#not knocking the fact that there are plenty of ways stringing a guitar can go wrong and be dangerous in its own right

[northwestofinsanity]

Terrifying, yet anticlimactic: re-stringing a guitar for the first time after hearing all the horror stories, and having a past of dealing with the terror that re-stringing a viola entails

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Can you do more blurbs on Sirius x potter reader?

Your work is amazing!!!

AN:Thank you so much!! I am slowly working my way through my requests and I am sorry this took so long!! The original series seems to end on a good note to me, so I am going with a new concept!

Rock 'n Roll

Sirius Black x Potter!Reader who learns a thing or two about rock 'n roll...

Summary: Sirius stays home with a hangover, but the reader is always there to lend a hand.

Wc: 2.5k

CW: Very suggestive, reader is uptown/very princess type, slight corruption if you squint.

The morning was quiet, the soft hum of birdsong drifting in through the open windows of the Potter manor. Sunlight filtered lazily through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor. Euphemia’s cheerful voice rang through the hallways as she corralled Fleamont and James into the livingroom for an early errand.

“Sirius, are you coming?” Euphemia called, pausing near the doorway of his room. James snickered behind her as Sirius groaned from inside.

“Think I’ll pass, Euphie,” Sirius mumbled, his voice sharp. “Got some… stuff to do.”

James barked a laugh. “Stuff? You mean nursing that hangover?”

“Don’t wait up,” Sirius muffled into his pillow, his voice hoarse, and Euphemia rolled her eyes fondly before ushering her other boys out.

Down the hall, you sat perched on the edge of your neatly made bed, your doe eyes flicking toward the empty corridor. Calling out a goodbye to your mother before waiting patiently for the front door to close. With your parents and James gone, an odd silence fell over the house.

An hour or so later, you made your way down the hall to Sirius’s room, a smirk tugging at your lips as you knocked lightly on the door. When there was no response, you pushed it open, stepping inside with practiced ease.

The room was chaos. Band posters plastered the walls, clashing with the faded floral wallpaper beneath them. Records and empty bottles littered the floor, and the faint scent of smoke and leather lingered in the air. Sirius was sprawled on the bed, his dark hair a tousled mess against the pillow, his eyes closed as he groaned softly at your intrusion.

“You smell like regret,” You hummed, walking over to his desk. Giving a small grimace at the incense ash that stained the wood polish. You huffed as you grabbed one of his torn record sleeves and dusted the ash aside. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”

Sirius cracked one eye open, squinting at you. “And what exactly makes you think I regret anything, Bambi?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You mused, stepping further into the room and setting the glass of green liquid on his nightstand. “The Firewhiskey bottle on the bed? The ashtray overflowing with cigarettes? The fact that you didn’t even bother to make up a better excuse for my mother?”

Sirius laughed weakly, sitting up just enough to grab the glass. “Touché. What is this, anyway?”

“Hangover remedy,” You shrugged, crossing your arms. Ignoring how Sirius’s eyes swept over you, giving a low sarcastic scoff at you- wasn't new. Seemed to find it just the funniest thing that you kept to your best. Even behind closed doors “Drink it. You’ll thank me later.”

He eyed the liquid warily before taking a cautious sip, wincing at the taste. “Merlin, did you bottle swamp water?”

“Wish I thought of that.” You sighed and waved your hand, taking a better look at the poor past guest room. “It's known to cure even the most hopeless cases.”

He downed the rest, setting the glass aside with a wince. He gave a faint cough before leaning back on his elbows. “Hopeless, eh? I’d argue you don’t know the first thing about that.”

“Oh, I know plenty,” You shot back, wandering over to the guitar propped against the wall. The only semi pristine thing left untouched by stains. You picked it up, running your fingers over the strings experimentally. “Like wearing white heels after Labor Day.”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that? You're more proper then your mother.”

You plucked an awkward chord, grimacing slightly at the sound. Walking back over to him you sat on the edge of his bed, plucking a painfully ugly tune.

Sirius curled up his lips and sat up further. “That sounds bloody awful.”

“What a gentleman you are.” You huffed before slowly smirking to yourself. Leaning against one of the bed posts. “How hard can it be? If you can do it, I can.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he reached out and plucked the guitar from your hands. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and for a moment, the air between you stilled, heavy- as if taunting you. 'You're in over your head’.

He cradled the instrument with the ease of someone who knew it inside out, leaning back casually against the headboard. “You’re all talk, Bambi.” He teased, strumming a quick, clean chord to emphasize his point. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him as he began to adjust the tuning with deft fingers, the familiar twang of strings filling the room. “I didn’t say I was a rockstar, Black. Just that I could figure it out.”

“Well, you’ve got a long way to go,” He shot back, tilting his head toward you with a playful smirk. “Come here. I’ll show you the basics.”

You hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. Sirius shifted the guitar onto his lap and motioned for you to take it again. When you did, he leaned in, his arm brushing against yours as he reached over to adjust your grip.

“Alright, press here,” He murmured, his voice low as he guided your fingers to the correct position on the frets. His hand lingered over yours for a beat too long, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt far too intentional. “And strum with this hand. Not too hard, not too soft.”

You followed his instructions, managing to produce a passable chord this time. Sirius grinned, leaning back slightly to admire your work. “See? Not bad for a beginner.”

You shot him a triumphant look, sitting up straighter as you strummed the chord again. “Told you I could do it. I’m officially a rock ‘n roller.”

Sirius chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. He tilted his head, his gray eyes shining with amusement as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “Do you even know what rock ‘n roll means, Bambi?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone- able to smell the cigarette smoke and bitter cheap beer on his breath. “Of course I do. It’s… music, rebellion, leather jackets-”

“Wrong.” He interrupted, his lips curving into a devilish grin. He reached out, his fingers brushing yours again as he took the guitar from you and set it aside. “Rock ‘n roll,” He continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, “means sex.”

Your jaw opened but no words left- shock taking over your features. You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out softer than you intended. “Trust you to make it about that.”

Sirius’s grin widened as he leaned back against the headboard, his devil-may-care confidence only deepening the charge in the room.

“I think you’re just jealous,” You shot again, sitting up straighter and folding your arms. “All this talk of rebellion, and here I am, out-rocking you.”

Sirius snorted, his fingers raking through his tousled hair. “Jealous? Please. The day you out-rock me, Bambi, is the day I start drinking tea with my pinky up.”

“Proper suits you, Black.” You smirked, leaning forward and propping your elbows on your knees. Your perfume- a mix of lavender and something faintly citrus- drifting toward him. His eyes flicked to yours, just a moment too long for it to be casual. “Isn't that what all the girls tell you?”

Sirius smirked, leaning back further against the headboard, his hands casually resting on his thighs. The faint glow of sunlight through the curtains highlighted the sharp angles of his face, and the devilish gleam in his gray eyes was impossible to ignore.

“So,” he began, his voice low and teasing, “which poor bloke are you stringing along this week, Bambi?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up straighter. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not stringing anyone along.”

Sirius chuckled, the sound deep and warm in his chest. “Right, because it’s not like every guy you meet turns into a drooling idiot the second you smile at them.”

“Jealous, Black?” You quipped, arching an eyebrow.

“Hardly,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Just concerned for their safety. You’ve got a way of leaving a trail of broken hearts, princess. Someone ought to warn them.”

You scoffed, brushing off his words, but the way his gaze lingered on you sent a spark of heat rushing to your cheeks. “I don’t leave broken hearts,” you muttered, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “They just… get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea, huh?” Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you. His voice dropped slightly, his tone turning playful but pointed. “Tell me, Bambi, do they know about your habit of sneaking into my room and making yourself at home?”

You froze for a split second before narrowing your eyes at him. “This isn’t sneaking.”

“Right,” he drawled, his smirk growing. “Helping me recover from my ‘regret smell.’ How noble of you. But tell me- if James walked in here right now and saw you sitting on my bed, what do you think he’d do?”

Your breath hitched, but you masked it with a roll of your eyes. “James wouldn’t care. He knows I can take care of myself.”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You really believe that? James would lose his bloody mind if he found out his perfect little sister was in my bed. He’d probably hex me into next week.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s not here, then.”

Sirius’s grin turned wicked as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low murmur. “Good thing, indeed. Because if he were, I’d have a lot of explaining to do.”

Your pulse quickened as his words hung in the air, the weight of them far heavier than the playful tone he tried to maintain. “Explain what?” You asked, your voice steady despite the way your heart pounded.

Sirius tilted his head, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “How I ended up here. With you. Pretending like it’s not driving me mad.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Sirius…”

He chuckled softly, leaning back again but not breaking eye contact. “Relax, Bambi. Just having a bit of fun. Besides, you’ve got enough admirers to keep you busy. Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

You scoffed, standing abruptly and brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “Honestly, Black, I don’t see how every girl at Hogwarts has been falling over themselves for you. You’re all talk, no substance. Bit overrated, if you ask me.”

Sirius grinned, completely unbothered by your jab. If anything, he looked more amused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back against the headboard, utterly relaxed. “Overrated, am I?” He asked, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Bambi. Comments like that could hurt a bloke’s feelings.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered, pacing a few steps away and running your fingers along the fraying edge of a poster on his wall. “You thrive on it. The attention, the rumors, the… theatrics.” You turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. “You’re practically a walking soap opera.”

Sirius let out a low laugh, sitting up straighter and running a hand through his dark hair. “And here I thought you were above paying me so much attention. Sounds like someone’s been taking notes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You shot back, but the slight twitch of his lips told you he wasn’t taking anything you said too seriously.

“Alright, Bambi,” Sirius drawled, pushing himself off the bed and closing the gap between you with a few lazy strides. He was now standing in front of you, towering just enough to make you aware of the space between you both. “Since you’re the expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done? What’s your idea of substance?”

You blinked up at him, momentarily thrown by how close he’d gotten. “I-” You started, but before you could finish, Sirius leaned in, grabbing the edge of his leather jacket that had been thrown over a chair just behind you. He slung it on with practiced ease, his movements fluid and deliberate as he adjusted the collar.

And then he smirked, reaching for the sunglasses on his desk and sliding them on with a casual flick of his wrist. He tilted his head, his grin wicked as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “What do you think?” He asked, his voice low and dripping with mock arrogance. “Still think I’m overrated, or have I won you over yet?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” Sirius countered, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer. His grin widened when you didn’t immediately step back. “Face it, Bambi. Even you aren’t immune to the Black charm.”

“Oh, please,” You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away. “That ‘charm’ only works on girls too distracted by their own hormones to notice how insufferable you are.”

Sirius chuckled softly, closing the distance between you even more. Now, he was close- too close- and his voice dropped to a murmur, teasing and laced with something heavier. “You sure about that? Because you’re looking a little distracted yourself.”

Your eyes snapped to his, ready to fire back another retort, but the words died on your tongue when you realized how close his face was to yours. The smugness in his expression, the heat in his gaze, the slight curve of his lips- it all hit you at once, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Sirius tilted his head, his smirk softening as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “See, Bambi,” He murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek, “the thing about rock ‘n roll is… you feel it.”

Before you could respond, Sirius moved in. What started as a cocky stunt- a light brush of his lips against yours, meant to prove some ridiculous point- shifted in an instant. The kiss deepened, Sirius’s hands moving to your waist as if he couldn’t help himself.

You froze for half a second, every nerve in your body firing at once, before your arms slipped up around his neck, pulling him closer. His smirk melted into something hotter, more desperate, as he backed you toward the bed, his hands never leaving you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” You muttered against his lips, your voice breathless and shaky but still carrying some of its usual defiance.

“Of course not,” Sirius murmured back, his grin evident in his tone as he pushed you gently onto the mattress- flicking off his sunglasses to some pile on the floor. “Not a thing.”

And then his lips found yours again, and for once, neither of you bothered pretending.

[vanderlindemangofarm]

The Van der Linde Gang - Jobs in a Modern AU

I’ve been really inspired to write about this lately and I’d love to hear your takes! These are the occupations that I think each gang member would have in a modern AU. Some were more challenging than others, but hopefully you guys can see where I’m coming from with each! 

Arthur: Film location scout. His natural eye for photography and framing makes Arthur the perfect member of a pre-production team. His no-bullshit approach to everything means he keeps to deadlines, although he’s known to go wandering off into the wilderness for unknown amounts of time. He enjoys the lone working side of his job and finding exactly the right spots that would make the film come to life. He doesn’t always like the films once they’re finished (in fact he’s often bought cinema tickets and walked out half way through, grumbling that it wasn’t worth the popcorn) but he can’t deny the excited buzz he gets every time he gets hired. In his early years as an assistant he met Bertie Mason, a nervous but talented photography intern. Despite an ill-advised hookup after a week joined at the hip they have remained close friends and still go out on shoots together. 

John: landscape gardener. John? Flowers? Yes, alright, I found it hard to believe too. But look, it’s not about the flowers, even if he does get misty-eyed at the sight of a sunflower in the early morning light. It’s about the challenge, the outdoors, and solving problems. After all the renovations he did to his house and garden (some more successful than others) John found how much satisfaction he got from digging and reshaping and planting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s often without a shirt, even in the colder months, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He always makes friends with the household pets and is wonderful with the kids, always dropping his task to throw a frisbee around for a bit or cheekily accept an ice cold glass of lemonade from their mothers. Whenever he drives past one of his projects he feels himself glowing with pride - “I did that!”. 

Dutch: philosophy lecturer. As always, late with Starbucks. Will he actually grade your essay? Will it mysteriously disappear? Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Sitting precariously on the very edge of his desk, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and losing his balance every 15 minutes, Dr Van der Linde is nothing short of a wonder. For the love of all that is holy, do not get him started on Kant. Kant has no place here. You want to talk about your precious Kant? Get your butt down to Dr O’Driscoll’s class, he has plenty to say about Kant. Perhaps a little too fond of Socrates. Plato who? Completely illegible handwriting and definitely sleeping with several members of the faculty. But somehow his students always walk away with excellent grades. At the end of each term Dutch takes everyone out to a local bar for drinks, insists on buying tequila which no one really fancies at 11am. Claims to ride a motorcycle called The Count which no one has actually seen. Impossible to hate, and he writes everyone great references for their summer internships. 

Hosea: social worker. In a crisis, there’s no one better to knock on your door. Hosea has seen it all and he’ll see it all again, but that doesn’t stop him from treating every single case he gets with the upmost respect and care. His no-nonsense approach to his work means he gets things done, but he never sacrifices his compassion. He mostly works with teenagers and has a way of being able to connect to each individual without coming across as patronising. He’s been in the field for over two decades and is an invaluable mentor for any newcomers, always willing to share a word or two of advice or be a shoulder to cry on. 

Javier: guitar teacher and music therapist. During his worst years, Javier’s guitar was his lifeline. And he wants to help others find their lifeline, too. He works on a freelance basis, mainly going into mental health hospitals, schools and prisons. He runs workshops focusing on guitar playing, but brings other instruments (mainly percussion) to try too. He’s a gentle teacher, always with a joke in his back pocket for when you need it most. He has nicknames for everyone and remembers everything they’ve ever told him. He’s patient and never lets anyone feel bad for making a mistake. Javier also runs an after-school guitar club at the local middle school alongside playing his own music at gigs whenever he can. No, he doesn’t reply to DMs no matter how thirsty they are. 

Sadie: self-defense instructor. After surviving an attack several years ago, Sadie used her ferocity to get her qualification in self-defense to teach other women how to fight back should they need to. Her husband Jake helps out in her classes, happily allowing himself to be thrown around and slammed onto the mat as many times as required. Her students are terrified of her in the best and nicest way. Sadie also volunteers at a women’s refuge, providing emergency care and taking phone calls. 

Charles: environmental campaign manager. Charles has always been drawn to charities and started doing voluntary work for Greenpeace when he was at university, securing an internship with them in Canada which led to a full time job. Whilst Charles mainly hosts meetings and organises events, he also works closely with elementary schools and runs workshops with outdoor activities, crafts and music. Last week they made bird feeders! It was awesome. He’s also a keen activist and regularly meets up with Javier to go to protests and community events, most recently for BLM. 

Micah: motorcycle mechanic. Micah is massively invested in motorcycle culture and treats his beloved bike better than his own mother, if he still spoke to her. Although he pretends not to care, fixing bikes is his greatest passion and almost looks...happy when he’s doing it? Maybe? He likes knowing more than the people who stop by his shop and makes sure they know it. Occasionally he leaves his number on a scrap of paper inside women’s handbags when they’re not looking but for some reason none of them call. Like it or not, he’s incredibly skilled and will have your motorcycle singing a tune if that’s what you want. Euphemism? Of course not. 

Abigail: nurse. She was so shy when she realised she wanted to pursue nursing - would people laugh at her? Was she too impatient, too nagging, too shrill? Her dyslexia always put her off going into further education and she was always discouraged by her parents. But with lots of encouragement from Hosea (who helped her to fill out her applications and other forms) and her friends, Abigail went to university in her 30′s to get her degree. She graduated top of her class and now works full time in her local hospital, based mostly in the emergency room. From drunken brawlers to tearful children and grumpy old men with lumbago, Abigail has learnt to keep her cool and to have faith in her own ability. 

Molly: holistic therapist and masseuse. It took years to get that bastard of a philosopher out of her head (and out of her bed - damn those happy hour drinks “for old times’ sake”), but she’s finally free. Molly radiates a kindness that few took to the time to see, and she wanted to take strength from her past struggles to help others who may need someone to listen, just as she did. Molly took a bunch of online courses in various holistic therapies, including aromatherapy and massage, as this was something she had always been interested in. She runs a tiny clinic on a quiet street, the rooms filled with sunshine and the scent of geraniums. She also has a quite popular ASMR YouTube channel, Emerald Eyes ASMR, which she shyly admits just reached 500k subscribers. Her most popular video, ‘Irish Girl Helps You Fall Asleep (soft spoken, tapping, mouth sounds)’ just reached over a million hits. 

Kieran: veterinarian specialising in equine care. Much like Abigail, Kieran didn’t like the idea of going back into education. He’d had a rough time of it as a teenager, dropping out of high school early and working a string of menial jobs for the next decade. They paid his rent, but he still felt poor. His favourite job, however, was working at a stable. The horses made him feel calm and he found that he could read them better than most people. He went to the library and read as much as he could about them. From there, he got himself an apprenticeship which paved the way for him to earn his degree in veterinary science. He smiled so hard in his graduation photo his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. He travels all over the local countryside, visiting farms and ranches to care for the horses. His confidence picked up after the first few blunders, and little by little he’s saving up to buy his own ranch one day. 

