away, but Rhys held on for a moment longer, trying to ingrain the contours of her body into his mind. If he was going to die, he would remember every little thing about Feyre.

“I didn’t find any water, but I have a bit left in my bottle if you need it.” Rhys offered.

“Thank you. We should rest now, it’s almost dark. Maybe the others will still be around the woods tomorrow?”

“Good idea. There’s a tree with some branches we could sleep on down the hill. It’ll keep us off the ground.” As if Rhys needed to be careful any more. It didn’t matter to him; he only cared about Feyre now. He needed to find somewhere safe for her to live, but where was safe anymore?

They climbed up the tree’s limbs towards the ones that intersected. Rhys’ arm screamed in agony each time he pulled himself up on it, but he refused to make a sound about it.

Feyre nestled herself into Rhys’ lap, murmured a “good night” and placed a kiss on his cheek. She fell asleep in his arms immediately, but Rhys stayed up most of the night, partly from the pain in his arm, partly because he was so afraid he might go in his sleep and harm Feyre. He stared at her blonde waves, and the spattering of freckles on her cheeks. Why did the Cauldron have to be so cruel? He loved her so much, and soon, he wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. He whispered the lyrics to their song.

“Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.” His voice cracked on the last line.

They were meant to be, so why had their time been cut so short? He wanted to grow old with her. He wanted to make her grin everyday with his singing. He wanted make sure she didn’t have to worry about surviving the hell they had been plunged into. But when he went, what would happen to her? She would be on her own if they didn’t find Cass, Mor, Az and Amren. The thought made his stomach churn.

Rhys looked up to the the stars shining in the pitch black sky through the few leaves left on the tree. It almost looked like they were twinkling for just him, waiting for him to say something. On their first date, Feyre and Rhys had looked up to the sky together and each made a wish. They had felt such a strong connection in those moments, that Rhys always looked up to the stars now and remembered that night.

“Someone, anyone… Please looked after her when I’m gone. She doesn’t deserve to be by herself.” Rhys sobbed quietly, trying his best not to wake Feyre. More tears ran down his face, and his face crumpled. “I would do anything.”

The stars only twinkled in return.

**********

The punctures in Rhys’ arm seemed to sap all the energy from him with each passing hour. Even in the freezing air, Feyre remarked how warm he felt when she woke up. He checked his arm in the morning light after not getting much sleep. It still seeped blood, and the flesh around the wound had gone from red to purple. He managed to swallow a few bites of a granola bar before giving it to Feyre, insisting he wasn’t hungry. He would only be able to keep up his facade for so long.

Feyre had pulled back to his pace for a while, the crunch of leaves under their boots the only sound in the silence of the woods. The quietness became unbearable, so Feyre started to sing their song quietly, waiting for him to join in. He could barely process his feet plodding on, one after the other, but for Feyre, he would sing.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

His heart cracked at those words, but he stumbled on, showing no pain to Feyre.

**********

The second night wore on, but Rhys hadn’t had one minute of decent sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of clouded eyes, ripped skin and cracked teeth flashed by. That could be his end, if he didn’t finish it before the infection changed him into a creature like that. He had seen the effects of the infection on everyone around him. He would become paralysed for the last few hours of his life.

Once again, he wept under the stars, sending as many prayers he could to the Mother. Feyre never woke; she just lay there, nestled in his arms. Would she be able to understand? He needed to stay as long as he could to help Feyre. Rhys just hoped he could hang on.

He fell into a restless doze, still humming their song.

**********

The day seemed to pass in a haze. Rhys couldn’t shake the fuzzy feeling in his head, and his legs felt leaden. The bite mark pulsed with heat and pain, and it took almost all of his energy He clung onto his backpack for dear life, hoping it would give him some semblance of stability.

He was pretty sure Feyre was starting to become suspicious. She kept at his steadily slowing pace, looking at him with concern. He couldn’t even bear to look at her. Couldn’t bear to let her see the sorrow or the growing terror in his eyes.

The daylight was beginning to fade, when Feyre stopped.

“I think we should rest.” She said, eyeing Rhys’ slouched posture. He almost sighed in relief, but he cursed himself when he remembered they had still not found anywhere safe yet for Feyre. He felt dizzy, and pressure had been building in his head for most of the day. She decided to set up a small camp, while she allocated him to get the firewood. He made it all of two steps before his vision went black around the edges and his knees felt like jelly. He fell to the ground, and didn’t have the energy to move. He knew it. This was the end.

“RHYS!” Feyre cried as she rushed towards him, dropping down next to him. Tears streamed down his face, but his throat felt dry as he whispered “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”.

“What’s wrong, Rhys?!”

He couldn’t sit up or move his limbs, so he dropped his gaze towards his arm. Towards the terrifying truth they would now both have to face. Feyre reached over and gently pulled back the sleeve of his jacket. This time, he couldn’t stop the groan that rattled out of his mouth. Feyre winced at the pain she caused him.

But then she saw the bite marks on his blackened skin, rotting his arm away, and she gagged.

“Mother above! Rhys… why didn’t you tell me? Cauldron damn it!” Her voice was getting higher and higher in her hysteria. Her voice cracked as her eyes brimmed with tears.

“I wanted you safe.” Rhys replied. Numbness was spreading up his legs, and when he tried to move them, they wouldn’t budge.

“We could have found you help!”

“There’s no cure Feyre, you know that.” He rasped. It killed him to say it, but he carried on. “My gun is in my backpack.”

“No, I can’t, Rhys. You can’t make me do that!” Feyre caught on to the implication. She was sobbing now, face crunched in panic and horror.

“Please Feyre, you have to. I don’t want to turn out like one of… them. Please.”

Feyre took a few calming breaths and pushed herself up, shaking, and went over to retrieve the discarded backpack. Rhys lay still on the floor, the numb feeling snaking its way up his legs. She pulled the gun out, and dropped it on the ground between them.

He had so many things to say to her. He wanted to tell her about the way she had always made him smile after a rough day at work. The quiet evenings that they spent together, that repaired his weary soul. How he would never stop loving her, even when he passed on, to whatever came next. He couldn’t put all of his feelings into words in time, so he hoped that his eyes conveyed all of his emotion as he started to sing.

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Feyre finished the last lines of the song for him, and burst into tears. She placed a long kiss on his forehead, and he savoured one of the last touches he would receive from his love. It was dark now, and Rhys could see the stars twinkling back at him. He sent up one last silent wish, and hoped that the stars were listening. Please protect her.

Feyre picked up the gun, hands shaking almost uncontrollably. It took all of Rhys’ strength and willpower to lift his arm and place his hand over hers. He gently tugged her hand to the side of his head, and lined the barrel of the gun to his temple. He had to stay calm, for her.

“I love you Feyre, and we will find each other in the next life, I promise. I will never stop loving you.”

“I love you too, Rhys. Too much to even comprehend.” Feyre sobbed. Her hand was still shaking, but she almost looked more determined. She wanted to carry out his final wish, even if it killed her.

He looked up at the stars for the last time, then focused his eyes on Feyre’s. He wanted them to be the last thing he saw.

“Good night, Feyre darling.” He whispered.

“Good night, Rhys.”

Her face crumpled as her hand steadied. He stared into her beautiful eyes as he felt her hand squeeze the trigger underneath his.

Rhys heard a loud bang, before his vision went black and he was swept into oblivion.

**********

Okayyy!! I had fun writing this (I have no idea about how it reads though hahah) and I tried my best! Hope you enjoyed, and thank you to @highladyofthesith​ for sending me the ask!💖💖

[trainwreckweather]

8&24 (hospital+ soulmate AU) stella/scully

Prompt given by the lovely @viceversawrites (thank you! 💙)

******************

It's rare. They say it's like divine revelation. You feel everything, see everything. Taste, hear, know.

So many have chased the feeling to death. Scientists have tried to engineer the euphoria and intelligence in a pill for the richest of the rich.

But it's dangerous. And really, it doesn't compare.

In this day and age, it's a common folk tale. A myth. Taught in history classrooms, in literature too- oh, the sheer romance of it. Professors swoon at uninterested students snapping gum and looking bored.

They don't care about what doesn't concern them.The subject of soulmates is laughable to them.

Oh- oh it's real they say.

It's real, sure. No one will dispute that. It's happened before. Ordinary humans changed within an instant. No one knows why, or how. They don't know how a highschool dropout can communicate in every language known to man- dead and lost included, mere minutes after handing over a fast food receipt.

They're stronger, smarter, and more perceptive once they've met their soulmate. More compassionate too, it seems.

But the catch is, you have to touch the hand of your soulmate to see it all. To know.

Statistics are not in anyone's favor. You can say 'small world!’ all you want, but the population is up there, nearly 8 billion now. Take the seas into consideration, the miles separating city from rural lands, and the restless spirit of humans- it's harder than hitting the jackpot.

No one has time to go and touch the hand of every person they come across, though it's not uncommon to see small children, whimsical and hopeful glide along, giggling as they brush the hands of everyone they pass.

A children's schoolground game. There are nursery rhymes about it too, but Dana doesn't have her head in the clouds, doesn't pay any mind.

She isn't like the children and preteen girls singing and daydreaming of enlightenment and the truest, purest form of love.

She's a realist. She gets up, grooms, shoves half a bagel in her mouth, maybe burns herself with coffee on her commute to work.

People love, people marry, and she thinks she gets along just fine with the knowledge her brain holds now. She isn't interested in soulmates. It never even crosses her mind.

She thinks in numbers, hard facts, statistics. Diseases and treatments and dosages. Possible cures. The closest she's gotten to letting loose is whooping with the kids in her ward who've just gotten the best news of their lives yet. They can go home.

That's where she usually is, that's where she does her best work- The pediatric ward. She shakes all of her patients hands and (thankfully) not once did she feel any different than before.

Today is a changeup.  The ER is short staffed and her ward is quiet.

Dana reviews vitals, orders tests, transfers and medications to be administered. It's busier than she's used to but she adjusts to the fast paced rhythm like she does most things. She finds her groove and excels. Like a machine.

People feel bad for her. She doesn't date, she's buried in her work, too invested. She takes it home with her and reviews files, over and over. Tests theories, work things out in her head, this way and that. What is the best course of action for little Brian? If I proceed with this- he could have permanent nerve damage, if I risk it he may die.

Her nights are much like her days, blended and ordered and perfect. She's happy. She thinks she's happy at least. Who cares about what others see? Who cares about the ultimate human form? Who cares about love? She has everything she could ever want or need.

“Dr. Scully, ambulance is here in two. Car crash, 33 yr. old caucasian female, possible head injury.”

A nurse; his tag says Tommi. She thanks him.

Stella Gibson isn't happy about being here. Before she even pulls back the curtain, she can hear the complaints, a strained british lilt reaching her ears.

“It's barely a scratch! I'm fine. The ambulance was unnecessar-”

She enters and interrupts before things can escalate.

“Ms. Gibson! External injuries can oftentimes present in a manner that doesn't show us what's going on inside. I agree that you're probably alright. But I want to order an MRI and have you stay overnight for observation. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Stella,” she corrects with a steely gaze that leaves no room for argument. Dana nods once.

“Stella. Is that alright with you?”

Stella answers in the affirmative, but doesn't look to happy over her predicament.

She is fair haired, fair skinned and freckled, and has piercing baby blues. She's in need of stitches just above her left brow. Regardless, she's a strikingly beautiful woman, and something instinctual tells her to stay on Stella Gibson's good side.

And something primal, something she isn't used to, tells her to protect this woman at all costs.

She holds out her hand to this woman sitting upright and stiff on the hospital gurney. It's her standard practice. Doesn't think once about it, let alone twice.

Stella begins to say something in an almost sheepish tone, something about how she isn't used to driving in the U.S. - but it's cut off abruptly as soon as they make contact.

The textbooks- they don't prepare you for this. Dana is hit with a force so hard she nearly collapses- stumbles and gasps at the sensation. It's as if all of the earth's energy has funneled itself into this triage.

She feels it. Each and every atom. She can feel them feed off of each other, but it doesn't hurt. Why doesn't it hurt?

It's intense, so much so that she fears her bones will splinter, and that she'll fly apart, simply cease to exist as she was.

Dana doesn't realize what's happening, she can't make the connection. She can only feel. And see.

She sees a young towheaded toddler with unruly curls and crimson rain boots. Someone, her father, lifts her so she can pat the wet nose of a gelding. She feels the anticipation of the girl- part fear, part excitement. The same feeling is there when she views the girl on her back, no longer a girl and so sure that this is her ticket to womanhood. Only 17, but later she feels the sadness and regret. And the sting.

And the sting. Of the freezing rain pelting as her father's casket is lowered into the bitter dirt. Frozen. Frozen like her heart. Which she tries to melt with the burning of cigarette smoke and liquor and the flowing of warm blood and the heat of a quick fuck. It never quite works. Always something missing. Something to be filled.