Lenny: political science student. You know that kid who always looks amazing, even in 9am lectures? Yeah, that’s not Lenny, but he’s sat just behind. See him? Yep, the one rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushes through the effects of another all-nighter. It’s not due to procrastination, but from perfectionism. He spends hour agonising over references, appendixes and even titles. One time he was so tired he signed his work “Ynnel”. He’s completely in love with his course and relishes every class he takes. Oh, he’s taking Dutch’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ module by the way. Sitting in the front row, middle seat, directly in front of Dutch, his eyes glinting wickedly. Poor Dutch. Lenny has a counterpoint for absolutely everything and can barely stifle his laughter as Dutch gets more and more flustered. He’s been dating Jenny Kirk, an English Lit student, for the past few months and it’s going well. So well in fact, that he might stop hiding his Doctor Who merchandise every time she comes to his dorm room. 

Tilly: business student. Tilly started university at the same time as Lenny and they still always go to the library together, rolling their eyes at each other over their morning peppermint lattes. Tilly is at the forefront of any and all on-campus activism. Think of Sam from Dear White People - that’s our Tilly. She wears her Ravenclaw scarf all autumn and winter long and posts scathing Instagram stories about the cafeteria food. But she’s powerfully kind and very ambitious, taking on a part time job tutoring kids with dyslexia in their reading and writing. 

Susan: midwife. Think having a baby is scary? Try crossing Nurse Grimshaw. She’s here now, and that baby is coming out of you one way or another. She’ll hold your hand through thick and thin but if you dare say “I can’t do it” one more time she’ll unleash hell. Susan will make sure everyone has a job to do. Partner just standing there like a lemon? Not on her watch. She’s harsh but kind to her trainees and will always offer a cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s a time and place for slacking and it’s not on her labour ward. 

Trelawny: talent agent. Our Josiah is cunning, infuriatingly charismatic and with an eye for the best of the best - what else could he do so effortlessly? He’ll wrangle you a 10 second role as a latrine cleaner in a non-profit film and he’ll still make you feel like the next DiCaprio. You’re a diamond, don’t you know? Of course you could nab Elphaba, we’ll worry about the singing later. How do you feel about cat food commercials? No no, it’s not pornography, it really is cat food this time - he double checked. On top of this, he knows everyone in the business. No, really. He can’t move 3 feet down Broadway without someone booming his name. The tone of said boom depends, of course, but who hasn’t been caught with his bottom out in that director’s wife’s en-suite? 

Sean: outdoor activity centre instructor. You mean you can actually get paid to swim in lakes, ride ziplines through the forest and eat roasted marshmallows?! Sean couldn’t believe his ears. But it was true, and he’s living his best life. He may be on his penultimate warning for unruly behaviour, but he knows he could never really get fired. How could they? Everyone loves him. And to his credit, he’s a fantastic instructor, especially with kids. Everything from canoeing to caving, wild swimming to climbing, Sean has mastered it all and he always makes it fun. No one is allowed to feel left out or silly for not being able to do something. Sean has a way of making everyone feel included, even if you can only make it up the first few rungs of the ladder. Hey, that’s still off the ground! He once knew this feller Bill who cried because a moth flew into his face. You’re doing fine. 

Mary-Beth: librarian and YA author. Sweet Mary-Beth, how could she be anywhere else but surrounded by books? She adores her job at her small, local library and is always looking for ways to make it even better. She often gets tangled up in the stories she reads whilst organising shelves, but it’s quiet enough most days that she’s rarely caught. She loves helping people find their books or recommending her favourites. She also runs the toddler storytime groups and a writing club for older kids. Of course, she’s also writing her own books. The first of her ‘Valentine Mysteries’ books made a modest profit and she’s excited to write more about the adventures of Leslie Dupont. 

Karen: actress. Realising that she had a knack for accents and even after an especially successful high school lead role as Roxy Hart, Karen didn’t really acknowledge her would-be passion for acting for a long time. But she used her talents to get herself and her friends into X-rated films, dive bars and successfully pull off dozens of prank calls. It wasn’t until one of her friends was going to an open-call audition for a short film and wanted someone to go with her that Karen had her epithany. She was cast on the spot, much to the dismay of her friend. Since then, she’s been in a handful of arthouse films, a commercial here and there, and recently enjoyed a short run as Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a small theatre downtown. Does she want fame and fortune? Honestly, she hasn’t really thought about it. Right now, she’s just enjoying the ride. And the phone numbers left for her at front of house from many admirers. 

Strauss: financial loan adviser. Oh boy, perhaps you saw this one coming. Then again, maybe not. Old Leopold isn’t quite the two-pronged-tongued eldritch horror people often mistake him for. In fact, he actually advises people against loan sharks. He had his fair share of debts y’see and he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing. He’s not exactly sweet and cuddly, but he might let you have a free pen if you call by his office. I mean, technically they’re not free but...never mind, just take it. 

Bill: plumber. It was purely accidental that Bill bashed his way into his career. No, really. His sink was blocked and after an hour of poking and prodding the pipes he started hitting the poor thing with a spanner out of pure frustration, cursing all the way. To his shock, it worked, and he suddenly had running water again. What shocked him more is that he realised he wanted to know how. So, he bought a book. And he read the book. And one thing led to another, and now he’s the proud owner of Williamson Plumbing Inc. The money is very good, but for Bill that’s not it. You have to understand that for him, it’s the act itself of fixing something that brings Bill immense satisfaction. And Bill isn’t used to knowing more about something - anything - than those around him. For the first time perhaps in his life, he can sit down, solve a problem, and know that he’s done a good job. 

Swanson: AA group leader. After getting completely sober almost a decade ago and staying that way, Orville wanted to give something back to the people who had helped him out so greatly. Becoming a volunteer to help those who were trapped where he was seemed like the only path, and it felt so right. Orville is there in meetings, making coffee, handing out donuts and training new volunteers. If anyone wants to talk about their faith he’s all ears, but he never pushes it as a cure-all in any situation. Orville’s sobriety has also meant that he’s learnt to make the most phenomenal mocktails. 

Pearson: grocery shop manager and cooking teacher. Simon has his small grocery shop on the edge of town which has a wide range of regular customers. But he wanted to do more, so he set up a small class to teach fellow veterans how to cook. His wife helps out, and they grow the ingredients together in their garden and down at the allotment. It’s just an therapeutic for him as it is for his students, as he’s only just realising how much he wants to talk about his time in the navy. 

Uncle: unknown. For the longest time, everyone thought Uncle worked at one of the worst dive bars in town, as whenever they stumbled in for a nightcap he was there, behind the bar, happy as a pig in shit. Turns out that he just started going there one night and no one could get him to leave. And so every evening he’ll appear like a phantom, sit himself in the half-broken chair behind the bar (clearly labelled “not for customer use”), order the cheapest beer on the menu and sit there until midnight. No one can understand how he gets the means to live as he ragingly denies receiving any government handouts despite his lumbago. Claims to be a veteran but hasn’t fought in any wars anyone has heard of. 

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 7: Preparations

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 7: Preparation

Agad came in over breakfast.

“Agad, welcome to my home,” Seth said, taking a long drink of milk. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “Have a seat. What have you got on Kendra?”

Agad looked more tired than Seth had ever seen him, and let Seth’s joke go flat. He sat down and the six-armed woman that worked in the kitchen put a plate of oatmeal out for him. “Thank you, Simrin,” Agad said. “I have some news, not much of it good. I was able to track the goblins that stole the barrel, they were hiding in Goblin town.”

“Sounds like a fun place,” Seth said.

“You would probably enjoy it,” Agad said, bowing his head, “Just make sure not to lose your eye, or your tooth. It’s in Nevada, not a proper preserve, no caretaker. But they keep to themselves and have general distractor spells, so everyone leaves it alone. I found Slaggo there.”

“Long trip for a goblin on the run.”

“The Sphinx probably helped him, and a wizard named Vernaz. I thought she was an ally and gave Mendigo’s materials to her to be reconstructed. She was good at laying enchantments, much better than me. Her other talent is teleportation, and could have easily helped Slaggo leave Fablehaven with the barrel. I’m positive the barrel made it to the Sphinx.”

Seth finished his last bite of oatmeal, “Then we’re sure that the Sphinx and Ronodin are working together. That sucks, one of them is bad enough.”

Agad massaged his forehead, “I fear it was a mistake to make the Sphinx an Eternal. It will certainly keep the new demon prison closed from him, but I underestimated how cunning he is, even with his Shadow Charmer powers diminished.”

“What did you do to him?” Seth asked.

Agad shrugged, “Not enough apparently. He can’t hear the undead anymore, but we couldn’t dampen much else without killing him. He can put out fires, undo locks, shadow walk. That’s apparently enough to strike against us.”

“The Sphinx had this huge rant about refusing to be a captive,” Seth said, “We should have paid more attention to it. There was no way he was ever going to live by someone else’s say so. Remember, you gave all of us the call, we’re all to blame.”

“Yes, the long life seemed the greatest weakness to the mortal locks,” Agad replied, “It made sense at the time to have at least one person who would not feel that burden, but you are right. He firmly believed in his own rhetoric, and not acknowledging that was a mistake. Both the Sphinx and Vernaz have slipped away. Vanessa is going to be insufferable, and I am going to deserve every minute.”

Seth gave a joyless laugh, “Plenty of mistakes to go around. If the Sphinx happens to die, will that open the new prison? Asking for a friend.”

“No, the prison will remain closed,” Agad said, finally a little amused, “I do not think you would be able to let him die, and that’s fine. But if he happens to die, there are enough already constructed locks in place that the demons of Zzyzx will remain sealed. If the Sphinx comes under your power, save him because you are good, or do not save him because he has harmed those you love and will continue to do so for his own benefit. Do not worry about Zzyzx.”

“Noted,” Seth said. Agad finished breakfast and Seth led him to the War Room.

“I also examined the barrel here,” Agad explained as they walked, “The other half appears to be deep underwater.”

“Why would they do that?” Seth asked. “Did anyone touch the letter we left?”

“Your letter remains in place. An interesting response, and I see only advantages in it. The letter remains physically here, my only recommendation is to make it waterproof so when they pull the barrel up and remove the letter, it doesn’t get ruined by surrounding water. Which answers your other question. They didn’t destroy the barrel, which means they likely intend to use it again.”

“Can you find it?” Seth hoped. “Even a general location would help narrow down the search.”

Agad was already shaking his head, “It’s too deep, and somewhere protected. I can’t get a read on it aside from the fact that it is deep enough that the pressure would kill a human.”

“Great,” Seth said, running a hand through his hair. They approached the War Room, and Seth sat down with Agad across from him. Grandma and Grandpa were already there, and rushed to greet Agad. They updated him on Tess running around the preserve with the Cloak of innocence. Agad gave them the same information about Kendra.

“Any other leads?” Seth asked when everyone was caught up.

“Not quite,” Agad said, “I was unable to gain contact with the Fairy Queen, so we are waiting to see if her connection to Kendra remains strong. No further leads on Bracken either. The only good news I have is that Warren and Vanessa managed to help the caretaker regain a foothold of the Crescent Lagoon sanctuary.”

“I have Bracken’s horn,” Seth said, blinking. He was glad that his friends had some success, but they were okay, Bracken was not. He pulled it out of his emergency kit, “Kendra gave it to me before she lost her memory, along with the medallion and a bunch of information she was keeping to herself.”

“Bracken did say that he had re-established full connection with his horn,” Agad said, “May I see it?”

Seth nodded and offered it to the wizard. Everyone was silent as Agad’s brow pinched in concentration.

“The connection is weak, it feels as though he is under water. No, underground and under water,” Agad said, snowy eyebrows rising, “I would not have been able to tell had I not recently examined the barrel, but working around the water, earth and darkness, I can sense that he is not currently in pain. He seems…bored. He can’t sense me on this side of the connection. But…I would venture to say, he’s at approximately the same depth as the barrel. Within a couple hundred feet of each other.”

“Good,” Grandma said, “Ronodin is handling everything from a master base. There is a good chance Kendra is near them as well. Can you tell Bracken anything about Kendra being near him?”

Agad concentrated, then shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and lowering the horn. “At most, I might be able to push his subconscious thoughts in a certain direction. But I’m positive thoughts about Kendra already haunt him. His last prison ended with her after all.”

Uggh, of all the times to be a lovesick dummy. “Ronodin wants the horn,” Seth said, “That’s what Kendra told me, and I think he tried to get her to give it to him at the Dragon feast.”

“I shudder to think of why he wants it,” Agad said, then offered it back to Seth. “If he wants it badly enough, he’ll find whoever has it. He will likely be more willing to deal with you, knowing how much you want Kendra back. He will also suspect that you have it if Kendra does not. If he contacts you, use your judgement, rely on your grandparents and allies, contact me, and do not endanger the world.”

Seth took it and nodded, placing it back in his adventure kit, silently thanking Agad for placing the lead back in his hands. He would have thanked him out loud, but didn’t want Agad to rethink the choice.

There was a knock on the door, and Knox opened it, letting Tess fall through. “Seth! Seth! I saw the nice dragon! It was so huge!”

Nice dragon? Oh, she left with Eve and they went to see Dromadus. That’s okay then.

“Tess made it back,” Knox said, following her. Patton Burgess’s stingbulb shut the door behind them.

“We took turns flying the winged mounts and walking along the road, over all a very short trip,” Patton said, taking a seat next to Seth. “We heard about Kendra losing her memory. I’m so sorry.”

Patton offered his arms for a hug, and Seth took it, squeezing tightly.

Patton smiled and patted Seth on the back, returning the hug. “Don’t get too attached, I only have a day left.”

Seth released him, “I know,” Seth said, “But I’m glad you’re here while you are. Kendra was kidnapped by Ronodin and the Sphinx working together, and we’ll take any help you can give.”

“Hey, I deserve a hug too,” Doren protested, and both he and Newel tackled Seth in hug, ruffling his hair, before settling back like nothing had happened.

They went through yet another round of catch-up, as Tess squeezed herself in between Knox and Seth, fairly bouncing while waiting to tell her story.

“Tess, this is serious,” Knox scolded, “Kendra’s in a lot of trouble.”

“I know,” Tess said, holding still, “But the fairies at Fablehaven told me all about Bracken and Kendra. Bracken is like, this super cool fairy prince who likes Kendra and totally saves her all the time. And Kendra has a bunch of wicked cool powers from the Fairy Queen, they’re going to be okay until you and Seth rescue them, if they don’t rescue themselves.”

Not how Seth would describe them, Kendra spent a lot more time saving Bracken than the other way around, far as he knew. He was surprised that the Fablehaven fairies were that nice about Kendra though. He wasn’t the only one.

“The fairies said that?” Grandpa asked.

“Well, they said Bracken pitied her, not that he liked her,” Tess admitted, “but that’s what girls always say when the cool boy likes someone else. And they said that the Fairy Queen gives Kendra powers to do stuff for her, and the Fairy Queen is the most powerful person ever. So everything is going to be okay. Really, we need to worry about us.”

Attention snapped to Tess like a guitar string.

“The Dragons are planning to attack us. Tonight! Dromadus doesn’t know how, but he heard them acting like they already won,” Tess explained. “I was supposed to tell Seth. Oh! And don’t tell anyone who told us about the dragons, that’s a secret.”

“Tess,” Knox said slowly, “That’s the kind of thing you say right away.”

“But it’s rude to interrupt people,” she said, confused.

Seth stood up, and he saw Grandpa raise his eyebrows in surprise. Why was he surprised? This was Seth’s job, after all, for a little while longer anyway.

“Okay Agad, welcome to the next round,” Seth said, “Did you check the magical defenses? How are they holding?”

Agad shared an amused look with Grandpa, who just nodded. “I did. The protections seem more secure than ever, even more than when I was caretaker here.”

“The Dragons are certain of victory, but will be unable to mount a frontal assault,” Grandma mused.

“Is Celebrant being hasty?” Patton asked, “From what I understand, dragons with losing streaks don’t stay king for long.”

“Perhaps Dromadus is toying with us,” Marat offered, “His help is rather unexpected.”

“I don’t think Dromadus would do that,” Seth said, “When Kendra and I met him, he seemed kind of like the Fair Folk. Didn’t want the sanctuary to fall, but not gonna do anything about it. And if he isn’t right, and the dragons don’t attack, there’s nothing to gain. If he lied, we wont trust him in the future.”

Marat tilted his head, acknowledging Seth’s statement.

“Anything is possible,” Agad said, “It could be that Dromadus is working with Celebrant, and they are hoping to find a weakness as we scramble to cover ourselves.”

“We have to treat it like a real threat,” Seth decided. “Whatever we show, it can’t be worse than them coming after us when we are unprepared. Possible weaknesses?”

“We should go over our magical defenses one more time,” Marat suggested, “Review the treaty and see if there is anything we missed. It is possible we have a traitor in our midst that will grant them access.”

Unfortunate, but true. He hoped they had been careful enough, though he hadn’t been around much to make a good guess himself.

“What about the barrel?” Knox asked. “We know where that is now, right? Could that be the weakness?”

Agad frowned, “It feels out of character for Celebrant to brag of a victory achieved by allies on the other side of the barrel, but we should not discount it. It is currently the greatest hole in our defense.”

Something about what Knox said bothered Seth. They know where it is now. They weren’t dealing with the Sphinx, but they kind of were. What had the Sphinx done in the past while they thought they were safe? And what was it about Knox’s statement that bothered him?

There wasn’t the textbook method: create a problem, send a friend to help, friend is a traitor. This was a different tactic. The Sphinx liked to stay one step ahead, control the board from both sides, and make threats to force you into action when you’d really just like to sit on your winning streak. Seth thought about the stories he had shared with Knox. Sometimes he planted a traitor, and sometimes the Sphinx sent invisible assassins after you because he already knew where you were going to be. Sometimes he let demon dragons out of their prisons when you weren’t looking.

“Guys,” Seth said, a sick feeling in his stomach, “Hey,” he stopped Marat and Agad in the middle of their discussion about magical defenses. “Bad thought. Someone was controlling Mendigo way before when the barrel was first stolen, right? Probably Ronodin, since he’s been hanging around the preserve and making deals with the Dragons. We thought the person left with the barrel, but it was in the basement the whole time.”

He waited for someone to deny what he was hinting at.

“Ah,” Grandpa Sorenson said, “I see. Between the time the barrel was lost and found, both sides of the barrel were out of our control, and Mendigo was available on our side to assist a sleeper agent.”

Grandma, Tanu, and Agad all looked like they were about to throw up.

“What are you saying?” Knox asked.

“Seth is suggesting the possibility that someone is already here, but remaining hidden,” Marat clarified, “An insightful observation and deduction.”

“Celebrant could claim credit for successfully distracting us,” Agad admitted, “Not as good as a frontal assault, but enough for him to claim the win. Especially if he can claim the kill. If the enemy is hiding near the Blackwell, it would be nearly impossible to sense them around the aura of the undead.”

“The question is,” Grandma said, “whether the source of the threat is already here, or will it come through the barrel yet. I am loathe to give up our only connection to Kendra.”

“Any way we can make sure we aren’t being listened to, Agad?” Grandpa asked.

“Not that I can create without knowing our spy and what he is using,” Agad said, shaking his head. “We will have to plan even though we may be spied upon.”

“There can’t be a bunch of them,” Seth decided, “I can see through most hiding spells, and I haven’t seen anyone. I can’t get around distractor spells, that was Kendra’s half…” he looked down at Tess, fairy struck, who was sitting still and paying attention like a good girl. Plans were starting to come together “Let’s not talk about everything here. I want everyone to split into groups. Agad, Marat, where’s the best place to examine the magical defenses?”

They shared a look, “The tower where the Roost used to be,” Agad said at last. “The protections still form a small dent there, where a dragon may come closer than other area.”

“Okay, head to Seth Tower, I’ll meet up with you after.” Seth said. It was energizing, being heard and listened to. And to actually be doing something! The brothers nodded.

“Tanu,” Seth said, “I want your potions ready by dinner, whatever happens, you’re going to need to be stocked and ready to go.” Several people caught his emphasis, but didn’t say anything, just like he wanted. Well Tess asked, but Knox shushed her.

“I would appreciate an assistant,” Tanu said.

“I’ll help,” Patton said, standing up, “Unless you have a job for me elsewhere.”

Seth shook his head, “Helping Tanu is perfect.”

He turned to Grandma and Grandpa, “I need you guys to work with the staff. Let them know we’ve been warned of a threat, organize extra lookouts and patrols, organize a watch over the barrel, that kind of stuff. We don’t know what direction the threat coming from, so we cover as many directions as possible.”

Now it was time for Grandma to look amused, and Grandpa to look proud.

“Understood Seth,” she said. “We will retreat to the Winter Study to plan. Henrick will be back soon, and his help will be invaluable with this. We should wait to inform the staff until after he joins us.”

“Great idea, go for it. Er, where’s the Winter Study?” Seth asked, trying to remember from their tour.

“Directly below Kendra’s bedroom,” Agad said. “On the first floor.”

Seth nodded, he’d knock on doors until he found the right one.

Seth turned to his remaining players, “And finally: Doren, Newel, Tess, and Knox. I have a very special job for you. Wait outside the door while I make sure of something with Agad.”

“That’s our cue to leave,” Grandma said, patting a hand on her husband’s leg.

“The abundance of caution while in command suits you,” Grandpa said, standing up. He put his hand on Seth’s shoulder as he passed, “I’m proud of how you’re handling this situation.”

Considering a little over a week ago, he’d gotten a stern lecture about endangering his cousin and the consequences to trying to trick magic, this was quite the change. Grandpa smiled, and walked past him. There was a small lump in his throat. This feeling was why Kendra always did her best to make people proud of her. It was rarely sent his way.

Tanu and Patton also left, then the satyrs and his cousins went just outside the door.

Seth walked close to Agad and lowered his voice, “Tess is Fairy struck, can she see through distractor spells?”

Agad nodded.

Seth smiled and nodded as well. He whispered. “Can you bring the treaty document to the tower?”

Agad shook his head, “It is locked in a box in the Winter Study. The medallion opens the box. I recommend against moving it.”

Seth looked at Marat.

“I agree, with my brother. We have the contents memorized, we should only consult them upon need.”

Seth nodded, then stepped back.

“See you at Seth Tower soon.”

The two of them left, and Seth took a moment to fling himself on the couch and groan. The energy had left when everyone else did. Leading was such hard work! For the millionth time, he wished Kendra had let him turn the key. Sure he’d be kidnapped and being trained into an evil Shadow Charmer right now, but Kendra was so much smarter than him, she would have figured out about the intruder way before.

Probably because she had better judgement than him and didn’t usually trust terrible people right off the bat. And like she said, people usually had enough confidence in her to just trust her with important stuff.

The door creaked open, “Uh, Seth, did you have a job for us?” Newel asked.

Seth got up and went to the door. Remembering from his first day, he used the medallion to unlock a desk drawer in the corner, and pulled out a key ring, slipping it into his adventure pouch.

“Yeah, follow me, I don’t know how much of the keep Tess and Knox got to see,” Seth said, “And it’s a good time to get an updated map of it, in case we come under siege. It’s possible the Dragons are just going to stare us down until we run out of food. Any of you got any talent at drawing maps?”

There was a pause as Seth led on.

“I’ve dealt with a fair amount of treasure maps in my day,” Doren admitted, “And I’m not a shabby hand with a pen. I can draw.”

“Awesome,” Seth said, “Start with the storerooms in the basement storerooms, where the barrel was before, then the dungeons, then the ground floor. If you can get through those floors by lunch, that’d be great, but make sure to do them all. I want you three to go with him, and look for anything that seems suspicious. Look through the dungeons, but if any of you touch the Blackwell, or the chain next to the Blackwell, I’m throwing all of you inside it,” Seth said.

Seth had led them into the library and started pulling out loose sheets of paper, “Doesn’t matter how small. If it seems out of place, make a note of it.”

“Are you sure this is the best use of our time Seth?” Newel asked dubiously.

Seth grinned, “It’s a very good use of your time.”

Seth started writing on various blank papers, while they all watched him. He turned to his younger cousin when he was finished.

“Right. Tess? I want you looking for pictures and weird things on the walls.”

On this sheet of paper, Seth had written:

Every single time you see a person or creature, point at them, say something nice about them, and ask if you can talk to them. Knox will either say that you’re busy, or that the person isn’t there. Nod and keep walking every single time. Don’t let anyone know what’s written here, keep it a secret. Put a clean sheet on top of this one.  

“Here’s a list of the things you should look for. This is an old castle, there might be secret passages that we need to find out about before someone sneaks in,” Seth said, handing her the paper. She immediately started reading.

“Knox, you’re looking up higher, pay attention to cold or warm drafts and the items in the rooms, make note of which ones have weapons, look for places where the intruder could be staying,” Seth said, handing him a piece of paper that read:

Tess is going to ask to speak to everyone she sees. She has magic eyes like Kendra. If you see who she’s pointing to, tell her that you’re too busy to bother them. If you don’t see who she is pointing to, tell her that there’s no one there and you don’t have time for games. Make notes, but don’t engage.

He turned to Newel, “Your job is to make sure no one runs into walls while writing stuff down, and make sure to explore everything. Bring the cool stuff back to me, so that our item troll doesn’t try to keep it for the shelves.” Seth said, spouting nonsense. “Write down where you find it though, in case Agad says we need to return it or unleash another apocalypse.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Newel nodded with a salute. Seth handed him a paper that read:

If someone was listening to our meeting, they are going to be following you. Watch for them. Tess and Knox are going to be acting weird, just ignore them. You’re on protector duty.

And Seth handed fully blank sheets to Doren, “And, of course, you’re on the map. Here’s paper, pens, clipboard, and scotch tape. Everyone know their job?”

The four of them looked excited as they nodded. “Good,” Seth said, “Meet back in the War Room after lunch.”

Doren and Newel slung another salute. Tess tried to copy them and slapped herself in the face. Knox just rolled his eyes.

They left, and Seth debated between going to check up on Grandma and Grandpa, or heading straight to Seth Tower.

His grandparents couldn’t set anything in stone without Hendrick, so he’d head to the Tower. He’d be able to see Henrick coming back, and take him to Grandma and Grandpa when the Alcetaur arrived.

Up at the tower room, Marat and Agad were waiting for him.

“So, magic defenses in place?” Seth asked.

Agad nodded, “Perfect, just like I said twenty minutes ago. Mind explaining more of your plan?”

“Sure,” Seth said, “Grandma and Grandpa are doing exactly what I said they were. Running the past week from Blackwell made them the best people for that, until Hendrick gets back to help. Tanu is also doing exactly what I told him too.

“I sent Tess, Knox, and the satyrs looking for people hiding themselves with distractor spells, but they look like they’re creating a fresh map of the lower floors. Tess is pointing out everyone she sees to Knox, Knox is telling her that they’re too busy to talk to anyone and taking note of the people that Tess sees that he doesn’t. Because they’re the group doing the most suspicious work, I’m hoping any spies here are following them, letting the rest of us get things done. Newel is on the look out for someone following them, and thinks that’s what he thinks they’re doing. Doren is actually creating a map.”

Seth was rather proud of that plan, and feeling pretty ingenious for coming up with it in only ten minutes.

“Once again, not bad,” Agad said.

Seth gave a dry smile, “I learned from the best teacher. The Sphinx betraying me and my friends over and over. After this, I’m going to do my own sweep, trying to see through the shadows while shadow walking.”

“Might I recommend also holding your unsheathed sword at the same time?” Marat said. “That is the sword of Tregain, yes?”

Seth glanced down, “Oh that’s right! This sword helps make people look away from me, especially bigger creatures. I’ll definitely do that.”

“A very pro-active plan,” Agad said, “I will admit to not even considering the idea of someone hiding in the Blackwell. The barrel messes with the traditional rule of only allowing visitors a single night of stay, as that magic is activated upon crossing the boundary.”

“I do not believe that is all to our caretaker’s plan,” Marat said, amused, “I believe he feels he will do more for our mission elsewhere, and intends to return the mantle of caretaker to me.”

Agad gaped, then turned, “Is this true, Seth?”

Seth nodded, “Celebrant is no longer co-caretaker. The issue we came here to solve, the weakening barrier, is fixed. There’s no problem with Marat being caretaker, according to Dromadus, so long as he stays in human form. I’d be a lot more useful helping track down Kendra and Bracken.”

“Before you go any farther,” Agad said, holding up a hand, “There are things I wish to disclose to the caretaker of a dragon sanctuary. The remaining lines of defense after the sanctuaries fall. We can continue to discuss your possible resignation afterwards.”

Seth hopped onto a wide window ledge, “Okay, hit me. What else we got before the next apocalypse?”

“These secrets should not be repeated,” Agad warned, “Except to your most trusted ally at the time of greatest need.”

Seth glanced at Marat, who nodded, “I am already aware of the provisions my brother speaks of. Do not worry.”

“The first is why Dragons from fallen sanctuaries have yet to invade the mortal world,” Agad explained, “There is a magic item, perhaps the most magic item in existence —”

“More then the Wizenstone?” Seth asked, eyebrows raised. He was starting to suspect that there wasn’t an actual standard for how ‘magic’ an item is.

Agad paused, and Marat chuckled. Agad continued, “No, I suppose, not greater than the Wizenstone. Possibly it’s equal. I would not like to test either object against the other. The skull of the first dragon that ever lived, Abraxtus, is more heavily ensorcelled, than any other object I have ever come in contact with. It is called The Sovereign Skull. It takes all the disbelief in magic that all mortals generate, and creates a repulsive barrier against dragons. This is our absolute last line of defense, and must be protected at all costs. Only a few wizards know the location, and that information will never be divulged for its own protection.”

Seth nodded, “Can I have the name of a wizard that does know? Just in case.”

Agad looked him straight in the eye. “No.”

Seth nodded, “That’s fair. Sounds like we’re hoping it doesn’t get that far.” As though they had ever had any luck in that department.

“Another line of defense: the Dragon Slayers,” Agad said.

Seth grinned, “The Somber Knight was so cool. A bit of a downer, but a real life-saver. He’s still a bit…messy, after rescuing Kendra from being dinner. You’re talking about the ones at the other six sanctuaries, right?”

Agad nodded, “In addition to the other six at sanctuaries, there are five others that have been living in the world, waiting to be called upon again. It will take a while to wake them up, but Celebrant declaring war was the key.”

Seth nodded, “You did the same thing with the dragon preserves that you did with the demon prisons. How are these guys at handling immortality? We sure they didn’t try to off themselves?”

Agad said, “They all already had experiences with extended lifespans, so hopefully we are rousing them from a pleasurable retirement. And then there is a line of defense you are slightly more familiar with: the three treasures in the secret dragon temples.”

“Right, gauntlets that control dragons. Every dragon in a hundred miles comes by to kill you if you look at them funny,” Seth recited, remembering Thronis’s warning.

Agad nodded, “There are two other items, and two other sacred temples guarding these items at dragon sanctuaries. The harp that can send any dragon to sleep, and the shield that can defend against any dragon’s attack. These items were necessary to winning the war against the dragons the first time, and now that we’re facing war again, we need them back.”

Seth tilted his head, “Did they already get new guardians for the temple here at Wyrmroost? Cause we killed them, and its not like those were your ordinary, everyday dragons, and no one besides Gavin and Thronis knew we went there for the obsidian waste key.”

“It would be foolish to assume they aren’t guarded,” Agad said, considering carefully, “Though it is also strange that Celebrant has never ranted against your party for that affront. The answer is that I do not know.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone thought about the predicament.

“Well,” Seth said, “How buried is the translocator? Me and Kendra have been in the temple treasure room, we, er, I, for the moment, could grab the gloves and come back in a snap.”

Marat spoke up, “Bringing the translocator back into play at this time would be a dangerous move. That item is really too powerful. Dragons in human form could use it to escape the sanctuaries without a fight.”

Agad nodded, “All the artifacts are currently inaccessible. We used the Chronometer to hide the translocator, the sands of sanctity, and the occulous six more years in the future, waiting for us to finish designing the vaults. The Font needed to remain in the present, to support our first immortal, but that is the only artifact accessible. At least, until the Sphinx made off with it during his escape. Good thinking, but unfortunately untenable.”

A horn sounded from the parapet over the gate.

“That means a dragon is coming, right?” Seth asked, turning around in the window. “Raxtus maybe?”

“It means official visitors,” Marat clarified, “It certainly has been seeing its use this week. It also announced the arrival of the carriage from Stormguard.”

“Got it,” Seth said, standing up, “Anything else you need to tell the current caretaker of wyrmroost about the grand scheme of defenses?”

“No, those are our three lines: talismans, dragon slayers, and The Sovereign Skull,” Agad counted.

“Okay, I’ll keep those in mind, and never tell anyone, unless I absolutely have to,” Seth said, drawing a cross over his heart for good measure. “My plan is simple. Celebrant is a great big ego, right? He hates Kendra for insulting him, and it’s embarrassing that he keeps losing to a couple of kids. He’s getting help, he’s getting desperate, no matter what his plan is, right?”

Agad nodded.

“So, I’m going to offer him one last insult as caretaker,” Seth said with a grin, “His little rebellion isn’t even worth my time. After we deal with our guests at the gate, I’m going to do my sweep of everywhere while walking through shadows. Then I’m going to give being caretaker over to Marat, and we’re going to leave, with the barrel. That’s Blackwell’s biggest weakness, and it doesn’t need to be here for us to use it. I’ll leave Marat with a parting note to read to Celebrant, letting him know that we have better things to do.”

Agad started chuckling, moving his hand to cover his mouth when it didn’t stop.

“Boom,” Seth said with relish, “Biggest weakness removed, whoever is in the castle has to figure out how to kill Marat, who’s going to be a lot harder to kill than me, I get to go after Kendra, and we throw one last insult over our shoulder.”

Agad continued to laugh, but the most Marat gave was an amused look.

“And how exactly do you intend to leave?” Marat asked, “The walkway between the typical entrance and the Keep will not be guarded for this trip.”

“We have some pretty cool rides,” Seth said, “Not sure you saw them when Patton came in, but Kendra met up with a fairy godmother and boom, the luvians we were riding all have wings. We’ll need to make it so they can leave the sanctuary with us, but if they can make it through the sky on a festival night, they can probably get us past the barrier. We’ll have to ask them of course, but I think we’ll be in pretty good shape. They strike me as adventurous.”

“I would like to make one suggestion,” Agad said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Leave in peace, no one attacks at all, and leave before night falls. I’m sure they intend to strike in the dark. You leave two hours before sunset, and Celebrant likely wont have time to demand to know what you’re doing. Use Tess’s cloak of innocence to see you safely past the barrier.”

“Oh, that is wicked,” Marat chuckled. “But we have dawdled enough. The horn summons the caretaker to official business.”

Seth took one last look out the window and down the road, and paused. He pulled out his eyeglass from his adventure pouch. “Is that…Henrick leading a bunch dryads?”

[subaruthegamer]

About My OCs (Colby and Jack)

This is my fantasy, so bear with me here.

Colby Roberts

“Colby... I can’t do this...” - me, a few weeks after we have an argument

“I still want you anyway... because I’m madly in love with you...” - Colby

For those who don’t know, Colby is Jack’s son, so if you wonder where he gets those looks from, here’s my answer. 

Colby was born to a extremely wealthy heiress, who’s father was practically unknown because, he just vanished off the face of the earth, and since he was born to a wealthy family, it didn’t take long before he starting falling into the wrong crowd... with his drug habits starting to catch up at his adult years. His drug habit, oddly enough, didn’t affect him as much as the doctors thought - because they were thinking, surely, he’d have either died from an overdose, or somehow turned into a vegetable. But yet, that didn’t happen. And there was nothing conclusive with his bloodwork. Since he was filed on charges, they gave him two options (which, as far as I can tell, seem to be the mother’s choices) - either rot in prison for possession, or go into the military.

You can pretty much tell which option he went for.

Colby enlisted at the military, which at 18... he had plenty of time to start shaping his body - and he was a genius too. His scores were practically almost record breaking - considering the record was from 16 years ago! Colby is an expert tactician, and when you added hand-to-hand combat training plus all the muscle he gained from training... he was practically a Spartan.