Filled with University courses, with self confidence, with a uniform. There. Now there is purpose. Now there is wrong and right and she she stands firm on the right side of the line.

She leaves the country to get away from a Stalker, someone who she met once, fucked once, and that not even the law could get rid of. Like herpes.

She's trying to start over here in San Diego. It's different. It was her hope to permanently thaw the ice with this weather. She's working as a barista. She can barely afford her studio. Her car is wrecked. Still she's happier than she's been in a long while.

Happier now still.

As sudden as it starts, that's how it stops. The rushing in her ears is replaced with faint ringing. Dana is back now. To this room, to this body. She's shaking like a leave.

Adrenaline, her mind supplies.

Stella is wide eyed and opened mouth; their hands are clasped between them. This is when it hits her, what just happened.

“Dr. Scully?! Ms. Gibson?! Are you alright? Here, I have a chair.”  Someone is panicked and confused, but that someone is not her. It will never be her again.

She doesn't sit. She waves the nurse off as best she can. She still won't let go of Stella, can't take her eyes off of her.

That primal urge to protect is now reinforced and emphasized. She wouldn't have believed it before, if someone told her it was possible to fall in love in an instant. But really, how can can you call a lifetime an instant? She was there, she was there to see Stella's victories and her downfalls. She was right there with her, feeling what she felt, seeing all she's been through. It's incredible, the strength one person can possess. It's incredible what one can survive. She's never been so proud. She's never been so in love.

Too overwhelmed, they both start leaking tears, but they're smiling at each other, face splitting, opened mouth smiles. Dana can taste the salt on her tongue.

She laughs at the absurdity of today. If Stella had been more careful, if she was out sick, if the ward had needed her- all these ifs. Eight billion little ifs. She shakes it out of her head.

She knows things now. Not just Stella things. She could (and most likely will), cure cancer if given a quiet room and a day to herself.

But right here, right now, there are pressing matters to deal with. Such as making sure her soulmate (god, her soulmate) has nothing more than a gash and a mild concussion. After that- wow. What does one do after this?

Stella sniffs and squeezes her hand.

“I don't suppose you would mind if I asked you out to dinner...”

[ghoulangerlee]

in tru hitman fashion for jeremwood, how about a mr and mrs smith situation? where they both don't realize that their s/o is a hitman utnil they bump into each other on the field. or receive each other as potential targets... you decide

I...have never actually seen mr and mrs smith tbh. i know the gist i think but i haven’t watched it lmao. 

so uh, here’s this, at some point i wanna visit like, every single prompt you send me and turn it into a huge spiraling universe tbh. so i may come back to this, may end up writing an actual hitman au one day. the possibilities are endless 

===

Vagabond, your current mission is relies on you getting the intel from this party; I’ve gotten you on the guest list, you’ll need to blend in and scope the floor. Your target should be there tonight as well.

He’d been tailing his latest target for two months now, some mogul who’d gotten too big for his britches, too reliant on others to do his dirty work and, like most wealthy and young business minded folk, he’d pissed off the wrong people. 

Which is where he came in. 

Ryan had been a professional hitman for over a decade now, at this point, and, though it could be rewarding at times (he’d always had a thing for justice, but, in a vigilante sort of way), but by far, the worst thing about this whole situation was how much he missed his partner. 

He and Jeremy had only been together officially for eleven months, and Ryan was eager to finish this hit and head on back home, hopefully before their one year anniversary. 

They’d met through a mutual friend and gone on a date or two before deciding to make things official, and honestly? It’s been the happiest nearly year of Ryan’s life; despite the fact they both tend to work a lot (Jeremy doesn’t have the typical job, and honestly Ryan’s not sure he understands it much besides the fact Jeremy is some sort of gymnast prodigy that’s invited to speak at various seminars and demonstrations sometimes), but they make it work, both agreeing to never skip out on anniversaries or holidays or birthdays. 

Not that Ryan would ever take a hit on any of those things, because while the money’s good, he’s getting older and the need to settle down is deep in his bones and luckily, he’d been stockpiling enough from the jobs he’s taken over the years to retire semi-early and comfortably--though he hasn’t told Jeremy that quite yet. 

(Which, Jeremy thinking he works as some sort of consultant for the police, it wouldn’t make sense to retire and then admit he has enough money saved to keep them comfortable for a long time--so he’s still working on that story.) 

-

Slipping in through the front door is easy enough, the silver half-mask he’s wearing (because of course it’s some pretentious masquerade) makes it easy for him to blend in--he’s got a gun planted close to where his target’s supposed to be and his throwing knives tucked away in the inner pocket of his neat suit jacket. 

He’s hoping this’ll be simple enough, get in and end the guy and then leave, call his employer and have the money wired to several different accounts--and then he’ll be home to Jeremy by the time their anniversary comes. 

(Of course, that’s when things go to shit.) 

-

He finds his target on the second floor in one of the offices, standing by a floor to ceiling window; his posture is casual, the lights dimmed, and Ryan feels a chill run down his spine. 

“I know you’re here to kill me.” 

Ryan startles, doesn’t expect that even as he slips into the room, closing the door behind him. 

“You’re going to have to try harder than this,” He taunts, turning around as the lights come on, several other men in the room, all with guns trained on Ryan. “My men never miss.” 

Without a gun, without a way to fire back, Ryan’s essentially screwed, so, he does what he knows, bows his head and raises his hands in an i surrender motion just as his target laughs. 

“Oh how good, I’ve finally stopped the infamous hitman,” he taunts again, growing cockier by the minute. “People are offering a lot of money for your head,” he grins. “And I’ve just won the jackpot.” 

There’s movement out of the corner of his eye, one of the side doors is cracked open and the tell tell sound of a grenade rolling across the floor catches his attention--he doesn’t think, just dives back towards the door he’d come in as the explosion goes off. 

-

He comes to nearly an hour later, laying in a pile of debris, though his head is resting on something soft, something that smells familiar. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

His eyes shoot open and through the pain at the sudden light assaulting him, he sees Jeremy, crouched over him, wearing a suit. 

Words leave him momentarily, and he manages to stutter out Jeremy’s name--which has the other man smiling and laughing, “Hey Rye,” he murmurs fondly, cupping his cheek, “Out of all the things I expected you to do as a job, I honestly didn’t think it was this.” 

“Jeremy,” Ryan mumbles, leaning into the touch, because it’s been two long months, “How...did you get here?” he asks, still a little disorientated from the explosion. “Didn’t you have a conference to speak at?” 

Jeremy laughs quietly, “Babe, Ryan, we’ve both been telling lies about what we do,” he says teasingly. “I’m here because I have a target to take out...and I assume you did too. Possibly the same target I took out.” 

It takes a minute for the words to sink in, “You’re not mad?” 

“Nah,” Jeremy says, thumb rubbing slow circles over Ryan’s cheek, “I understand why you didn’t tell me, just like you understand why I didn’t tell you.” 

Ryan hums softly, mind going a little blank and fuzzy at being so close to Jeremy again, “I missed you.”  

Jeremy smiles softly, “Missed you too, Rye,” he whispers. “We should definitely get out of here, I’m pretty sure someone’ll be coming here soon to check on the noise.” 

-

They make their way to a helicopter on the roof and Jeremy helps him into it before getting in and piloting them away from the party. They don’t speak much, Ryan’s mind still racing after the explosion and finding out his partner is also a hitman and Jeremy too focused on making sure they don’t end up crashing. 

When Jeremy drops him off at the meeting place (”I’ve got to head to my own, you know?”), he smiles at Ryan, letting Ryan cup his face and pull him into a sweet kiss. “I’ll see you at home, dear,” Ryan whispers against his mouth before pulling away. 

When Ryan’s out of the way, Jeremy takes off and Ryan watches until he disappears far off, before heading to the single payphone attached to an old decrepit store, eager to complete his mission and get back home to Jeremy. 

[zevuux]

Bones from jackpot crash course idk hes pretty

I really love him jcmckckckcocmc

[dherzogblog]

songs/17

Hey everyone. Welcome back. In a break with tradition I expanded this year’s playlist well beyond the 80 minute limit of a CD.  in addition, and let’s be honest here, I did have some extra time on my hands to listen to music in 2017. So for your listening (and reading ) pleasure I present 1 hour and 50 minutes of the good stuff from the past year. I know, I know, it’s a lot. So is this blog for anyone who actually tries to read it. I’ll promise to try and get it back under control next year, but in the meantime…. enjoy! PS- Click on the bold type below for the music, extras and surprises.

Ride with Me- The Mavericks My theme song for 2017. This year was all about travel and figuring out what I was going to when I grow up. I checked ALL the boxes on the travel end, while the latter remains a work in progress. As the year began and I found myself “unencumbered”, I literally told Noreen to keep her bags packed. A few weeks later the always dependable Mavericks echoed my thoughts with this tune singing: “I gotta go… a whole world to see. So pack your bags up baby, Come along and ride with me “. And ride we did. From Havana to The Grand Canyon, Tokyo to Tel Aviv,  Motown to Muscle Shoals and many places in between, It was trains, planes, and automobile’s across thousands of miles with Noreen and as well as some good friends. It was nothing but good times, and I was so grateful for the opportunity.

No Particular Place To Go- Chuck Berry In 1973 a concert film entitled “Let The Good Times Roll” was released. It was a document of the then popular Richard Nader Rock & Roll revival shows that filled Madison Square Garden regularly. The film featured performances by Bo Diddley, Little Richard, Fats Domino, The Shirelles, and Chuck Berry. It was an era of great popularity for the vintage rock sounds of the 50′s. American Graffiti, Happy Days, Sha Na Na, and even The Beach Boys had helped usher in a “oldies” music revival. It was “retro” and” throwback” before  anyone coined those terms. And it proved that music that was once considered disposable as well as the exclusive domain of pimply teenagers had true enduring appeal. At the time Chuck Berry was riding the wave of his somewhat regrettable “My Ding A Long” novelty single. That song, as well as the 50’s/60’s revival in general is probably what got my 12 year old self into the theater. It was incredible to watch Little Richard climb all over the stage in a frenzy, his androgynous image predating Bowie, and his frenzied stage antics providing a blue print for Prince. Then there was Bo Diddley all in black, strutting the stage with his signature guitar chugging like a freight train, and Chuck Berry duck walking the crowd into a frenzy, it all had me mesmerized. Upon seeing the film, I was so blown away I went back to see it a second time just days later. It was the only way to see it again back then. The acts were all well past their prime and were considered mere “oldies” acts at the time. Berry was not yet 50. (He wouldn’t have been old enough to play Desert Trip) For me, it was a crash course in rock history helping me understand and process almost everything I heard after.

Champagne Corolla- Justin Townes Earle More Songs About Cars And Girls. JTE covers a lot of ground on this outing. He’s 8 albums into his career, and stepping out of the long shadow of his father. 

How to Boil An Egg- Courtney Barnett One off single from Australian singer songwriter making her return to the list. More messy, jangly musings on Millenial angst. She returned later in the year with a full length album with in partnership with Kurt Vile.

On The Rock- Bash & Pop Speaking of jangly and messy, Replacement Tommy Stinson delivers one of my favorite songs of the year. Good fun.

Bad Art and Weirdo Ideas (Quiet Slang)- Beach Slang The original version of this song appeared on the songs/15 list. James Alex the band’s leader starting touring under the moniker Quiet Slang last year. This EP contains some remakes as well as covers recorded in a “Quiet Slang” setting that includes strings. I loved this song the first time around, and even more so now.

Slow Me Down- Jess Ware  This year’s model. Yet another of the UK’s seemingly endless supply of soulful female vocalists. I love a good torch ballad.

Brand New Me- Aretha Franklin and The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra I’m normally suspect of these types of projects. Too gimmicky. Messing with these seminal records borders on sacrilege, But it being Lady Soul, along with some of my very favorite songs I gave a listen. Pairing classic Aretha vocals with brand new backing from London’s Royal Philharmonic Orchestra  these reboots seem to reach for something else. Imagine them as part of an Aretha Franklin Broadway jukebox musical or the lush soundtrack to an Aretha biopic.  And while this particular cut doesn’t have the low key swing of the original, it does have it’s own big, brassy charm. Cinematic orchestration aside, these Aretha vocals remain stone cold classics in any settings. 

At The Breaking Point- Zeshan B Remarkable debut from an Indian Muslim soul singer out of Chicago. The album, recorded in Memphis, is a mixture of obscure R&B , and retro feel originals expertly capturing a mid sixties soul vibe. Sung in three different languages , including Punjabi, the disc also features a great rendition of George Perkins Civil rights song “Cryin In The Streets”

Feeling Alive- Earl St. Clair This young man from Alabama delivers a positive and upbeat message in a modern R&B setting. Plus, I am totally down with the sentiment: “My friends say I should live a little, gotta say yes more”. From his gospel influenced singing to the fiddle heard near the end, their are echos of the deep south felt throughout.