During his time, he met Randy when, by chance, he was a captain - and Randal was a second lieutenant. In fact, Colby and Randal felt something between them. In fact, at one point, Colby once told me that if you put him and Randal in a room all alone at some point during the night, you might be able to hear Randy’s pleasuring at taking Colby on. However, it wasn’t just at a relationship level - they really were an unstoppable force.

Rather disappointingly, Colby resigned from the military after serving 8 years - and ended up heading back to Riverview... and somehow, relapsing again.

A year later, Colby ended up in my care as I was his sober companion after his relapse, and to be honest, when I met the guy, he was honestly more intimidating than I ever imagined. Sort of like the Hulk, but scaled down, and human.

To be completely honest, the first 2 weeks, he had been avoiding me since he insisted he didn’t need my help - but I stayed - because I wanted to get him to open up about himself. But - when you live with a 230+ lb man, you’d kind of want to stay out of his way when he simply won’t budge. Didn’t stop me from trying though. Sure enough, I gradually got him to be able to quietly strum his six-string guitar on the occasional night.

Our relationship took a little bit of an unexpected leap, because one night, Colby was invited to the family dinner, and this being a part where the father walked out on him... it lead to them being quite verbally abusive to him about it. Of course, we walked out and headed home with them still being pretty abusive... and hearing his mental health shattering into a million pieces. By that time though, I’d been his companion for what was stipulated, but because I didn’t want to leave him in that state, tried to renew the contract.

The lawyer said... no. So I ended up lying much to the bemusement of my therapist. 

I was wondering if I was going to get away with it when I still accompanied him to his musical composition job (guitars and pianos are his favourite) but I had to remind him at the end of the day that I still was his sober companion.

“Like hell you are.” Colby shouted. “You sure as hell haven’t been for at least a few weeks.” Much to my shock, I thought I had had it for a moment.

A sigh came from him shortly after. “I knew you lied when I called her lawyer the next day after you said he had extended the contract.”

I tried to figure out what I was going to say next. “Colby, I...” 

“I’m not angry over this.” Colby inched forward towards me to corner me between him and a wall. “I’m actually quite touched... since you saw the state that I was in after that... so for a while after that I adopted a more... aggressive mood.”

I was actually frozen stiff because he had cornered me between him and the wall with both bulging arms at the side of me.

“Until I found out you had been lying last week, I started to pull you along a little to see if you would realise that I was fine and moved on... but instead... you stayed. Didn’t occur to me that at the same time you were also having feelings for me... and I was still in denial until I gave into your feelings...”

Colby gradually moved his left hand off the wall and started feeling my back down.

“So... I want to offer you something... you stay with me... and we’ll see where our feelings for each other go... sound good?” Colby whispered.

At this point, I could hardly control myself, and Colby knew I was begging to be given the treatment that I’ve sorely needed. I was still gay at that time, but my love life had gone nowhere... and I was fidgeting a little because this was practically a dream come true for me.

“I’ll take that as a yes...” Colby later leaned in and gave me a rather sloppy lick on my face. And the next thing I knew he had leaned even closer to start making out with me.

“Why did you think I was this aggressive with you... you are so damn cute...”

After work, we gradually continued to have feelings for each other much to the disgust from my classmates with that lick.

So, we dated, we laughed, we cuddled, we had our idea of hunter and prey... which I have to say, was one of the very sexual relieving moments we’ve had together. When that happened, Colby flew up the ladder to being a hit movie director, and I wasn’t trailing far behind with my (slightly stalled) career in journalism as I was being promoted, and transferred to Lucky Palms.

Sounds perfect, you might think. Actually, in a way, it wasn’t. Because Randy showed up asking for Colby. More on that in his side of the story.

Jack Winter

“I wasn’t expecting myself to be this... swept away with you.” - Jack, slowly leaning into me for a spot where he has the advantage on me

“Yet... here you are, wanting me as much as everyone else we know.” - me, trying to find a way for him to stop but realising I’m going to be doomed

With Jack, complications turn into one story, so trying to analyse him is almost easier said than done - simply because: he’s a pure-bred demon. 

How demons work in my world, is that demons are in a world separate to ours - they have their own world much like fantasies. How they go into human bodies is through the sort of capsule that is a remote link to a human body. Some demons don’t use the bodies at all because they’re more nature demons, but the human demons - those are a different story. Jack is the latter, and one of the more emotionally manipulative kind. It works like this: he takes a body - steps on anyone’s toes and makes them make terrible decisions or suffer a embarrassing (but not fatal - he’s not that cruel) fate. All targets are random, so one day, a wealthy bachelor might suffer an a problem one day, and then the next, it could be someone like me. 

When Jack just “appeared” (what Randy and I joke about how he was created), he was one hell of a rollercoaster to deal with - he was having a hellva lot of fun slowly manipulating people into doing stuff they couldn’t realise. A hell of a time for him, after all, with all the powers he had access to, the fun was going to keep rolling like a Bugatti Chiron with an endless supply of fuel. You wouldn’t run out of it, you’d keep going.

That changed when Jack met Colby’s mother - when Jack was about to ensnare his powers on her, for some reason, she fell in love with her. Why that happened, we may never know, but the next morning, she saw a gorgeous hunk of a man sitting at her desk - which took some explaining on Jack’s part (that old charmer) to what was going on. Thankfully, she decided to not alert anyone, and allowed him to stay in her house - and getting to know that mysterious man who had suddenly appeared. Over that time, they both got together, had long walks, and spent a few days being intimate with each other - and satisfying each other as well. The only people who knew the truth about Jack were; Colby’s mother, the staff at the house, and a lawyer handling her estate. The romance didn’t last as long as she hoped - because one day, Jack was summoned to go back into the demon world, much to her sadness (the one time she was in complete love, according to Jack). Until she was unwell one morning and found out she was pregnant - and decided to keep the baby.

So 30 plus years later, when she died, he came back hoping to continue everything... instead, she died of an untreatable cancer tumor... with a son that had grown up to be living in Lucky Palms after moving from Riverview. The lawyer had a moment alone and discussed what had happened in those 30 years - her death, and her son... as well as some last letters to him about getting him to “finish what she started.” With that said, Jack had no idea what to do on the day he knocked on the Lucky Palms door - at that time, we were just engaged, and I was quite shocked when Jack said he was Colby’s father even though he looked quite young.

Obviously, it wasn’t without it’s shortcomings. Since Colby practically had so many questions, it really did beg the question... who was this person who looked, in age, practically close to a point where it wouldn’t make any sense?

So, at dinner, the three of us (in a rather tense manner) had dinner that I had decided to cook. While we were discussing it, we started to notice a few similarities in habits and preferences. Except on Jack’s side, they were much more prominent when he managed to somehow tempt me to get close to him. 

When he was planning on spending the night in Randy’s old room (which was empty since at the time, Deacon and Randy were experimenting with sleeping together), Jack started to tempt himself with me. He started to get closer and closer, and before we knew it, Jack had me pinned on the bed and began his near identical and significantly rougher (sloppier kisses, sloppier licks and so on) but then, he also backed off thankfully 10 seconds before Colby walked in. Before you asked, I did tell Colby about the similar interactions he did in that one move, but obviously, we were still skeptical. So, with Jack’s permission, we managed to withdraw blood from him and using Adam’s futuristic DNA sequencer, managed to get a father-son match with Jack and Colby.

Before you asked how the two finally settled their differences (and have Colby get all the questions he needed), Deacon suggested we put them in a rage room to settle it. Sure enough, I had to pay for damages, because, well, they did put a “few” holes in the wall when they were done. And a new set of clothes.

[virtuoshosh]

{{ the donor diaries: entry two; the monster mash }}

Who: Shosh & Cass

Where: The Dracula Mansion

When: April 2020; Easter Break; Henry William Halestorm’s Birthday

Cass was pretending that he was only doing this for Shosh. The truth was, he quite enjoyed dressing up when he had cause to. And this was properly dressing up- a black tailcoat, high waisted trousers, crisp white marcella shirt. Vampire society was high society, something he’d thankfully learned that Shoshana had considerable experience with, given her history as a classically trained pianist.

They’d spent the whole day together in his room, hanging out, writing music, getting ready for the evening. Shosh helped him with his cuff links, Cass helped her shimmy into her impossibly tight clothes.

As Cass took a bobby pin out of his mouth to slide into Shosh’s hair, he listened downstairs. Soft string music had been drifting upstairs for an hour or so now, and Cass listened for guests, something that was particularly hard given half of the guests lacked a heartbeat and the other half only really spoke when spoken to. He waited until most of the familiar voices had filled the ballroom before raising his brows at Shosh and giving a quick breath in and out.

“You wanna head downstairs?” Cass asked, knowing full well that Shosh had probably been ready to go to this party hours ago. He offered his arm, and as she took it, they waltzed out of his room, down his hall, and to the top of the stairs. He stiffened, sucking his teeth as he took in the room, flicking a glance to Shosh. 

He hadn’t anticipated the strongest emotion that came up when he saw his father’s friends. Protectiveness swelled through him, his arm that was meant to steady Shosh tightened as the feeling swelled in his chest. It was so surprising and uncomfortable that Cass couldn’t put words to it, so he just shrugged at her look, and then started downstairs.

Shoshana would never admit that she was nervous. But as the hours ticked on hidden away up in Cass’ room on the day of the soiree, her stomach knotted more and more noticeably as the party drew nearer. She hadn’t even felt like eating, but Cass had her on a fairly strict iron-rich regimen and Shosh figured it was especially important tonight that her blood smell appealing, so she ate what he gave her anyway and kept herself otherwise distracted with writing some new music, and studying the thick binder she’d filled with Cass’ lessons on vampire society (even though Shosh had it well memorized at this point), and taking extra time getting dressed. Which, admittedly, was fun for Shosh—she’d always loved dressing up, and it was satisfying to put Cass into clothing that actually looked quite good on him without him pitching a fit over it. 

It’s not that Shosh was nervous they wouldn’t like her; plenty of people didn’t care for Shosh and it never made the slightest scuff on her brimming self-confidence. It was more that she wanted this, a lot—more so than she was openly showing to Cass. And in all other areas of her life, Shosh knew what she was good at and what she wasn’t, so she could rely on succeeding with flying colors at the things she was good at and not bothering with what she wasn’t. But here, there was uncertainty. She’d done everything she could to prepare based on what Cass had taught her, but would that be enough to prepare her for the real thing?

Still, she replied with a nervous-excited “Sure,” when Cass asked if she was ready to go downstairs, and her heart rate picked up as she checked her reflection one more time—she’d forced Cass to bring her in a mirror for tonight, stating firmly that there was ‘no effing way’ she was getting into formal wear without one—and then took his offered arm. 

Cass hesitated at the top of the stairs, and Shosh looked at him curiously. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this, after all? But he shrugged and her and she nodded back; too late to turn back, now. Showtime.

The first thing Shosh noticed was that people watched them as they came down the stairs; not everyone, but enough that Shosh straightened her spine and held her head up as they walked down the steps, thinking again of Eliza Doolittle trying to fool everyone into thinking she was royalty. And why shouldn’t you be? You’re the fucking Queen of Hearts for all they know, she told herself firmly. And Shosh looked it, too, in a red satin ballgown with a bateau neckline that showed off the pale, unmarked skin of her neck and collarbones—which did stand out in the sea of high necklines Shosh saw all around her. It would stamp her as a new donor, she’d been told, to show off this part of her body so brazenly. Which was fine with Shosh. She wanted people to look and to talk and to be jealous; in fact, the vengeful part of Shoshana wanted whispers of her being here to get back to one old bitch in particular. 

It made sense that people looked; Henry was the host of the soiree, and Cass was his son. In fact it was him Shoshana was most eager to meet and most keen to impress. When they’d made it down the stairs and into the throng of partygoers, Shosh leaned close to Cass’ ear and said, “So, do you wanna introduce me to your dad first and get that out of the way? Or should we start smaller and work our way up?” She smirked sidelong at him, swaying to the delightful sound of the classical music coming from the string quartet—it felt like it had been a hot minute since she’d heard anything resembling her preferred type of music, and she missed it.

Cass nodded in greeting to a few people who made eye contact with him, largely ignoring the puzzled looks from donors who noted that he wasn’t there with Pomonia. The vampires, to his surprise, appeared largely unphased. As they made their way down to the main room, a waiter floated past with a tray of red wine. When Shosh reached for one, Cass deftly took it out of her hands and had a sip, himself, shaking his head. “White for you, red for me.” He explained, hoping that she would read between the lines about what was really in that cup. 

He listened as his gaze scanned the room, internally only really looking for one person. When he was certain Pomonia wasn’t there, yet, he listened more intently to Shosh, blinking. “Uh, yeah. Father first. He’ll want to meet you.” Cass put the drink down on a tray that floated past them, then led Shosh across the room, swallowing as he approached his father, whose back was turned. Cass cleared his throat, and the vampire turned.

“Ah, Cassius, glad you finally decided to join us.” Henry said, amused. Henry was the spitting image of Cass. While Henry was over a century his senior, the vampire was frozen in time from his twenty first birthday, youthful features still showing, but his expression and manner were evident of a man from a bygone era.

Cass gave a sigh of irritation, then straightened when Henry’s expression shifted to Shosh. “Father, this is Shoshana Edelman. We’re in the same class at Hogwarts.” Normally, he’d introduce his father and his donor to Shosh, but in vampire society, their business came first. 

“Charmed,” He said, in recognition of the girl, but then turned his gaze back to his son. “Where’s Pomonia?”

When his father said her name, Cass felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. That he’d been expecting her there, that his father knew nothing of what happened, absolutely wrecked him. Cass wet his lips, fingers tightening against his suit jacket. “Pomonia won’t be attending,”  He said, and he saw his father’s frown deepen, so Cass spoke again. “I’ve taken on Shoshana as my new donor. We can talk about it later.” He insisted, though Henry’s expression showed that this conversation was very much not over.

“I’m sure we will.” Henry kept his voice measured, because he was in public, and the last thing he needed was for their friends to think his half-human son had lost his way. Then, he turned to the girl at Cass’s side. “Shoshana, then. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Henry, I’m Cassius’ father. My donor, Cynthia…” He cocked his head at the woman. Cynthia was a refined woman, like most of the other donors in the room. She held herself with grace and dignity, and looked down at Shosh like she was a bug that someone had forgotten to squash. “I’m sure we’ll spend plenty of time getting to know each other. I must admit, I haven’t heard your name before. Edelman, was it?”

Cass rolled his eyes. As if his vampire dad would forget anything. “Shosh is Muggleborn, father. She’s a classical pianist, actually. She and I play together pretty often.”

This made Henry’s eyes light up, looking at the girl with renewed interest. “Is that so? I’m glad you’re widening my son’s auditory horizons, then. I’ll have to have the piano brought from downstairs. It would be delightful to hear you play some time. I’d hoped to teach Cassius, but sadly it’s just sitting, gathering dust. He chose an electric guitar.” Henry said this, matter-of-factly.

Shosh licked her lips, her dark eyes still fixed on the deep red liquid in Cass’ glass with interest, but she folded her hands in front of her and nodded, to indicate she understood. “Right. Of course…” By comparison, she hadn’t yet seen a single tray carrying white wine, whereas she’d seen several with red—but she supposed that made sense. Alcohol, even when it wasn’t diluted by blood, had a much lesser effect on vampires than it did on humans. And no one wanted the donors getting drunk so soon into the party. 

But, no matter, Shosh didn’t mind waiting; she wanted to have a clear head while she made all her most important introductions, anyway. And then if all went well, she’d enjoy a glass of white wine later as a reward for herself. 

She followed where Cass walked, holding onto his arm, her pulse picking up. Breathe… When Henry turned to face them—and there was no mistaking who he was, not with his shocking resemblance to Cass—Shoshana smiled, bright and polite. Henry glanced at her cordially and Shosh blinked twice, smiling still, lashes fluttering, but it was clear this was not her turn to talk and she didn’t try to. She did feel Cass react, though, at the mention of Pomonia’s name, of course he did; Shosh kept her outward composure but she did squeeze his elbow where her fingers were still wrapped in the crook of his arm, supportively. I’m here. We can do this. 

And then Cass asserted his intention to make her his new donor, and—even if all of this was just for show, even if Shosh knew, for once, the difference between what was real and what was imagined in this situation—even so, hearing Cass say it could not have filled her with a greater sense of pride. She stood up taller, beaming as Henry’s attention (and likely, momentarily, his scrutiny) returned to her. Shosh felt ready. Let’s do this.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir—I’ve heard so much about you…” she said, demure and downright humble in a way that was very un-Shoshana as she bent her knees just slightly to dip into a tiny, well-mannered curtsey. Her gaze then flickered up to Cynthia and Shosh inclined her head at the woman just a nudge in acknowledgment; she’d been briefed on the structural hierarchy in place here and instructed to let ranking vampires lead all conversation (“don’t speak unless spoken to”), so Shosh looked up at the woman briefly with a challenging gleam in her eyes but did not say anything to her, and then she turned her attention fully back on Henry. 

She waited until Cass and his father had finished their exchange—of talking for her and about her as if Shosh wasn’t standing right there—before Shosh added with entirely genuine enthusiasm, “I would be honored, Sir.” Shosh took a breath, her face shifting to an expression that was simultaneously both genteel and enigmatic, in a way that only Shoshana could truly pull off. This was her chance to prove her own worth. “My family, the Edelmans—we’re from Austria, originally. In fact I studied music under Herr Adrian Steiner, of the London Philharmonic? He’s of Viennese ancestry—court composers dating back centuries—so he made certain to instill in me a deep appreciation for the pillars of musical expression. Strauss, Brahms, Liszt, Mahler, Sibelius…” Though she listed these casually, as if discussing the weather, Shosh had extensively done her homework in preparation for this; she knew Henry was born in 1902 and that late- and post-Romantic symphonic composers, such as those she’d mentioned, would have been in peak popularity for classical music at the turn of the century. “…and, naturally, Debussy and Stravinsky—though I always considered Petrushka a particularly grim punishment.”  She said this with a wry conversational inflection; a light bit of humor that those with elevated taste and historical knowledge would understand. And though she’d been warned by Cass not to refer directly to a vampire’s age or year of birth, Shosh had cleverly dropped in enough vague references to the era—particularly Debussy’s Pelléas and Mélisande premiere in 1902—to hopefully evoke a sense of nostalgia in Cass’ father. 