Sweet Love- Wizkid Slinky exotic riddims from this Nigerian hip hop artist

Skin and Bone- Phil Cook I don’t know much about this guy. From north Carolina by way of Wisconsin. His previous record (this was a one off single) was mostly performed in an acoustic country blues/gospel vein. This track reminds me of a late era Sly Stone groove meeting conscious hip hop. The message is right on time, so “clap your hands”.

Birds Of A Feather, We Rock Together- Vulfpeck Vulpeck are back with all their funky, eclectic, quirky charm intact. You not be be able to get the title refrain out of your head after hearing it once. 

Brutal- the Expanders “Man say it brutal out deh”. Perfect description for the world at large in 2017. This Southern California unit specializes in rekindling the spirit of 70’s roots reggae, specifically the unique sounds of the eras classic vocal trios. This is a faithful remake of the Itals track from 1981. Original Ital Ronnie Davis died earlier this year. 

Ladies Nite- Bootsy Collins It’s ladies night in America folks. Bootsy always knows what time it is. O.G.Funk style.

My Old School- Steely Dan (Walter Becker) When I got to college in the fall of 1977, Steely Dan’s Aja was just about to hit record shops. It was an immediate smash upon being released. Prior to that release I knew their pop hits, but not the LP’s to a large degree. I really loved Aja. I was a big jazz funk fan and it had a lot of that influence. Later that school year, during the blizzard of 78, I have vivid memories of that record blasting from nearly every dorm room stereo and radio as we were cooped up for days on end. My next door neighbor in the dorm (from Worcester/“"Woostah" Mass) was a true Steely Dan fanatic. He considered Aja a bit of a sell out on their part.  He insisted I listen to the 5 albums in their catalogue that proceeded it. So I did, borrowing from his collection one LP at a time. I liked them all, especially the magnificent Katy Lied. But the song that always stayed with me was My Old School. A funky (and and not a bit bitter) anthem with a blast of horns straight from E Street topped off with an unforgettable sing a long chorus. As of this printing the Becker estate is now suing Fagen. California might fall into the sea just yet, and but no one is gong back to their old school.

Heart Of The City- Los Straitjackets In 17 years I’m not sure I’ve ever included a rock instrumental. Los Straitjackets remain the premier purveyors of that long forgotten genre. On their latest the band tackle’s the great Nick Lowe’s canon. Super rockin fun all the way through.

Jackpot- Nikki Lane Stylish Nashville rebel with a great voice, rolls the dice and comes with a twangy and rocking winner

A Little Pain- Margo Price A slice of country soul heaven from alt country’s it girl.

Living In The City- Hurray For The Riff Raff On her latest outing band leader Alynda Lee Segarra embraces her Bronx bred Hispanic roots moving ever so slightly away from the alt country sound of previous albums. This track splits the difference nicely. 

Here Comes My Girl- Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers I vividly remember both the first time I saw Tom Petty perform, as well as the last time. The first was in Madison Square Garden as part of a tremendous line up at one of The No Nukes Shows headlined by Bruce Springsteen. The under card was pretty strong that night. Bonnie Raitt, Peter Tosh, and Gil Scott- Heron. I was a fan of all the acts and had seen them all play live, save Petty. I was not sure what to expect from Petty that night. At that time he had three songs garnering airplay and scratching the Top 40. There was the Byrds like “American Girl”, the AOR ready “Breakdown”, and the taught, urgent energy of  “I Need to Know”. That track had me wondering if The Heartbreakers might just be another skinny tie band. In addition there was the slight confusion because punk rocker Johnny Thunders band was also named The Heartbreakers . So I wasn’t exactly sure what I was about to see. His short dispelled any notions of a the act being new wave flash in the pan. It was clear Petty was more straight ahead rock classicist. The release of Damn The Torpedoes just a few weeks later would confirm that. Petty had arrived and was thrust onto the charts and into the big leagues. I was never a huge fan. I loved the best albums and ignored the others. I never found him a great live performer, but always left his shows happy. The songs were great and the band was top notch. Somehow despite his nuanced low key approach he became an unlikely MTV video star. He made continually great clips and they dominated the channel. Despite that, he never did promotions and contests, was rarely interviewed, and his managers did not work us nearly as much as his superstar peers. He toured regularly and always seemed to have a clip in rotation. He was the every man rock star, not bigger than life, not overly political, just writing great songs, hanging with The Wilbury’s and doing his thing. It felt like he was was always there, but he never was. A huge star, yet somehow in the shadows. Hence I rarely ever came face to face. My one memory is standing on stage at Live Aid next to him, and then Heartbreaker drummer Stan Lynch as they waited like anxious school boys to see the reunited Led Zeppelin. They could not have been more excited, anxiously awaiting the set to begin. The band hit the stage and started too play. It was a disaster, just awful. Half way through the second song Petty threw Lynch a sour look. In a flash they were gone, back to the artist compound. They could not bear to watch. I saw Petty perform for the last time just ten days before he passed. I was in the first row at The Hollywood Bowl. Early on I remarked to my wife “He doesn’t look good” (although truthfully, did he ever?). His energy seemed good, and his demeanor upbeat, but he was pasty and wan. He stumbled crossing the stage a few times, took some quiet puff of a cigarette hidden on the drum riser. And he was doing a weird thing with his mouth/lips/teeth. But honestly my reaction was not unlike running into a friend you haven’t seen in a bit where they did not look their best. Like everyone else, I was shocked when I heard the news. When all is said and done for me, it was the songs. Lyrics clear and concise, monster melodic hooks, classic influences and great production.  Petty had a chip on his shoulder for sure, but it fueled the hope, ambition, and longing in his best songs and allowed him to achieve pop perfection over and over.

Gentle On My Mind- Glen Campbell 1968. I listened to what ever WABC played on the radio. Around that time there were three sappy and saccharine pop hits that always managed to make my cynicism free, nine year old heart ache with melancholy. The country soul of “O.C Smith’s. “Little Green Apples”, the maudlin mush of Bobby Goldsboro’s “Honey”, and the gorgeous,”Gentle on My Mind”. 1968 turned dark quickly with the assassination of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, the simmering controversy around the Vietnam War, and a divisive presidential election. The bright sunlight of The Summer Of Love disappeared as quickly, as did this type of 60′s pop (and psychedelia for that matter). Campbell continued to write mainstream and country hits, star in his own prime tine TV series (”Hello, I’m Glen Campbell!”), and later become tabloid fodder with his drama and drug fueled marriage to country bad girl Tanya Tucker. All of this conspiring to obscure the fact that he was a truly a tremendous songwriter and performer. I was moved recently watching the heartbreaking documentary “I’ll Be Me” which chronicles his battle with Alzhiemers on his final tour. Its well worth a watch and adds to the story of this somewhat overlooked legend.

Tupelo- Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit Beautiful ballad from the ex Drive By Trucker. A great album overall as well.

Transformation- Van Morrison If this sounds familiar, that’s probably the point. This track echoes back to Van’s great mid 70′s albums. It’’s smothered in enough tupelo honey, crazy love and  celtic soul to turn on your electric light and send you into the mystic. I’m gonna guess you’re all ok with that.

Midnight Rider- Allman Brothers Band  (Greg Allman) CLICK HERE for my earlier Greg Allman post (REVISED AND UPDATED)

Find Yourself- Lukas Nelson and The Promise of The Real Willie’s son and band fresh off the road deliver a promising set. This southern soul track recalls classic’s like William Bell’s “I Forgot to Be Your Lover”, and Delaney and Bonnie’s version of “Everybody Loves A Winner. That plus the pedigree gets my interest. Willie clearly raised him right.

 What Would I Do- Lizz Wright The elegant and soulful Lizz Wright delivers plenty of grace on her latest set of well chosen covers like this Ray Charles gem.

Have You Heard Anything From The Lord Today- Cody Chestnutt Elusive and genre hopping Cody Chestnutt returns with only his fifth album in over 15 years.  Better known within the industry than out, he always delivers something interesting. This time it’s a little bit of a little bit of faith.

Not Dark Yet- Shelby Lynne& Alison Moorer Two of country’s finest voices, and sisters, finally team up for an entire album. This is one of my very favorite latter day Dylan tunes, and they sing it beautifully. I was haunted by their version the very first time I heard it and have played it quite a bit since. I’ve always interpreted the lyrics to be the final reflections of someone getting ready to meet their maker. As 2017 brought some very tough days, there were times I couldn’t help thinking of it as a reflection of the state of our union and the planet. “It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there” I thought to myself once too often. Here’s to a better 2018. Here’s the whole thing on Spotify: songs/17 The Herzogs wish you and all of yours the very best. Look forward to seeing you in the new year. xo dh Los Angeles, December 2017

[mitjoisperfect]

(Guys I wrote a fic)

The Black of Blood

Jonas and Sidney just wanted to get supplies with as little drama as possible. But that's not how this world works.

Zombie Apocolypse AU.

Read on AO3

It was far too quiet in the parking lot. A single, abandoned pickup truck sat in the middle of cracked concrete. The body was starting to rust, weeds sprouting around its deflated tires and orange dust lay on its windows. It had been months and months since it had last been turned on, left in the middle of the parking lot to become part of the scenery.

In the dusty truck bed, Sidney and Jonas sat, their eyes trained not only on the supermarket in front of them but on each and every alleyway and road around them. The houses around them were spaced out and few in number. The roads were wide and filled with pot holes.

They were in the open and not safe. Not yet at least.

But there were no signs of Crawlers or Runners. No signs of the new freak mutations that had appeared over the last few weeks that they’d yet to name.

The lack of life made both Jonas and Sidney uneasy.

“I think we’re safe for now,” Sid breathed, hazel eyes focused entirely on the still doors of the building before them. At her hip was a pistol – one Dean had given her when it all started – and her hand rested on it, looking to pull it from its holster at any moment.

Jonas, on the other hand, was equipped with a measly baseball bat. Guns and bullets were now treasured items in this new world, so there was no doubt that Dean did not trust Jonas with either of these things.

Sid swung her leg over the side of the truck and jumped down onto the ground, Jonas scrambling down to follow. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His gut twisted this way and that as they approached the store. He could feel someone, something, staring into his soul. His grip tightened around his bat, just in case.

The electric, sliding doors to the supermarket had been jammed open long ago, no doubt when the first wave of Crawlers came and people started shutting themselves into their own homes, hunkering down to try and escape the worst of it.

It hadn’t helped, of course. Crawlers were strong. They broke through doors within minutes. It had been terrifying.

But there was always stuff left: canned goods and boxed foods that lasted forever and never went stale, sometimes they’d hit the jackpot and find medicines and painkillers hidden in the back.

Nevertheless, this was always their mission. Move from town to town and pillage the leftovers, scavenging like the stray dogs that prowled the streets.

Sid led the way in, broken glass crunching under her feet. She pulled the gun from her holster and held it ready, keen gaze scanning over the aisles before them. Jonas drew his bat up to his shoulder and kept close to his sister.

It seemed, however, after a few minutes of patrolling up and down between the aisles, that the only thing threatening in the store was a pigeon fluttering around above them.

“Are you sure you want to put that away?” Jonas asked as they stopped to start grabbing cans of soup off the shelves. Sid strapped the pistol back onto her hip and raised an eyebrow.

“You scared?” She asked, unzipping her bag.

“Obviously.”

“You’re such a baby. Come here, I’ve got soup for you.”

“What kind?” Jonas pulled the bag from his back.

“Lentil.”

Jonas made a face but unzipped his backpack and held it out for Sidney to start filling it up. Slowly but surely, they filled up the bags, moving away from the soup to fill up on tinned vegetables, two bottles of water and condensed milk – a sweet treat that they stared at, wide-eyed. They’d hide that from Dean and share it with the few children their little group had managed to gather up.

They crept around until they eventually came to the cash registers, placing their bags onto the conveyer belt and zipping up, happy with the outcome of their little treasure hunt.

Jonas was ready to leave and start making their way back to their hideaway and back to safety as soon as possible, yet Sidney seemed to linger. She stared at a set of double doors that no doubt lead to the back of the store, where more food might possibly be waiting for them.

“We should go check,” Sidney said, swinging her backpack over one shoulder and making her way towards the door. “There could be painkillers back there, or powdered milk or more bottled water.”

This was true: more than once they’d come across the motherlode by venturing into the back of the store even when the front was empty.

And yet there was something holding Jonas back today. Even after the success they’d had today, his stomach was still churning and he had goose bumps. It was all very bizarre. There were no problems or setbacks. There was nothing around to prevent them from getting the food like there usually was. It was just too quiet.

Sidney pressed her hand against the door, pausing for the briefest of seconds to take a deep breath, before pushing it open.