Cass was certain Shosh would have ripped his eyeballs out later for speaking over her if he hadn’t prepared her for the… Odd way that vampires often conversed over, for, and around their donors. It was even more apparent at Caro, where the blood bags weren’t even acknowledged. It had been a bit of a mind fuck at Hogwarts, coming from how Cass had grown up. Thankfully his nanny had prepared him for a lot of it.

He turned to look at Shosh, genuinely curious about how she would handle his father. Sometimes, being around full vampires, especially a room full of them, was too much for humans. At least they weren’t feeding. That was where things got fucked up. Cass did everything he could do set Shosh up for a good introduction- and by the way his father responded to her, it must have fucking worked.

Henry’s eyes lit up when Shoshana spoke. First, impressed by a girl who knew so much about her lineage. Then of her tutelage and general knowledge of music. The final nail in the coffin was rattling off those songs. Cass noted with some amusement that it seemed to piss Cynthia right off. Good. She’d always been a bitch to him.

To Cass’s general mortification, Henry chuckled at Shoshana’s joke, smiling. His fangs, although not properly elongated while he wasn’t on the hunt, showed. Cass wanted to fucking die. “Okaaaaaay,” Cass said, trying hard to keep up with his sense of decorum but getting more and more embarrassed by the pair of them as time went on. He squeezed Shosh’s arm. “Thank you, father. I’m sure you two will have plenty to catch up on.”

“Of course,” Henry agreed, then let go of Cynthia’s arm to take Shosh’s hand, raising it to his lips respectfully, before letting it drop. “Shoshana, it really was a pleasure to meet you. Give your contact details to Cassius, won’t you? We should meet another time. Perhaps over that piano.” He winked, and Cass rolled his eyes, thanking his father and steering Shosh away. 

Cass gave a shaky breath out, eyeing Shosh as they walked away. “You did good,” He breathed to her, knowing full well that his father could hear him anyway.  “You really knew all that about all those musicians and stuff? Huh.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. 

As they walked away, Cass looked around the ballroom, visibly more relaxed now that the hardest part of their evening was done. He cocked his head, wondering who he should introduce her to. While he was deciding, a red-faced wizard in dress robes approached him, holding his wife’s hand. “Cassius!” He boomed, and Cass swallowed, looking to Shosh and then back at the wizard. 

“Uhhh. Minister. Good to see you,” Cass hesitated to introduce Shosh. He couldn’t know Shosh was a donor. “This is my friend from Hogwarts, Shoshana Edelman.”

“Oh, isn’t it lovely they let you bring a friend!” The witch gushed, taking Shoshana’s hand and squeezing it with a good-natured smile. She was obviously excited to see Shosh and Cass, who were the most human couple in the room, apart from them. Cass had explained to Shosh earlier, that most of the vampires would ignore any ministry members. They tolerated their presence as strictly necessary to their existence.

“Shosh, this is Manhoor Hookman. And his wife Artois. Mr Hookman is the head of the Being Division. He uh, he organised stuff with Hogwarts when I got my letter. You know, like, the rules and everything…” He looked at Shosh, hoping she’d get the picture.

“Oh, yes! And liaison with the school, updates and such. And you’re about to graduate! Seven years! Paving the way for all the others…” Manhoor boomed, and Cass felt like he was going to die again. Why was everyone at this party so fucking embarrassing? “Tell me, Shoshana, do you think your class is more tolerant than society has been in the past? Do you think Cassius integrated well? That was our hope with Cassius’ admission.” He was anxious to hear her opinion.

Cass was annoyed with Manhoor. The dick. Cass knew full well about the little ‘social experiment’ of his admission and it bugged him. He plastered on a smile, like most of the other vampires did around the man.

Shosh looked down and gave a humble, assenting nod, smiling sweetly, to indicate her acknowledgement of Henry’s suggestion while respecting the etiquette law of never having the final word over a vampire. It was a good thing Shoshana was such a quick and meticulous study, because there were a lot of fucking rules. And hey, she was just a little bit smug about it.

And even more so when Cass confirmed she’d done well. Shosh grinned proudly and just nodded in reply while they were still in Henry’s earshot. 

She was reeling with adrenaline, flushed and energized and elated with how things were going so far. She wanted to do something celebratory, and was about to ask Cass if he knew how to waltz when they were approached by someone else. Shosh felt Cass tense beside her and she gave the approaching couple a once-over; neither looked like vampires, so Shosh read the sign and made a hasty decision to let go of Cass’ arm and put several inches of space between them, folding her hands innocuously behind her back. 

And her instincts were right; this was someone from the Ministry. Shosh drew in a breath and held it, forcing her smile not to look nervous. Though she wanted to seriously gag at this lady’s patronizing comment. ‘Little friend?’ Ugh. Regardless, Shosh could act her way easily through this; she simpered with affected gratitude, her hand that wasn’t being gripped and shaken in a death-vice fluttering up to rest above the sweetheart neckline of her dress. “Oh yes, such a fascinating cultural experience! So much to learn from our undead brethren…” Cass would catch onto the bare traces of sarcasm that underlined Shosh’s words, but this Ministry Dimwit and Mrs. Daft would be none the wiser, so who cared? 

“Really?” she continued, glancing at Cass wryly and then adding, “…how noble.” Seriously, this self-righteous idiot made Shosh want to scream. But she held her polite expression with perfect poise and gruelingly feigned interest. 

She hesitated when he asked for her opinion, nibbling at the edge of her red bottom lip. Shosh knew she was supposed to be on her ‘best behavior’ tonight, but come on—this guy sucked! And not in a good way.

Her eyes darted to Cass in her peripherals once and then fixed on Manhoor. Fuck it, he deserved this. Shosh took a breath, and then in the most positively amiable and polite tone, she said, “Actually, Minister, it’s Cassius who’s the tolerant one—gracefully accepting treatment as a secondary citizen undeserving of the same basic rights as his peers, by a government with the means to pave the way for his success yet who chooses instead to consistently undermine and impair him at every turn. ‘Ignorantia juris non excusat’—those are the words printed on the Ministry’s seal, are they not? ‘Ignorance of the law excuses not’…I’m merely suggesting, sir, that perhaps the law itself ought to deal a little less in ignorance and excuses.” Shosh smiled amicably, paused a beat, and then said, “Well! It was lovely meeting you both…Cass, shall we? You promised to show me the drawing room…”

And as they walked away, Shosh could have sworn she saw the subtlest hints of approval from vampires all around her—some raised red chalices, a few nods and winks, the gleaming pearly white of grinning pointed teeth...

...To Be Continued...

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 6, Number 11

HAAi

As it was with September, so it is with October. After what felt like the dam breaking on all those albums optimistically held back by the pandemic, October continued to rain down releases and there was no shortage of them to cover. As ever, if diversity’s your thing, we have it: From pimp-rap to free jazz, death-metal to AM gold, jungle to Azerbaijani guitar jams, we got it all for you to peruse. Contributions this go ‘round come care of Ray Garraty, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Patrick Masterson and MIchael Rosenstein.

AllBlack — No Shame 3 (Play Runners Association/Empire)

Just when we thought that pimp-rap was going out of business, AllBlack blessed us with No Shame 3. It is a lot of what it claims: playfulness with no shame, ignorant beefs, endless balling during California nights and showing off in earnest. AllBlack alludes to the fact that even though he’s getting that rap check, he’s far from quitting the pimp game: “Made 40K in eight days, that was just off pimpin'.” But behind this happy façade is something darker that’s looming on: “As I got older, I ain't scared, I guess I'm cool with death / You speak the truth and they gon' knock you down like Malcolm X.” While admitting that rap is a cutthroat game, AllBlack is only one of the few artists of a younger generation who is ready to pay respects in his songs to the OGs — the godfathers of pimp-rap, to Willie D, Dru Down and Too $hort. The standout track here is “Pizza Rolls,” where DaBoii and Cash Kidd drop in to deliver the funniest lines. 

Ray Garraty

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII (Three Lobed Recordings)

Adrop / Circuit VIII by Bardo Pond

There are plenty of reasons to do small, limited runs of certain releases, in music as in other artistic fields, ranging from the brutally practical/logistical to the aesthetic, but when the material released in that fashion is good enough, it can be a relief to see it given further life (and not just digitally). This year saw the mighty Three Lobed Recordings (who we featured in an anniversary Listed here) has seen fit to reissue on vinyl two Bardo Pond LP-length pieces that were originally issued in limited run series back in 2006 and 2008. They were in good (and varied) company then, but resonate together in a pretty special way, whether it’s the tripartite Adrop wandering from gnarled, crepuscular grind to violin-powered epiphany or back down to delicate nocturnal acoustics. The longer Circuit VIII doesn’t have as distinct phases but still builds to an all-time Bardo Pond-style crescendo, featuring Isabel Sollenberger’s only vocals of the duo. Even with a band and label this consistently on point, these particular recordings are worth the wider dissemination, whether considered as archival releases or just a hell of a double album.

Ian Mathers

John Butcher & Rhodri Davies — Japanese Duets (Weight of Wax)

Japanese Duets by John Butcher & Rhodri Davies

There’s a bittersweetness about Japanese Duets that’s as pungent as the puckered, perfectly placed reports that English saxophonist John Butcher sometimes punches out of his horns. This is the third in an ongoing series of download-only releases that Butcher, idled by COVID-19, has culled from his archive, The Memory of Live Music, and the unbearable lightness of its format, only accentuates the sense of lost opportunities and experiences. One of the things that a touring musician gains in exchange for their embrace of uncertainty is the chance to go to some unlikely place and undergo something extraordinary. The four-page PDF that comes with this download reproduces photos from Butcher and Welsh harpist Rhodri Davies’ 2004 tour of Japan, which took in swanky museums and shoebox-sized jazz cafes; each image looks like a moment worth living. But if all you can do is hear the evidence, that’s not exactly settling. This improvising duo was audibly on a roll, pushing reeds and strings to sound quite unlike their usual selves, and challenging each other to move beyond logic to the rightness of jointly made and imagined moments. Thanks, guys, for sharing the memories. 

Bill Meyer

Ceremonial Bloodbath — The Tides of Blood (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

The Tides of Blood by Ceremonial Bloodbath

Yikes — talk about truth in advertising. Canadian death-metal band Ceremonial Bloodbath delivers the goods promised by their moniker and this new LP’s title. It’s a repellent record created by dudes that play in a bunch of other death-metal bands based in British Columbia: Grave Infestation, Encoffinate (not Encoffination), Nightfucker and numerous others that tunnel even further under the broader public’s attention. Give these guys credit for their single-mindedness: None of those bands is likely to make you feel any happier about the human condition. Neither will listening to The Tides of Blood, but it’s a better record than any that those other acts have released. The songs are low-tech, dissonant and about as subtle as a bulldozer’s blade knocking through your front door. In other words, the record is largely in line with what we’ve come to expect from the death-metal recently dug up by Sentient Ruin Laboratories, and for a certain kind of listener, that’s a good thing. Check out “The Throat of Belial,” which comes on hard and fast, then downshifts into second gear and unleashes a tangled, coruscating sort-of-guitar-solo. The mechanical chug reasserts itself, then speeds up again, unleashing steam and the smell of something… organic. The song has a ruthless momentum, as does the rest of the record. Pretty good Halloween music if you want to scare all the trick-or-treaters off your lawn.

Jonathan Shaw

Cut Worms – Nobody Lives Here Anymore (Jagjaguwar)

Max Clarke evokes a wistful nostalgia for an America that existed perhaps only in the mind, the warm campfire glow of an era personified by The Everly Brothers’ harmonies, the twanging guitars of country rock and 1970s singer songwriters. On his new album as Cut Worms, Clarke literally doubles down on his musical project. Nobody Lives Here Anymore comes in at 17 songs that, while individually fine enough, meld into one another and gradually fade from the memory as the album unwinds. Clarke never quite transcends his influences and is not a strong enough lyricist to engage at this length. The effect is similar to that of The Traveling Wilburys where the whole is lesser than the sum of its parts. That said, Clarke is engaging company with a voice that splits the difference between the aforementioned siblings, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty. He has an ear for a melody and skillfully recreates an AM radio sound that trips the memory for anyone who grew up with this music either as inescapable background of their lives or soundtrack for their teen dreams and heartaches. 

Andrew Forell

Dead End America — Crush the Machine (Southern Lord)

Crush the Machine by Dead End America

This new EP by Dead End America (DEA — see what they did there?) comprises four short, piledriving hardcore songs, all directly addressed to the current occupant of the Oval Office. “Bullet for 45 (Straight From a .45)” neatly captures the EP’s essential sentiments, and also suggests the general level of restraint exercised by the whole enterprise. Hint: Restraint and nuance are not Dead End America’s strong suits. That’s not surprising, given the folks involved. The band and record were conceived by Steve “Thee Hippy Slayer” Hanford, late of Poison Idea, and of this world. It’s pretty wonderful that this is some of the last music Hanford produced — pissed off and irreverent to the very end. Additional contributors include Nick “Rex Everything” Oliveri (the Dwarves), Mike IX Williams (Eyehategod), Blaine Cook (the Fartz) and Tony Avila (World of Lies). Sort of remarkable that a record including players from all those legendarily vile, venomous bands doesn’t just spontaneously self-combust; maybe it helps that they focus their collective rage on such a deserving target. RIP Steve Hanford. The wrong people are dying.

Jonathan Shaw

Chloe Alison Escott — Stars Under Contract (Chapter Music)

Stars Under Contract by Chloe Alison Escott

Chloe Alison Escott is the frontwoman of Tasmanian post-punk duo The Native Cats, and her pre-transition solo album, The Long O, released on Bedroom Suck back in 2014, received justified plaudits upon its release. (It remains a low-key favorite of mine.) New solo piano-and-vocals album Stars Under Contract was all recorded in one day by Evelyn Ida Morris (Pikelet), which lends these performances an on-the-fly liveliness. For the most part, it’s rollicking fun, with some wryly funny lyrics that betray Escott’s sideline in standup comedy. This performative confidence comes through in early highlight “There’s Money in the Basement,” which has the jaunty barroom bounce of “Benny and the Jets.” Later, Escott reaches for the heavens on single “Back Behind the Eyes Again,” with a truly heartbreaking piano progression. Though the 16 tracks are wisely interspersed with short instrumentals such as “What Are You Reaching For,” “Evening, Sunshine” and “Playfair,” 43 minutes is a lot of piano-and-vocals songs to get through in a single sitting. On closing track “Permanent Thief,” there’s a tantalizing flash of drum machine and bass, which could be a nod there’s another Native Cats album on the way soon. 

Tim Clarke

Eiko Ishibashi — Mugen no Juunin - Immortal - Original Soundtrack (King)

If you sit up nights fretting about how Eiko Ishibashi and her partner, Jim O’Rourke, pay the bills, this music may be your melatonin for your worried mind. Immortal is the soundtrack for Blade of the Immortal, an anime adaption of a popular manga that’s been picked up by Amazon Prime. Ishibashi composed and played the music with contributions from Tetuzi Akiyama, joe Talia, Atsuko Hatano, and O’Rourke, who also mixed the music. Ishibashi’s music echoes the affect-stirring melodies of her song-oriented material and the careful sound placement of her recent electro-acoustic work for Black Truffle; when the swirl of keyboard tones looms over her piano on “Animal,” there’s no mistaking it for anyone else’s work. But this is still made for a mass market, with unabashed classical music lifts and big, booming electronic percussion that would make a multiplex’s walls throb if you gave it a chance. There’s no physical release or Bandcamp option, so if you want to check this out, Apple Music and iTunes are your options. 

Bill Meyer

Ela Minus — Acts of Rebellion (Domino)

Colombian musician Gabriela Jimeno’s debut album as Ela Minus is a collection of original tracks that merge songcraft and club sounds into an assured mix of electronica on which she plays all the instruments and sings in both Spanish and English. After spending her teenage years drumming for hardcore band Ratón Pérez, Jimeno studied jazz drums as well as the design and construction of synthesizers, and she eschews the use of computers to create her music. She brings a DIY spirit to her work combined with meticulous production style that gives acts of rebellion the experimental edge of early 1980s independent synthpop. The highlight "Megapunk” is musically close in spirit to Cabaret Voltaire, its defiant lyrics — “There’s No Way Out But to Fight” — tying freedom of expression to wider human progress. A textured and nuanced album, Ela Minus joins an ever-growing group of South American producers to tune into.

Andrew Forell

Erik Friedlander — Sentinel (Skipstone)

Sentinel by Erik Friedlander

Cellist Erik Friedlander seems to pop up in the oddest places, playing now with the Mountain Goats, then with Dave Douglas, and finding a little time for film scoring on the side. It's reasonable that for new album Sentinel, he'd connect with a couple of other artists — guitarist Ava Mendoza and percussionist Diego Espinosa — equally comfortable with finding unexpected sounds in a variety of styles. The group, given their background, sounds their best when they're blending genres. “Flash” starts off as new jazz, turns into rock for a moment, then some strange cello lead pushes it into alien territory. At the edges of the trio's work, heavy rock often feels about to break out, but the group refrains from ever indulging that impulse. “Feeling You” even provides some light, pretty pop, allowing the band to show its full breadth.

Friedlander's compositions provide the basis for the album, but Sentinel never feels like just his album. The band, assembled for what sounds like a hurried set of takes, found their partnership quickly, turning the pieces into fluid performances. “Bristle Cone” lets all three members shine and functions like a microcosm of the disc as a whole: As soon as you think it's a guitar album, you start paying attention to the percussive elements; as soon as you remember it's experimental cello work, you're back to guitar rock. The trio's engagement with the music and with each other comes through, the playful innovation guiding each piece into a multifaceted whole.

Justin Cober-Lake

HAAi — Put Your Head Above the Parakeets EP (Mute) 

Put Your Head Above The Parakeets by HAAi

Though it was Teneil Throssell’s mixes that initially made her name as HAAi (and remain strong even amid the pandemic, her latest for XLR8R another beauty), her own productions are a wonder unto themselves that demand repeat listens even as they come a trickling single or carefully cultivated EP at a time. The Karratha, Australia native, Coconut Beats hostess and Rinse and Worldwide FM veteran’s latest is the delightfully titled Keep Your Head Above the Parakeets EP, pure headphones music meant for sunrises, sunsets, walks in deep snow, rain-swept moors, you name it. Her talent is in balancing airy synth melodies with ever-shifting percussion influenced primarily by jungle, breaks and (ultimately) house; when people talk about psychedelic dance music, this is something like what I always hope to hear. Another unmissable missive.

Patrick Masterson

Hübsch, Martel, Zoubek — Ize (Insub)

Ize by HÜBSCH, MARTEL, ZOUBEK

Decades have passed since Derek Bailey wrote his book, Improvisation. At that time, it was already clear that the intentionally non-idiomatic music he pioneered and practiced was a subset of the more universal matter of improvising as a necessary aspect of playing music. It was also becoming clear that non-idiomatic improvisation’s aspirations and proscriptions amounted to a new but quite identifiable idiom, and this Swiss trio is okay with that. If you told Carl Ludwig Hübsch (tuba, objects),Pierre-Yves Martel (viola da gamba harmonica, pitch pipes) and Philip Zoubek (piano, synthesizer) that the music on Ize sounds a bit like the British ensemble AMM’s, they’d likely nod and thank you for noticing. They’re not trying to make a new kind of music, they’re trying to be good at a kind of music that they love, and on those terms, they succeed. Aside from the occasional Feldman-esque piano phrase, they mostly trade in layers of tone and texture, operating in complementary parallel to one another, taking the listener through states of meditative stillness and slow-motion vertigo. 

Bill Meyer

J Majik — Your Sound - Photek & Digital V​.​I​.​P 12” (Infrared) 

J Majik - Your Sound - Photek & Digital V.I.P by J Majik / Photek / Digital

Released on the same day as the “This Sound” single that allegedly was refashioned from “unfinished jungle project from the vaults,” “Your Sound” was further proof that UK drum n’ bass vet Jamie Spratling bka J Majik still has plenty of material from the golden era to get out into the world. The original is a certified mid-’90s Metalheadz classic, but Photek and Digital’s reworking on the a-side “originally only destined for the dubplate boxes of the ultra-elite” has been floating in the ether for years as an alternative; its light Amen sequences and booming bass will have you yearning for every closed club you can’t attend. J Majik’s remix of his own tune on the flip was originally the b-side to a 1997 Goldie VIP edit, so having a more readily available remaster here does it a world of good. One for the headz, obviously.

Patrick Masterson

KTL — VII (Editions Mego)

VII by KTL

Most of KTL’s recordings have been seeded by theater and film soundtrack commissions. But when Stephen O’Malley (Sunn 0))), Khanate) and Peter Rehberg (Pita, Fenn O’Berg) found themselves in Berlin this past March with more time on their hands than they expected, they booked themselves into Mouse On Mars’ MOM Paraverse Studio sans portfolio and set to work. The first track, “The Director,” seems to acknowledge the situation by introducing the Shephard-Risset glissando, a repeated scale that sounds like it is endlessly ascending or descending. The titular figure never arrives, but while you’re waiting, fat looped electronics impart the experience of going somewhere while leaving you exactly where you’re at. The director isn’t the only value missing from this equation; O’Malley’s default sonic signature, a massive metallic wall of sound, has been softened to a close-shaving buzz that rattles and circles around within Rehberg’s synthetic/sonic biodome. That’s right, while you’ve been baking bread and putting on that COVID-15, KTL has actually lost weight! 

Bill Meyer

Lisa Cay Miller/Vicky Mettler/Raphaël Foisy-Couture — Grind Halts (Notice Recordings)

Grind Halts by Lisa Cay Miller/Vicky Mettler/Raphaël Foisy-Couture

Montreal-based guitarist Vicky Mettler, bassist Raphaël Foisy-Couture and Vancouver-based pianist Lisa Cay Miller are all new names to me. For their trio collaboration on Notice Recordings, the three work their way through a set of eight free improvisations that range from one and a half minutes to eight minutes long. The combination of piano, guitar and upright bass is striking from the start: Miller slips seamlessly between the keyboard and inside-string preparations, mostly eschewing readily identifiable sonorities of her instrument. Mettler’s resonant, brittle electric guitar is the perfect foil to Miller’s piano and one often has a hard time teasing apart where inside piano strings end and guitar strings begin. Add to that Foisy-Couture’s dark low-end bass, which he attacks with groaning scrapes, shuddering arco and assorted string treatments. The three engage in active improvisations, plying their respective instruments into a collective whole while steering clear of garrulous interaction. The fourth piece, “Lower” is as close to trio exchanges as things get, opening up the ensemble sound to allow shredded guitar textures, resounding piano chords and scabrous bass abrasions to accrue into pulsating timbral layers. A piece like “As It Spins” is more about process, adding in the rumble and clatter of assorted percussive detritus, used on their own and to activate the strings of the instruments, which jangle with resultant shimmering overtones. The pieces often segue one into the other, creating an enveloping sound-space throughout. Based on this one, I look forward to hearing more from each of the participants.

Michael Rosenstein

Mint Field — Sentimiento Mundial (Felte)

Sentimiento Mundial by Mint Field

Mexico City-based duo Estrella del Sol Sánchez (voice, guitar) and Sebastian Neyra (bass) enlist drummer Callum Brown to expand the range of their dreamily psychedelic shoegaze on Mint Field’s second album Sentimiento Mundial. Sánchez has the breathy cadence of Rachel Goswell and moves easily between an almost folky introspection in her guitar playing to squalling walls of sound underpinned by Brown’s often motorik drums on tracks like “Contingenicia” and “No te caigas.” The bulk of the album is more reflective, Sánchez’ Spanish vocals close to your ear as she concentrates on atmosphere and dynamics. The result is a dreamscape that lulls, then hits with febrile bursts of restless dread, an impressive collection that fans of 4AD in particular should recognize and embrace. 

Andrew Forell

Takuji Naka/Tim Olive — Minouragatake (Notice Recordings)

Minouragatake by Takuji Naka/Tim Olive

Minouragatake (a mountain outside of Kyoto, Japan) is the fourth recording by Takuji Naka and Tim Olive, a duo that has played together for close to a decade now, melding together music of slowly evolving rich timbral abstraction. Each are consummate collaborators and for this session, they make their way across the seven untitled tracks with steadfast focus to the nuanced details of their respective sound sources. Naka utilizes “long loops of sagging/distressed cassette tape winding into and out of similarly distressed portable tape players, with real-time analog processing.” Olive uses his regular array of magnetic pickups and low-tech analog electronics, drawing out volatile hums and changeable striations that coalesce with his partner’s slowly devolving layers of sound. These pieces are imbued with unflappable deliberation, each sound integrated into the cohesive, gradually unfolding improvisations. Each of the pieces sound as if one is tuning in mid-stream and end with a sense that they could continue on indefinitely. Rather than adhering to any formal developmental arcs, the two patiently sit within unfurling sonic worlds as layers ebb and flow. Naka’s degraded tapes lend an aura of catching wafts from some distant celestial emission which Olive subtly shades and colors with hisses, whispered mutable fuzzed gradations and aural grit. Snatches of scumbled lyricism morph into static-laden swirls; washes of flaked and tattered textures disperse into shuddering thrums. Naka doesn’t record much so it’s good to hear another project from him. Olive has been on a particular roll as of late and this one is a laudable addition to his discography.

Michael Rosenstein

Okuden Quartet — Every Dog Has Its Day But It Doesn’t Matter Because Fat Cat Is Getting Fatter (ESP-Disk)

Every Dog Has Its Day But It Doesn't Matter Because Fat Cat Is Getting Fatter by Okuden Quartet: Mat Walerian/Matthew Shipp/William Parker/ Hamid Drake

Put aside the bleakness of this double album’s title because this music embodies the idea that things can get better. Not that there was anything wrong with Polish woodwinds player Mat Walerian’s previous recordings, which have all involved some combination of the musicians on this one. But Walerian has never sounded so strong on his various instruments (alto saxophone, bass and soprano clarinets, flute); so clear on how to get the most out of Matthew Shipp, William Parker and Hamid Drake; or so engaged with jazz, and not just the free jazz that he’s made with these gentlemen to date. By turns subdued, impassioned and bathed in all the shades of the blues, Walerian no longer sounds like a guy who has great taste in sidemen who happen to have played with some of the greats of our time, but a guy who sounds like he belongs in their company. Each lengthy track (they range from 11 to 18 minutes long) imparts a narrative feel without dispelling the mystery that makes you want to hear them again. Here’s hoping that when things start moving again, this band finds a way to move around the world and move us in person. 

Bill Meyer

Om — It’s About Time (Intakt) 

It’s About Time by OM - Urs Leimgruber, Christy Doran, Bobby Burri, Fredy Studer

To a fan, It’s About Time might sum up the feeling upon learning that the Swiss quartet Om finally recorded a new studio album 40 years after its predecessor, Cerberus (ECM). It also captures the existential question facing a quartet of improvisers, some of whose paths have often crossed during that time, but some of whom have taken very different roads. On the one hand, drummer Fredy Studer and guitarist Christy Doran play in a Jim Hendrix cover band with Jamaladeen Tacuma; on the other, soprano saxophonist Urs Leimgruber works mainly in freely improvised settings with the likes of Alvin Curran and Joelle Leandre these days. Burri seems to be the guy who has maintained connections with everybody. How to make sense of such a history without denying anyone’s musical identity? During their first go-around, between 1972 and 1982, Om was played polyrhythmic electric jazz. During the mostly low-profile gigs they’ve played since reconvening in 2008, they’ve had time to forge an updated vocabulary that is less groove-oriented but takes full advantage of the timbral resources on hand. While it’s evident that time has passed, it’s by no means a waste of time. 

Bill Meyer

Rüstəm Quliyev — Azerbaijani Gitara (Bongo Joe)

Azerbaijani music, by and large, hasn't broken through to the American mainstream. That might not change, but the new anthology release of Rüstəm Quliyev's work, titled Azerbaijani Gitara, at least makes a case against our insularity. Quliyev's work, even for an insider, would be hard to pin down given that the overriding goal seems to be the synthesis of as many styles of music as possible. Western ears will be most comfortable with the psych-rock influences here. Quliyev also reworks Bollywood, folk, Middle Eastern dance and more on his electric guitar. Taken from recordings from 1999-2004, this nine-song collection sounds more coherent than that idea might suggest, but no less frantic. Quliyev plays with a persistent energy, his kinetic approach matched my his chops, often with a tone reminiscent of Carlos Santana (if we reach a little). On songs like “İran Təranələri,” he allows the piece to develop patiently, but these cuts rely on movement and virtuosity. Quliyev had a challenging life cut short by lung cancer, but his music finds itself unleashed through apparent joy.

Justin Cober-Lake

ShooterGang Kony — Still Kony 2 (Empire) 

A fortnight shy of his 22nd birthday (this coming Wednesday, mark your calendars and send best wishes), Sacramento rapper ShooterGang Kony has dropped his second full-length project of the year in Still Kony 2, a skit-free set of songs with a Biggie homage as the cover that explores further his emotional depths while still retaining the bouncy Bay Area nature of his livelier side. There’s stuff like “Red Ice” and “Fasholy Good,” of course, but there’s also the stretch of sobering songs later in the tracklist, including “Overdose,” “Flaggin” and the particularly affecting “Do or Die.” No matter the type of beat, though, Kony feels completely at ease with his cadence and wholly in control of his verses despite occasionally verging on a Detroit-like dismissal of the beat. Even if you can’t see the geekin’, you can certainly feel it.

Patrick Masterson

Suuns — Fiction EP (Joyful Noise)

FICTION EP by SUUNS

For better or worse, Suuns’ new Fiction EP is pretty much the sound of 2020 encapsulated, not in the sense of distilling current musical trends, but rather in succinctly conveying the disorientating feeling of living through a year that has been such a traumatic mess. Across these six tracks, the Montreal-based band creates a fuzzy, feedback-streaked, claustrophobic racket that just about coalesces into song forms around breakneck rhythm tracks. “Fiction” and “Pray” will meet the expectations of anyone expecting Suuns to continue sounding like fellow noise-rockers Clinic, but elsewhere there’s surprising variation to the band’s sound palette. Opener “Look” emerges out of the darkness like a warped apparition, concluding with a chant of what sounds like “Sheep, sheep, sheep.” They enlist the help of Jerusalem In My Heart for droning instrumental “Breathe,” and Amber Webber lends ghostly vocals to “Death.” At the EP’s end, the Mothers of Invention’s wailing blues-rock classic “Trouble Every Day” is barely recognizable, foregrounding Zappa’s lyrics and chewing them up into a garbled rush of splenetic invective. Though short, there’s something satisfyingly ghastly and cathartic about this EP that really cuts through.

Tim Clarke

Women — Rarities 2007-2010 (Flemish Eye/Jagjaguwar) 

Rarities 2007 - 2010 by Women

Some outlets rode much harder for Women than others when the band was still a dysfunctioning unit (RIP Cokemachineglow, namely), but there’s little doubt left a decade on that what the Calgary quartet had going was a volatile yet beautiful indie-rock ideal that hasn’t been duplicated in Viet Cong/Preoccupations or Cindy Lee since. These rarities, affixed to a deluxe decennial reissue of Public Strain due out in November, could all have made the final tracklistings of either of their full-lengths. The music veers between sunny ‘60s singalongs and dark guitar dissonance; I find myself thinking of The Walkmen’s first LP on “Bullfight” (a free release from 2011 in the aftermath of the band’s collapse the year before) and of The Chameleons on “Group Transport,” which is considerably more Janus-faced with its juxtaposed harmonies, for example. It took me much longer than it should have to come around on Women, but in case you’re still on the fence or also just never got around to them in the first place, perhaps this small coda will sway you in their favor once and for all.

Patrick Masterson

Yo La Tengo — Sleepless Night EP (Matador)

In July, Yo La Tengo released the abstract, droning instrumental EP We Have Amnesia Sometimes, harking back to the sound of their excellent soundtrack album The Sounds of the Sounds of Science (2002). This new Sleepless Night EP brings together five covers and one original, first released in conjunction with an L.A. exhibition by Japanese artist Yoshitomo Nara, who helped the band pick the songs. Sleepless Night opens with “Blues Stay Away” by The Delmore Brothers and “Wasn’t Born to Follow” by The Byrds, both fairly straight renditions of the blues and country-rock originals. The real keeper in this collection comes next in the form of Ronnie Lane’s “Roll On Babe,” beautifully sung by Georgia, which hypnotizes with its languid sway. Their cover of Dylan’s “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry” also has Georgia take the lead over beatless organ, bass and guitar. “Bleeding” is the sole original, a shimmering atmospheric piece with ghostly vocals from Ira, which dissolves in a pool of pitchshifted reverb. Finally, “Smile a Little Smile for Me” strips out the rhythm section from the Flying Machine original and slows the tempo, Ira’s measured vocal performance lending the song an affectingly forlorn slant. Though the material here offers few surprises, it’s a reassuring release from a justifiably loved band at a time when we could all use a little more reassurance.

Tim Clarke

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 11

Of Men and Books

Words: 4,448

Warnings: swearing, slight violence, fluff

Micah had been gone from camp for the past two weeks but you hardly noticed. In fact, you felt safer with him out. When he rode back in you made a point not to greet him, preferring the company of others to hide you from view. 

September had slowly turned to October and brought colder nights, but did nothing about the heat during the days. 

“Sadie, that’s not how this is played.” 

The widow stared down at the dominoes confused, “I thought we was playing to 21.” 

You rolled your eyes heavily at her. “That’s poker. I think. Maybe blackjack?” 

“Watch it, YN, those eyes roll any further back and they’ll get stuck in your head.” Sadie had a quick raspy laugh to match her personality. She stood up, done with the game neither of you knew how to play. “I’m off for food, want anything?” You shook your head and planned to go read alone in your tent as your chores were all done for once. 

A cool breeze caused the tent flaps to lazily wave back and forth while you sat down to get comfortable. Hosea had long since taken his crime series back, and you were in the middle of a new romance novel that you kept hidden under your pillow. It starred a heroine you admired, and a dashing hero for whom she pined. The families had been feuding for generations, naturally, and the two lovers were caught in the middle trying to mend the rift caused by time all while having secret meet ups that always ended romantically. You couldn't help the attachment you felt towards the book. 

“Whatcha got there, YN?” Jesus, Micah was quiet. He snuck up to your tent and stood as an unwanted voyeur. 

Quickly dropping your book into your pile, you grabbed Pride and Prejudice instead. 

“Jane Austen. Although I am certain you’ve never read it.”

He snorted and snatched the book out of your hands, walking out towards the center of camp. 

“Hey! Give that back!” He ignored your demands but the noise drew the attention of others in the area. Lenny and Arthur were close by, and Charles sat with Abigail at a table eating. 

Opening to a random page Micah began to read out loud. “Mr. Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy - how do you stand this horse shit?”

“I said give it back!” you tried to reach around Micah’s outstretched hand but his reflexes were quicker from years on the run. His elbow connected with your ribs, hard, and sent you flying to the ground. 

Arthur, Lenny, and Charles were all standing at once. Abigail had run off to find John, but you figured there was only so much damage he could do at camp. 

“You heard the lady, Micah. Give it back.” Lenny came over to help you stand, holding your arm and keeping you steady. Micah made no notion of hearing him even though the warning was low and frightening. Instead he ripped a page and looked back at you, mockingly replying, “Oops.” 

Your brow pulled together and you tried to reach the book before he did anymore damage, but Arthur moved first. He swung his fist and collided it with Micah’s temple. Micah howled in anger and took a few steps back, dropping the novel into a pile of mud. A hand grabbed your shirt to drag you back and Charles placed himself in front of you and next to Arthur, ready to fight if it came to it. Micah had a wide stance and a feral look in his eyes; even outnumbered he was prepared to brawl. 

Clearly there was more built up rage between the three of them than what could manifest over your stolen book. 

Micah lunged and swung wildly at Charles and Arthur, landing fists where he could and stumbling back to avoid taking damage. Charles was precise in his movement and mainly acted out of self defense. Arthur demanded the attention, baiting Micah with calls and jeers to draw the most impact to himself. He was simultaneously the hunter and the prey, making sure Charles never got hit while defending himself as well. 

Time felt like it stretched on forever, but it was only moments later when Dutch’s voice rang out across the area. 

“Boys! What in the hell is this?” He moved as a force with Hosea and Abigail in his wake. 

Micah and Charles stopped instantly, dropping their hands and standing at attention. Arthur was a bit roudier and took the opportunity to take one last swing at Micah, smirking as the blonde careened backwards and almost fell over. 