The stench of rotting food was overwhelming. There were baskets and boxes of meat and cheeses growing mould and attracting flies. The fruit had turned to mushy green piles and, as they explored deeper into the store, they realised that any signs of surviving food had diminished. There were a few cans left and they snatched them up as quickly as possible.

As they turned to leave again, to make their way through the abandoned shelves, something clattered behind them.

They turned and their hearts jumped up into their throats. Sid immediately grabbed her pistol and Jonas’ hands tightened securely around his baseball bat. Slowly, the sound of footsteps echoed around them, just light beats to begin with.

As quietly as they could, Sid grabbed Jonas and started pulling him to the door, a silent plea on her lips for him to just move.

They reached the end of the shelf to see a single figure limping around the cases of rotten meat. Just the one, head tilted to the side, one arm swinging by her side, clothes torn and stained with black blood. Her grey skin seemed to be peeling away from the rotting muscle around her ankle, the leg of her trousers having been ripped away long ago.

But there was just one.

And it didn’t know they were there.

The gunshot was loud against the dusty air of the store. It was a clean shot, right through the head and the creature was down in an instant. No pain, no screaming, just the splash of blood splattering across the hard floors.

The ground turned black and Sid stepped out from behind the shelf, gun still aimed at the corpse in front of her. She kicked it, waiting for it to move again. It didn’t. Sidney considered it to be a perfect shot.

She was just about to lower her gun when she felt Jonas’ fingers gripping at her elbow. She spun her head towards him, a snarky comment just about to pass her lips when she saw it.

The hoard.

Dozens of Runners, each one of them focused entirely on Jonas and Sidney. Without a second thought, Sidney set off a number of shots. Blood splattered across the floors, but no zombie came down with it.

Sidney had no time to aim again as the hoard came charging and Jonas started dragging her back.

The hunt was on.

Together, they bolted back through to the front of the store, Runners hot on their tail. They could see the exit, just a few aisle over, just a few more hundred yards, and then... Then what? They’d lead them back to the group? Hide out in the abandoned houses until the danger had passed? Zombies were persistent blighters, any sign of food and they would stick around for days afterwards.

Jonas doubted they’d even escape this. His legs were starting to give out and he looked to his right, expecting to see Sidney at his side and keeping up with ease. But she was gone.

He kept going. He couldn’t just pause to look around. Visions of Sidney’s mutilated body danced in his head, her flesh torn from her bones, her skull cracked and oozing blood around her head like a halo. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had to keep running!

At the thought of Sidney’s grizzly demise, lights started to glow around his body, thick ribbons of emerald green floated around his waist and limbs. He steeled himself and a blast shot out behind him.

The crashes and groans were left behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see an entire empty aisle having tipped over onto a good number of the hoard. A few zombies peered out from the rubble.

Yes, this was good. He just had to get out of the store now! He had to sprint again to make it, try and dodge as many zombies as he could, but he was sure he could make it!

But, as he came to the cash registers again, the sight of Crawlers, on all fours and hovering around the entrance made his stomach churn.

His legs shook, his heart pounded against his chest, and his bat was slipping from his grasp. His mind went hazy and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could see the lights behind his eyelids, swirling and spinning. There was the sound of explosions somewhere in his ears.

When he opened them again, everything was dark.

Or, at least, darker than it had been.

He was curled up somewhere, dust filling his lungs. Had he blacked out?

Just above him, he could hear the clicking and groaning of the hoard, still out there and waiting for him to reappear. Somewhere in the chaos, he’d lost his baseball bat and Sidney was still nowhere to be seen.

He swallowed thickly. Maybe he could make a run for it again. He moved slowly, going towards the only source of light available. He pushed against something heavy and looked out. All around, Runners and Crawlers were scavenging what looked to be the site of a collapsed building. Glass and rubble littered the floor and Jonas suddenly remembered that he was still in the supermarket.

Somehow, the entrance of the building had caved in and Jonas was currently hiding under one of the cash registers, along with the help of a large slab of concrete.

There was a window just a few feet from where he sat. He looked around again he could make it; he could totally make it.

A sudden array of nails and snarling made him shoot right back into his hiding place. Hands clawed at the concrete slab and a large, pale eye stared at him through the cracks. The Crawler shoved against the slab, dust pouring onto the floor between them. The creature was slightly too big to get at him for now, but the slab was starting to slide. It wouldn’t be long before Jonas felt the sweet release of death.

Slowly, the Crawler inched its way in, nails getting caught on Jonas’ jeans and trying to drag him out.

Jonas was close to kicking the creature in the face when the concrete slab suddenly moved. Light blared into the hiding spot and a warmth trickled thickly over Jonas’ face. Under the slab, the Crawler was limp, head crushed.

In its place, was a hand, warm and human and Jonas didn’t even hesitate to reach out and grab it.

He was hoisted into the air and onto the shoulder of a very large man. A plastic clown mask concealed his face and his loud voice was slightly muffled because of it.

“I’ve got him!” The man cried as gunshots echoed in Jonas’ ears. Jonas blinked just once and a cloud of dust worked its way into his eyes. He shut them tight. He could feel the black blood mixing with the grime and hardening on his cheeks.

Jonas clung to the body of the man, fingers gripping into thick padded shoulders. The gunfire was deafening. There was a cry from somewhere in the distance, something strong and hard and familiar.

In an instant, Jonas was dropped from his position onto the cold, hard ground, his back hitting the concrete and he winced.

“Jonas!” There were hands on his face as he struggled to sit up, gentle hands he’d felt against his skin so many times before cupping his face to make sure he was alright. Sid! Sid was okay!

“I thought you were dead in there,” Sid’s voice was raspy in his ear as he felt something wet wipe against his face. Slowly, the mix of black blood and dust started to come away.

Then, silence reigned over the street. The scent of blood still soaked into their clothes and the heavy darkness of splatters and droplets speckled across jackets and jeans. The quiet after a battle was always deafening.

As Sid worked across Jonas’ face with water, Jonas started allowing himself to try and blink the dust away from his eyes. With each blink, he would catch a brief snapshot of the scene in front of him.

Three people stood with their backs to him and Sidney, guns strapped across their shoulders and staring out across the supermarket. The store was once big and sturdy, but now it was half crumbled, the entrance almost entirely destroyed. A single corner was still standing and from that direction, another figure appeared.

This figure wasn’t fast like a Runner, choosing instead to linger for a moment, staring at the building before strolling towards the group.