“Oops,” Arthur mocked. 

“Boys! This is a family. Ms. Bell, get the hell out of camp for today. Mr. Smith, go with Hosea to calm down. See if Pearson needs any help,” he turned to the remaining man with disappointment written on his features. “Mr. Morgan. Arthur. My son, what has gotten into you? What happened here?” 

Arthur nursed his bruising jaw with a cold bottle Hosea handed him before leaving with Charles. “Micah knocked Ms. Moore down over a book, Dutch. Wasn’t gonna let him get away with it in camp with our people.”

Dutch absentmindedly picked up your book out of the mud and brushed it off. “You okay, Ms. Moore? He lay a hand on you?”

You nodded slowly and decided to tell your secret. “It’s not the first time he’s done something like that, Dutch. Back at Horseshoe Overlook he...grabbed my neck when I rejected him. Tried to scare me.” 

There wasn’t much of a reaction from Dutch, but Arthur muttered under his breath about wishing he hit him harder. 

“Tried. I like your spirit, Ms. Moore. I am sorry he hurt you, but you are safe here. These are good people who sometimes get a little off course. I will personally watch Micah, and Mr. Morgan here is now going to be watching over you. Not that you are helpless,” he chuckled when you began to protest, “but Micah is a large man, and there are others who don’t have the same mind as us. Please know you can come to me anytime.” 

You thanked him and watched as his mind spun and ticked away. The two must know each other well for Micah had been with the gang a good while longer than you, and for every one of his faults Dutch was there to defend. 

Guilt flooded your chest as Arthur stretched out his arms and winced with pain. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Morgan. I didn’t mean for anyone to get involved -”

“You’re sorry?” Arthur looked over at you incredulously. “Why’re you sorry? He’s the one who was throwing around women, ain’t you’re fault you got caught up in this mess. Long time Dutch has known how I feel about him.”

Tears sprang to your eyes as you saw the real damage that had been caused. Micah, Arthur, Charles, and Dutch were now involved. “I, I’m just real sorry, Mr. Morgan.” It came out as a whisper as you backed away from the scene, Arthur watched you silently with an odd expression on your face. Panic began to creep up your back and you turned and fled. 

Green leaves from the trees blurred together as you ran through the woods. You weren’t entirely sure why you ran but the movement of your muscles felt good and strong. Maybe being alone was the best way for you to process what happened. 

Eventually you reached a part of the lake you hadn’t seen before. It was a small alcove where you could see fish jumping in the distance and had plenty of trees providing shade in the afternoon. Today was a rare day that the heat had actually dropped and allowed you to breathe normally. 

You plopped down by a tree and faced the water. Why had you run? That panic blossomed so quick and strong and was like nothing you had ever felt before. Maybe it was having people actually defend you against an attacker for once rather than ignore all of the signs glaring in their faces. Micah was different, you couldn’t find any redeeming qualities in the man. Compared to Arthur and Charles he was a snake in the grass. 

The cool breeze rustled the leaves at your feet and you pulled the tie out of your hair to shake it loose. Curls whipped around your face and you finally relaxed. It’s too bad that book got ruined, this would be a perfect spot to read. 

After an hour you decided to go back. Turns out you hadn’t gone as far as you thought you did but a gentle reprieve made you feel that much better. 

Soft guitar music drifted in from the campfire where Javier sat playing. 

"YN! You up for a little duet?" His fingers moved magically over the strings and enticed you, but the day had made you weary and tired. 

"Not right now, Javier. But let's find another song soon." He didn't reply but smiled up at you as you took a seat on a nearby stump and kept playing. 

For a while it was just the two of you at the fire, watching the flames and adding logs when they dwindled down. 

Charles soon returned to camp and sat down across from you. 

"How are you Charles?" He grunted and bit into his dinner, not really meeting your eyes. He must be angry after what happened earlier, peace and balance were strong values to him.

After his meal was done, he set the plate down and looked over to you

 "YN. Come with me," he walked over to hold out his hand and help you up, then set off for the water. 

Back behind your tent was a dock. It didn't stretch too far out over the water but it had enough space for a boat to be tied up alongside it. Charles sat down at the end and motioned for you to join him. Your shoes just dangled above the water as you swung your feet back and forth. 

"I was afraid." It came out more blunt than you had intended, but Charles sat back and let you unravel the fears that had coiled up in your chest. 

"I saw my father in that moment, he was not a kind man. Years of knowing what that look meant sent me right back and after you left with Hosea I ran. Mostly just to leave the mess behind, which I know is silly, but I couldn't stand the thought of you or Arthur actually getting hurt on my behalf. Micah is a bully, ain't the first I've known but the most...uncaring? If that's the right word. There's no limit or boundary for him. Nothing goes too far. You both are the opposite."

Taking a deep breath you continued on. "I guess I'm trying to say I'm grateful, although I have an awful way of getting there. You all have been the best to me after I just showed up one day with little money or knowledge to contribute, but a few words of kindness have gone incredibly far and I want you to know I see it. I've learned so much this past half year as an outlaw. Forced me to, you know? Had to grow up." 

A couple more beats passed. You stared at your tangled fingers and concluded quietly, "So I am sorry. For that mess with Micah. But mostly...thank you." 

Charles just continued to stare at the water, watching the ripples move and affect others. 

"YN, you're one of us now. No need to worry about that happening again, Micah is an ass and deserves whatever comes from this. And as for you? Look at all you've done! I can't believe it was that long ago Arthur came riding up with a shot, bleeding woman and just ordered Dutch to take you along. Now you hunt for us, steal with us, collect debts. It's going to be fine." 

Charles let that sink in and watched you smile in response before continuing on. "Arthur talks often of how you've helped him, and today he was worried about you. He is a tough man to crack, but he thinks...very highly of you, you should know." 

Something in his eye was playful and reflected with the orange sunset. 

"Very highly, huh?" You knocked your shoulder with your friends and giggled, hoping the meaning behind what he was saying was true. It was no secret to yourself anymore that you enjoyed spending time with Arthur, although you had made an awful fool of yourself today. 

After a while longer you decided to head back to camp. The dust had settled and you finally felt normal again. 

"YN! Come sit darlin', you look tired." Abigail called you over to dine with John and Jack and you accepted graciously. The three were patching up whatever rifts had separated them and finally Abigail was smiling again. 

John patted the seat next to him and you joined the disjointed family. 

"You alright from earlier, YN? By the time Abby found me everyone was gone." 

You smiled up at John, "I'll be just fine. Micah thought he could have his way but turns out, he ain't anything special." 

Both Marstons chuckled. "Ain't that the truth." 

"So how long you two been together? Jack is, what, four?" 

John shifted uncomfortably and scratched his neck in a similar manner to Arthur. The thought made your heart pang in an odd way you didn't know how to process. 

Abigail covered smoothly. "I've been with these fools near 5 years now. John and I...well, probably just before Jack came along. Life's a bit different without a baby, but we try to make it work now." 

Oblivious to the tension Jack pulled out his toy and ran it along the wooden table, making crashing noises. The fake explosions got louder and louder until he ran out of table space, then with an approving nod from his mother took off to find new playmates. John muttered something about tending the horses and left shortly after. 

"Abigail I'm sorry if I -" 

She shook her head at you. "Don't you dare apologize. You didn't know." Sighing heavily and staring at her hands, her voice dropped to make sure only you could hear. 

"When I first got here, I wasn't, I mean, I was entertainment. For the men." 

Her eyes connected with yours until understanding clicked into place. 

"John sometimes don't want to confess Jack is his, but I know. In my heart. A little while after he was born...John left." Her voice broke

"Took off from camp for about a year, leaving me and baby Jack to fend for ourselves. I didn't know nothing about raising a baby but folks here were real great with him. Arthur especially stepped up to help. Him and John were like brothers, and none of us really got over what he did." 

You were about to speak but she rushed on. "John's a good man! I know it. Just a little lost. I wish he would be more interested in us as a family, we ain't going away. But he always puts himself first, and then this gang then us. Wish it was another way around." 

Your dearest friend here was in pain, so you slowly pushed a beer bottle across the table. Abigail has never drank in front of you before and it was a sight watching her tip her head back and pull from the bottle. She made a face once she was done that caused you to giggle.

"Looking forward things should be good. For all of us." Her small hand reached out and squeezed yours before she left to join John. 

He saw her approach and slipped his hand into hers, and she rested her head gently on his shoulder. 

The scene made you blissful, and you rested your head in your hands to watch them. 

A loud thunk of a metal bowl hitting wood next to you brought you back to the present as Hosea joined you at the table. “How ya doing, YN?” You smiled back and motioned to the Marstons, and Hosea smiled as well. 

“Good to see them together. John’s always been...tough about that.” 

It sounded like it was hard for everyone to admit what happened with John. Hosea and Dutch had raised him from a young age so it can’t have been easy to see your son bolt and avoid his responsibilities. Like Abigail said, he was a good man, just a bit lost. 

Hosea tsked and continued on. “Pitty about your book today, YN. The whole situation of course, but losing a Jane Austen can’t have been easy. I’ve been...known to read her novels now and then.”

Hosea looked secretive as he spoke. It was always easy conversation between the two of you. “Micah...is well, Micah...but Austen? A true Goddess among men.” 

“I agree. Which is your favorite then, Mr. Matthews?”

Scratching his chin, he thought. “Oh, I’ve always had a soft spot for Emma. Couldn't tell you why. She reminds me of my wife, Bessie, she fancied herself a bit of a matchmaker. Wasn’t worth a damn but she loved it.” 

His eyes misted slightly bringing up Bessie. You knew he had been wed at one point and that she had passed away, but not her name. It was still a bruise that he pressed occasionally as a reminder of the pain, apparently. 

“I’ve always been drawn to Marianne Dashwood. Of course Lizzie Bennet is a classic, but there’s just something about that Dashwood spirit. I simply adore her. She’s brave, and wild, kind and so romantic. Tries to make the best of her situation in life. When I was younger I hoped to be like her.”

Hosea chuckled. “She is outspoken. Headstrong! Prone to outbursts and has no filter.”

“Yes, I suppose she is. Maybe that’s why I love her.” You felt a sparkle around the evening as Hosea excused himself and went to find Dutch. 

Javier had struck up again around the campfire and this time you joined him. 

“Miss Moore! What shall we sing now?” 

You debated between a few classics but settled on a sweet duet that would be uplifting and simple. Javier taught you the words because you had only ever played it on piano before, but it was fun and left hands clapping and toes tapping around the warmth of the fire. 

“Taking over this town, they should worry

But these problems aside I think I taught you well

That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run

 And in the winter night sky ships are sailing

Looking down on these bright blue city lights

And they won't wait, and they won't wait, and they won't wait

We're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay

 Howling ghost they reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear,

But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart,

A lion-heart.

 His crown lid up the way as we moved slowly,

Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind,

Though far away, though far away, though far away,

We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same.

 Howling ghost they reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear,

But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.

 And in the sea that's painted black,

Creatures lurk below the deck,

But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.

And as the world comes to an end,

I'll be here to hold your hand,

'Cause you're my king and I'm your lion-heart!”

The song ended with a little flourish of the guitar, and Javier sang the last note much longer than intended. You laughed and watched his hands move over the strings nimbly and with many years of practice. Leaning back, you observed the warm scene in front of you. Most of the gang was gathered one way or another around the fire mesmerized by Javier’s quick moving hands. Dutch smiling and smoking a cigar, Sean leaned on Karen for support and comfort, and even the Marstons lingered at the edges enjoying the evening. Mary-Beth passed Tilly a drink, and all was finally right in the world. 

Arthur eventually returned from somewhere unknown, but you saw him lean against a tent and watch near John the scene of you and Javier as you sang through the night. 

“She’s some woman, huh Arthur?” 

He grunted in reply, but his eyes didn’t leave you the whole time. “A bit soft, if you ask me.”

“Oh, Arthur hush. She’s good and you know it. That’s why you keep avoiding her.” Abigail pointed out. John agreed causing Arthur to blush. Sure, you were wonderful, hell everyone could see that. And after six months it had become clear how well you fit in with the rag tag group. 

John watched him process, then handed the older man a drink. “Here. To calm your nerves.”

He mumbled into the bottle. “Ain’t gonna do anything now, Marston,” but took a long pull anyways. Abigail laughed behind her hand, and Arthur waved the couple away so he could think. 

Arthur knew it was true. His heart was a heavily guarded one, and he didn’t think he deserved someone like you; creative, with a good heart, but still able to defend herself and work hard if the occasion called for. You were funny, and bright, and made him laugh at things you never thought he would see. And so, so beautiful. The light from you spread and bounced off of everything you touched. It was unlike anyone he had encountered in a long time. 

The next morning, Arthur asked you to accompany him into Rhodes to drop off some mail for the gang. You agreed, excited to be getting out of camp and to have time to apologize about the previous day’s mess. 

Eclipse gave a happy nicker when you greeted her with an apple. You lifted your saddle up and over her back and double checked the girth as she liked to puff up and cause everything to slip sideways once you began to ride. All set, you hopped up and waited for Arthur to be ready. 

He was fiddling with the letters in his hands, and took longer than usual to set Zeus down the trail. Lenny waved the pair of you out of camp, and you breathed a sigh of relief as the tents faded out of view. 

“Mr. Morgan, you alright there?” 

Arthur looked over at you, a small flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. Before he got a chance to say anything, Sean came bursting out of the brush on Ennis. 

“Mornin’ to you both, English and Galway! Ah, my two old mates. Where are you headed this lovely morning?” 

“Into town Sean, want to join?” He agreed happily and chatted with you during the short ride in while Arthur hung back. 

“Heard you got into a fight with Micah yesterday, YN. Love all the trouble you’ve been causing at camp! A shame I wasn’t there to witness it though, woulda loved to sock him right in the old kisser.”

You rolled your eyes at Sean while he imitated punching Micah with dramatic reactions. “Yes, I decided it was long overdue someone finally told him off.” He chuckled and you contiued. “No, but Arthur and Charles made sure things didn’t get out of hand. Or, should I say, that Micah couldn't hurt anyone else.”

Sean clicked his tongue. “Pitty I wasn’t there to defend you myself, I’m quite the brawler with a few licks of drink in me.” Arthur finally joined the two of you. 

“What are you doing hiding in the bushes, Sean? Some unlucky lady fall for that accent again?” 

“Nah, Morgan. I was looking for someplace to hide this map, but now that I think about it I might just give it to yous two. I don’t fancy running around the countryside for one measly treasure but I know you love that shite.” 

Sean handed you a ripped old map. It was intricate and detailed, and while Arthur and Sean conversed you tried to decipher it. 

There were three locations listed, one you had never heard of before. It seemed to indicate that at each place was part of a key, and once you assembled all of them you could unlock whatever the map was hiding. It sounded like fun, and you tucked it away to look over later once you left Rhodes. 

Once in town Arthur wanted to swing by the general store. Sean had something to pick up at the post office so he took the mail with him, leaving the two of you alone once again. With Eclipse and Zeus tied up outside, you walked through the mud from the recent rains towards the main building in town. 

Arthur held the door open for you and the clerk sweeping the floor waved and welcomed you in. The sweet red apples called your name, and Arthur was working something out with the cashier so you wandered by yourself and selected a few good pieces. Lately you hadn’t had a chance to pickpocket or steal much so your funds were low, but the fruits looked too good to pass by. You purchased two apples and left to sit outside and admire the changing of the leaves. 

The bell softly rang as Arthur pushed the door open and looked to find you. He sat down on the bench and rubbed his face, exhaustion pouring off from whatever kept him out of camp last night. 

You offered him an apple and he took it gratefully. 

“Truth be told, I’m not too keen about heading back to camp right away.” He was staring off into the distance while he spoke. 

“Let’s follow that map Sean gave us. Worse case scenario we spend the day riding around, best case we’re a little richer. You up for solving a puzzle?” You raised your eyebrows suggestively and handed the map to Arthur, who looked it over and began to chuckle. 

“Ms. Moore, you are full of surprises. C’mon, let’s head out I think I know where that first place is pointing to.” He stood and offered you a hand up, and the two of you set off, mystery ahead.

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Evolution 6

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Evolution 6

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“‘M going out,” Alaric says, grabbing a jacket on his way out the door of his dorm room. “Me and Chris are meeting Dax and Cass at the ‘Skeller. Dax has some shit to go over. Cass is tagging along.”

From the way his voice gets a little sharper, Nikolai gets the feeling Alaric doesn’t like Cass much. Or at least doesn’t like the fact that she’s tagging along.

“Said something about Nate might stop by, too.” Alaric shrugs. “Whatever. I think they’ve got some new drill ideas for spring and summer training. Want me to bring you back a cookie?”

Nikolai has no idea what a Skeller, training drills, and a cookie have to with each other. He glances at Seth and they both shake their heads.

Kit sits on the floor of the dorm room cross-legged, digging through his bag to pull out pencils one by one. He doesn’t even look up.

Rory settles in next to Kit, his left thigh pressed against Kit’s leg, a guitar balanced on his lap. “Bring back four,” he says. “Don’t have to be hot; we’ll warm them in the microwave. We’ll probably need a snack by then, even if Kit’s not thinking about it.”

“Hm?” Kit looks up.

“You’ll be hungry after this,” Rory says with a small, fond smile.

“Probably.” Kit motions at Nikolai and Seth, using his hands to ask them to sit further apart. Nikolai slides away, finding a new spot on the floor with plenty of space between himself and Seth.

Alaric lingers in the doorway. “Kit, if you’re staying here tonight—”

“I have my own room.” Kit glances at Rory, who shakes his head, and Kit continues gathering his supplies, laying out pencils in an order Nikolai doesn’t understand, next to a notebook. “I’m heading back there tonight. Rory’ll be here.”

“I’ve got that 8am tomorrow,” Rory says.

Alaric grunts softly. “You know you don’t have to—”

“We’re fine.” Rory cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Go catch up with Chris. Get everything out of your system that needs to get out. You haven’t even been back that long. Go spend time with him. Just close the door when you go. That’ll give us a chance of keeping most of the floor out. Except Nikita. Not much keeps her from barging in.” He says it like it’s a joke, and Kit has a mumbled laugh in response while Alaric grumbles.

“Fine.” He tugs the door shut with a soft click and thunk.