And the voice that came from it caused a chill to run down Jonas’ spine.

“Well, that was fuckin’ fun!” He said, ignoring Jonas and Sid to amble up to his group, slapping shoulders and sharing swears as they complimented themselves on a job well done. They began removing masks, giggling to themselves.

Somehow, Jonas’ eyes were suddenly clear and wide to stare at those broad shoulders he’d seen walk away from him so many times before. The man’s head turned and… Oh. Oh God, he was alive.

“Mitch?” Jonas’ voice trembled as he slowly raised to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, his heart in his throat as all four of the group in front of them seemed to still.

And Mitch finally turned.

He was still the same as he’d always been, only his hair had gotten longer, his natural roots showing under the blond Jonas was used to. The scruff on his chin that Mitch had claimed to be a beard was thicker as well. He still donned the same pair of ripped jeans as he’d always done and the same orange Converses too.

“Joey?”

Mitch took a step forward and Jonas couldn’t help but copy the action. Wordlessly, they cautiously approached each other until Jonas was able to reach out and let his fingers graze against the back of Mitch’s hand.

And there was a spark as strong and bright as lightning.

Within seconds, Mitch had collected Jonas up and pulled him to his chest, long arms wrapping tightly around the smaller boy’s form with the intent of never letting go. Jonas’ fingers gripped at Mitch’s jacket, unable to move his arms. There were tears, he knew, falling down his grubby face, but he didn’t care. Instead, he pressed his forehead against Mitch’s shoulder, letting himself bathe in the familiarity of everything Mitch.

“Thought you were fuckin’ dead or something,” Mitch breathed against his ear, not even bothering to loosen his grip.

Jonas sniffed loudly. “I tried to find you, I did. But I had no choice but to leave Sellwood. My phone smashed during the panic.”

Mitch started swearing, his voice low and growling against Jonas’ cheek and that alone sent shivers down his spine. The swearing was random and mumbled, even as Mitch pulled back slightly, releasing Jonas from his grip to cup his face. Fingers brushed against his cheeks, trying to wipe away more of the dried blood. They travelled across his jaw, the bridge of his nose, under his eyes to try and stop Jonas’ salty tears from falling.

The only time Mitch was able to shut up was when he leaned down, letting Jonas hook his arms around his neck and pressed their lips together.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate with too much teeth and tongue to be comfortable. And yet, it was electrifying, relief running through Jonas’ veins before being quickly replaced by passion. His stomach twisted as Mitch tilted his head, his fingers dug into the hair at the back of Mitch’s head as their hips bumped together. One hand ran down to the small of his back and he could feel himself being tipped backwards ever so slightly.

They were out in the open, at risk of being attacked by Runners and yet they didn’t care. If they died now, they’d die happy and content in knowing they found each other one last time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they parted, lips shining and eyes wet.

Jonas couldn’t help but smile and Mitch did the same, arms tightening around Jonas again.

“Well, fuck me,” A voice grumbled and both Mitch and Jonas looked around to see the rest of Mitch’s crew, masks removed. Javier, Scratch, and Cliff stood in disbelief, looking none the worse for wear than when Jonas had last seen them. They looked the same as ever, albeit a bit dustier than before and hair a touch longer too.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Javier suddenly cries, throwing his hands into the air and dropping his mask. “We spent weeks hunkered down in Sellwood because Mitch didn’t want to leave! We all thought you were dead!”

Suddenly, Javier is at their side and throws his arms around the two. It wasn’t a hug, per se, but it felt like it. The group then got heavier as Scratch launched herself onto Mitch’s back, chortling very loudly in their ears. Meanwhile, Cliff had approached with a frown and simply patted Mitch on the shoulder softly.

The embrace Javier had captured them in was tight and comforting, yet as he let go, Jonas couldn’t help but something was missing.

He looked back over to where Sidney was stood, mouth open in shock and an open bottle of water still gripped between her fingers. Jonas untangled himself from the mass of limbs, managing to let go of Mitch and staggered over to his sister.

“Is this really happening?” Sidney asked. Jonas only nodded. “Of course your dumb boyfriend comes back, alive and well during the apocalypse.”

“I know,” Jonas breathed, his smile bright and feeling more ecstatic than he’d been for a long time.

“Are you going to bring them back to base?”

“I was hoping to.”

Sidney let out a loud sigh. The action caught the group’s attention and they all looked around. Mitch took it upon himself to straighten himself out and step forward.

“Got a problem, Clone?” He asked.

Slowly and carefully, Sidney closed the water bottle and made a big show of shrugging her backpack off her shoulder and sipping the bottle back in amongst the cans. She struggled with the zip for a moment before swinging the bag back into place.

She said nothing as she gestures with a finger for Mitch to come closer. Of course, Mitch takes the bait.

He’s barely three feet away from the twins when Sidney suddenly reaches out and yanks Mitch down by the front of his shirt. Mitch almost loses his balance as Sidney pulls his down so they’re glaring right at each other.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Sidney starts, voice low, “I don’t care if we’re in the middle of the end of the world and that we’re all supposed to protect each other for humanity’s sake. If you even think about hurting my little brother then I will make sure that you will pay dearly for it. Understand?”

Mitch sucked in a breath through his nose, eyes flickering from Sidney’s menacing gaze to where Jonas stood at her shoulder, trying to break the two apart.

“Yeah,” Mitch finally said and Sidney immediately let go.

“Oh, and it’s not me who’ll have a problem with you turning up out of the blue. That honour will go to Dean,” Sidney stepped back, letting Jonas work his way back into Mitch’s space.

“That fucker still around?” Mitch grumbled, shoulders tightening at the mere thought of the man. He relaxed slightly when Jonas took his hand.

“We have a base not far from here. It’s not much but it’s well-protected. There’s running water and a generator for electricity along with a lot of rooms so you can each have your own space,” Jonas explained, skipping over the fact that Dean was still alive and watching over the twins.

“You askin’ us back to your place, Spots?” Mitch asked. He raised an eyebrow suggestively and Jonas could see his lights again, pink and glowing brightly. It had been a while since they’d turned that colour.

“Only if you guys want to,” Jonas replied.

Mitch smirked and leaned down to press his forehead against Jonas’. He gave a small, short kiss to his lips and then pulled back to look over his shoulder.

With a nod to the rest of his gang, Mitch started following along after Jonas and Mitch. Whilst the base was a good hour’s walk away, Mitch and Jonas refused to let go of each other’s hand the entire time and thought to themselves that maybe, just maybe, their future was starting to look a little more promising.