Kit looks at Nikolai, frowning deeply, then shifts to stare at Seth. He does nothing but watch them for several uncomfortable minutes, while Rory plucks strings on his guitar, tuning it idly. Rory plays a few notes in succession, and Kit’s posture eases.

“I was wrong,” he said, holding his hands out toward each of them, and bringing his palms together. “I need you together, at least to start. Your energy works better that way.”

Seth shrugs as they move closer together again. Kit continues to watch them, and Nikolai lifts one arm to drop it behind Seth. They lean against each other, finding a comfortable way to sit together before Kit finally looks away.

Kit points at them with a pencil. “That’s good. Don’t move.” He opens his notebook to a fresh page, props it on his knees, and hunches over as he works.

The pencil scratches across paper, rough at some points, smooth at others. Nikolai is afraid to break the silence; he doesn’t want to disturb Kit’s concentration.

Rory plays softly, his hair falling in his face as he tilts his head down, expression soft as he focuses on the music. He opens his mouth, and Nikolai half expects him to start singing. He’s surprised when Rory speaks instead.

“You won’t bother him,” Rory says, his voice at normal volume. The music never stops, his fingers moving over the strings, shifting between parts of the melody. “If he was just drawing, then probably, but when I’m boosting him like this, he’s pretty much lost in the fugue.”

“He can’t hear us?” Seth asks.

Rory laughs, shakes his head. He reaches up to push his bangs back out of the way. “He can hear us. He’s just… his Talent has him.”

It makes sense to Nikolai, when it’s phrased like that. He knows how easy it would be to slip into the Dream and just never come back. He wonders if Kit feels that, too, teetering on the edge of madness. “I get it,” he says. “That’s a unique Talent?” He asks it as a question, because he’s not sure exactly what Kit’s Talent is. He’s drawing. Nikolai isn’t even sure why, just that Pawel asked them to make sure they did this after the Coven meeting.

Coven. That was… something else entirely.

Nikolai exhales roughly at the memory of it, and turns to press a kiss against the side of Seth’s head. He hadn’t let go of Seth’s hand the entire time in that room, even when they were grabbing snacks with everyone else.

“I’m surprised Pawel didn’t ask us to speak in front of that Coven meeting,” Seth mutters dryly. When Nikolai stiffens, Seth huffs. “I felt your tension rise. I figured you were thinking about it,” he says.

“Occasionally Pawel has random bursts of logic in between his fits of mania,” Rory says. He pauses, and when he starts playing again, the melody has shifted. It’s a little faster now, and Nikolai swears that Kit’s pencil moves more quickly as well.

“Kit’s from a Predictive Lineage,” Rory says. Kit makes a disgruntled noise, and Rory presses his knee closer to Kit’s. “It’s along the female line, though, so Kit’s not actually Predictive. He started exploring ritualistic magic, like the kind my family does, which is actually how we met. Somewhere in there Carolyn discovered that she has a Talent for Traveling, as well as being Predictive. Her Traveling uses pictures.”

“We saw them,” Seth says. “She had some drawings.”

And a deck of cards. Nikolai isn’t going to forget those cards, or her fortune telling. It was all too on point, when it came to telling him that he’d be moving between the worlds. He wonders if eventually that same card will come up again, to tell him that it’s time to go back.

“Mine,” Kit mumbles. “They work best.”

The lines of his art are already done, and even upside down, Nikolai recognizes that shapes of his and Seth’s bodies, intertwined as they are. There’s a soft energy to the image as if Kit draws one person in two bodies, which feels a little strange to see from the outside.

“Kit’s art works really well for Carolyn. And when he’s with me—” Rory slows what he’s playing, taking the rollicking tune and making it into a ballad. “My innate Talent is being able to stop someone else’s Talent when I touch them. When I first met Mattie, she told me I was absorbing their energy, not just stopping it. So I’ve been working on providing energy to others, and it happens to work really well with Kit.”

Kit makes a soft noise, and Rory knocks against his knee gently.

“So if we touch, he makes hyper-realistic drawings that Carolyn can use to Travel,” Rory says. “Short version of it all, anyway.”

“We’re not a place,” Seth says, gesturing from himself to Nikolai.

“She can go to you.” Kit just barely glances up at them before bending back to grab a different pencil for shading. “If you let her. I think you have to let her. I don’t actually know how she does what she does, but she’s used a picture of me to come across campus to me when she didn’t want to walk in the rain. I’ll do separate ones of you two as well. This one just felt like how it’s supposed to be. You two have been together so long you’re more one person than separate.”

“Soulmates?” Rory murmurs.

Kit gives a shallow one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t meet Tony, so I haven’t seen him with Ángel. I can’t see us from the outside. And everything with Shane and Pels and—” Kit cuts off, making an irritable noise. “That’s just a mess.”

“What’s with Pels?” Nikolai feels like it’s rude to ask, but at the same time, he’s never met anyone quite like her.

Admittedly, he met a lot of people tonight, and he doesn’t remember half of them. But it’d be impossible to forget Pels.

She’d slipped into the room just as the meeting was started, and she’d pinned herself to the back wall as if she wanted to be anywhere else but there. Instead of watching Pawel, she’d looked at the space between herself and the door, then glanced over at Nikolai and Seth, brow furrowing in confusion. She’d turned back to that empty space by the door and hissed something Nikolai couldn’t quite hear. The girl closest to her on the other side had sidled a little further away.

Pels had crossed her arms, muttered, “Fine,” then leaned her head back against the wall and ignored Pawel for the rest of the meeting.

“I couldn’t figure out why she was even there,” Nikolai continues. “She seemed like she really resented it.”

“Pels is going through some shit,” Rory says, the melody shifting again to something capricious and strident. “She’s not a Mage, and she’s not the kind of person who likes to talk about her Talent. She lives down this hall, actually, and no one ever really gets to know her. She’s at Coven because she says she has to be, but it’s pretty much awkward all the time.”

“She felt angry,” Seth muses.

“Resentful,” Kit mutters. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“There were so many people there.” Nikolai can’t even name half the people he met. He’d guess there were thirty people in the room at the start of the meeting, a few drifting out early, and more drifting in late as half the group moved into the hall and gathered at tables. “So many Talents all in one place. It still feels strange to see.”

“Four out of every five people here are Talented,” Rory says. “That’s something like… five thousand students. Less, if that statistic doesn’t include the grad students, but I always figured it did. There’s another school not far from here that’s like not quite half Talent for students.”

Nikolai has absolutely no words for that.

“No wonder you attract the Shadows,” Seth says, voice low and dark. “You gather openly. You’re calling to them.”

The strings go discordant under Rory’s fingers. Kit stops drawing, sets down his pencil, and slides his hand over to touch Rory’s knee. Kit slides his hand over Rory’s jeans until the music starts again, then Kit carefully picks up his pencil and starts to draw again.

Nikolai’s face feels warm, and he stares at the wall to give them privacy.

“To be fair,” Rory says slowly, the pick of notes underlining the cadence of his words, “we didn’t have a problem with Shadows until recently. They’ve popped up here and there, but we couldn’t link any of the occurrences until we started trying to actively put it together. The death of Alaric’s brother, and his brother’s roommates. Then the death of a man from VIT, and his best friend is in a coma. We caught one of the Shadows responsible for those attacks, and we thought that was it. We’re only just figuring out exactly how big a problem it is, and that’s with your help. We have not had the experience you did.”

“You just live openly, and the humans don’t resent you,” Seth says.

“We’re all human,” Rory counters. “And some do, I’m sure. Just like I’m envious of someone with incredible musical Talent, or like you might look at someone achieving a goal and both want to be them and hurt them at the same time because you want that goal. There are people out there who are afraid of what we can do. But we’re here. We’re a part of this world, and ever since Kenzie Davis Emerged, everyone knows we exist. And in some cases, they suspected all along, like the town around my grandparents’ commune.”

“Where are your grandparents from?”

Nikolai half expects to hear Havenhill in response to Seth’s question, but he knows logically that can’t be true. Not with what he knows of this world.

“Burlington.” Rory bends his head, hair falling across his face as his brow furrows. His focus shifts as his fingers slow, and Nikolai wonders if he’s picking out this slow melody for the first time. “Vermont. North of here. They’ve sort of built this commune on one side of town and they’ve got farmland and they’re kind of independent. A little like Alaric’s home is. He talked to them some about spinning and dyeing when we were up visiting.”

Rory glances up, hair still half covering his eyes when he looks at Nikolai and Seth. “Alaric told me about Havenhill. And Alia. And him not being a part of it.”

“We thought about going to Burlington,” Seth says quietly. “It was a lot further north, and we weren’t sure we could get there safely. We didn’t have a lot of information about Vermont trickling out of there, but we knew there were probably at least one or two walled and lit cities between us and them. But we’d heard there was a group up there in our world.”

“Probably something similar to my family.” Rory falls silent as Kit sets his pencil down. Rory leans in closer, lightly touching the paper in front of Kit. “That was quick.”

“Mm, they’re easy together. It’s going to be harder to draw them alone.” Kit holds up the piece of paper and it’s almost like looking at a black & white photograph. Kit’s captured not just the image, but it also feels like their essence is there on the page, like if Nikolai reached out and touched it, it might come alive.

Seth whistles low under his breath. “You’re good.”

“I’m better with Rory.” Kit motions for them to move, and Nikolai carefully unwinds himself from Seth. It’s abruptly cold as Nikolai finds himself a spot to lean against the wall. Kit points his pencil at Seth. “Hold still. Stop talking. Just be you.”

Seth makes a face.

Kit furrows his brow in return. “Okay, fine, stare at Nikolai. That’ll make you relax.”

Seth snorts softly, but he does turn to sit cross-legged, leaning back on his hands, head slightly tilted as he looks at Nikolai. He licks his lips, and Nikolai’s face warms.

“Tell me about Havenhill,” Rory says, while Kit bends back to his art.

“We have a house there.” Nikolai smiles remembering it, and the few little touches that had started to make it feel like home. “It’s on the edges of the first grove, and apparently everyone thought it was haunted after the family disappeared.”

Rory blinks, mouth slightly open as he startles. “The Berman house?”

“Benford,” Nikolai replies, “but we’re not in the main house. There are two, and your friends took the big house while they were there, and we took the smaller house. Everyone in Havenhill was welcoming, and we’ll figure out how to fit in better when we get back.” He tilts his head back, exhaling softly as he relaxes. There’s a small catch in Seth’s breath, and Nikolai smiles, tilting his head a little further to show off his neck.

“Our world is a mess,” Nikolai says softly. “The humans retreated into the cities and built walls around them. They keep them brightly lit all the time to keep the Shadows away, and Talents are locked out because they know that the Shadows hunt us more than them. So the humans hunt us too, sometimes. I think they think that if all the Talents were gone, the Shadows would disappear, too. We… we had a home, for a while, then that was burnt down and I lost my family, so Seth and I started traveling to find Havenhill. We’d heard of it, and we had an idea where it might be, but they’ve tried to hide it. Warded it against Shadows and Humans both. There are five groves in sort of circles leading outward from the main house where Alia and Val live.”

He opens one eye to glance at Rory. The music hasn’t changed, and Rory doesn’t seem to be looking at him, but it feels like he has his attention. “Val is Alia’s wife,” Nikolai says, and Rory makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “I don’t think Alia has any children. Val has a son—Ethan—and she takes care of her… I think Marybelle is her niece. Alaric was surprised. Both that his mother was married to a woman, and that that woman was a Mage.”

“If you ever meet Alia here, she’s very different,” Rory murmurs. “And his father hates Mages. As passionately as most Clan seem to. It sounds as if the Alia in your world became a very different person.”

“It’s a very different world.” Nikolai can think of thousands of differences between there and here. “Just the idea that she’s not married to Alaric’s father—and I don’t think he even existed there—is a big difference. And our Alia has been dealing with trying to save her community from the Shadows for more than a decade, and creating Havenhill out of her home. Even if her life was the same up to a point, it would have had to diverge when she never had the family that Alaric has.”

“It makes me wonder what our Alia would be like if it weren’t for Theobald.” Rory pauses, shifts to a completely different melody, and Kit hums along under his breath.

“Carolyn told Alia to start a revolution,” Kit says quietly.

“What?” Rory pauses, hand flat against the strings.

“Drea brought her to Carolyn for a reading.” Kit frowns at the paper, turns it slightly before he starts shading with a different pencil. “Carolyn said the reading ended up saying that she might start a revolution. She didn’t hear anything more after that.”

“Alia came to a Mage willingly for magic.” Rory lowers the guitar. He looks like he’s about to stand when he glances at Kit and presses his knee closer to him, keeping contact.

“Maybe they’re more similar than you think,” Nikolai says. His gaze is on Seth, who still watches him, a small smile playing about his lips. “Magic is everywhere in Havenhill,” Nikolai explains. “It’s in the wards. It’s in the way that Amaranth maintains the groves.”

“Groves?”

“Lemon trees, and Amaranth works with my brothers to keep them growing in the north,” Nikolai says. He leans forward, hands moving as he speaks. “They have technology there. Power. Refrigeration and tools. But they also have magic to help create and preserve and ensure they have a life even though the world isn’t hospitable. And to make sure they’re safe.”

“Maybe that’s why they all went there.” Kit sets the pencil down and lifts the pad of paper, looking at it closely before he flips to a clean sheet. He shifts slightly so he’s looking at Nikolai now. “Maybe everyone who went there had to see it happening. Had to see how they cooperate to build something. Because even after the Emergence—even after everyone’s living publicly—we’re all still separate. We’re all still sorted neatly into our own communities.”

“You think they went—” Nikolai cuts off when Kit raises a hand and mimes cutting him off.

“Stay still,” Kit orders.

Seth stretches, finally released from staying in one position. “You think they went there to learn a lesson,” he echoes. “Well then, why the fuck have we been dragged back here?”

“Maybe there’s something you need from our world.” Kit shrugs one shoulder. “Hell if I know.”

Nikolai has no idea either, but Seth looks like he’s mulling the thought over. “This is what our world was like before,” Seth says slowly, as if he’s tasting the words on the way out. “This is the world we might want to rebuild after we get the Shadows out. It’s been a long time for us. For all of us. Even the humans—”

“Maybe stop thinking of it as us versus them,” Kit says.

“Hard to do when they want to kill us as much as the Shadows do,” Seth shoots back. He props his elbows on his knees, hunches forward. “Still. They’ve forgotten this, too. They don’t have easy lives, living in the light all the time. They can’t go from place to place easily. None of us remember what it’s like to be intermingled and safe. So maybe seeing this is what can help us rebuild it at home.”

“Plus helping each other so we can get to a point where you can rebuild.” Rory picks up his phone as it buzzes. “Hang on. I’m putting Alaric on speaker.”

Kit stops drawing, the image of Nikolai only in outline so far on the page. Rory leans forward to place the phone between them all. “You’re on speaker,” he says. “What’s up? I thought you were doing football things.”

“We were.” Alaric’s voice rumbles through the phone, other voices in the background. It’s more than Nikolai expects, as if a crowd surrounds them. “Drea’s here. My mom called to talk to both of us.”

It’s almost as if they invoked her, as if they summoned Alia back to the conversation after they thought they were done.

“Oh?” Rory asks warily. He rests one hand on Kit’s knee, and Kit goes back to working on the art, pencil scratching hurriedly across the paper.

“She’s called a Gather,” Alaric says. “We’re going.”

“Are you leaving right now?”

“It’s this weekend. Be ready to leave Friday right after classes. Dax and Nate are trying to figure things out; they’ve got a track meet Saturday.”

Nikolai frowns at the phone until Kit makes a small noise; Nikolai tries to relax his expression again.

“Who is the we that is going?” Seth asks.

“All of us,” Alaric says. “Mages. Clan. Emergent or Lineage. My allies are coming in from outside. Everyone needs to be there. All of our allies in one place. We need to make a plan, and we’re hosting the Gather at Haverhill.”

Nikolai’s mind says Havenhill when Alaric names his home.

“Your mother is opening up the house to everyone,” Rory says slowly.

“She’s asked me for contact information for your family,” Alaric replies.

Rory blinks, and Seth makes a small sound of surprise. Rory’s hand goes tight on Kit’s knee. Kit pauses his art long enough to cover Rory’s hand with his own until his grip eases.

“And your father?” Rory asks, his voice tight. Even Nikolai can hear the wariness in his tone, see it in the stiffness of his body.

No response for a moment, just muffled voices in the background.

“Don’t know,” Alaric says quietly. “And don’t really care. I think this is the best thing for us, and so does she, so we’re doing it. Be ready to go on Friday. And that means all of you.” The phone goes silent.

Rory picks up the phone, fingers sliding over the screen as he obviously sends a text. “This is going to be a mess,” he says softly. “A big mess. But hopefully a good mess, too.”

“We’re going back to Havenhill,” Seth says, his eyes crinkling as he grins.

Nikolai wants to kiss him, but when he starts to move, Kit holds up a finger to keep him in place. Nikolai holds still as Kit draws, letting Seth crawl across the small space between them and brush a kiss against his lips.

They’re going back to Havenhill, in the only way they can right now. And with luck, this will lead to them eventually going back to Havenhill for real.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Want to support me? – Patreon | Ko-Fi | Reblog & Comment

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Sweet Refrain

A/N: Continuing to count the smooches down with 17. Again, stand alone with no connection to Passing Through. Took a liiiiiiittle creative liberty and changed the campfire to a bonfire...hope you can forgive me. Gosh darn it I love writing this angelic man. Also- “totally random reader” Okay, V. lol  <3 

Word Count: 2,332

Prompt: from @agent-bossypants

Every time the train came through town, you could hear his music when the whistle blew. Even when you knew he wasn’t on it because he’d just written you from Oregon or called from Oklahoma, you could feel his presence whenever those rails rattled. The tracks cut through a field that you could see from your backyard, a narrow creek separating them from your property, with the soft purple silhouette of the mountains for a backdrop. They were freight tracks, and you were close enough to the unloading station that oncoming trains would start slowing down in view of your property. Even when you knew for a fact that Ryan wasn’t crouching in a car, readying himself to jump, you watched intently, reading the graffiti on the rusted steel walls, as though it could tell you where he was; as if it could tell you that he was okay. 

Occasionally you caught a glimpse of another train hopper as their boots touched down or left the rocky ground, running as they took off or landed to try to even out their momentum with that of the train. Once you’d seen a young man tumble over the side of a car, and you’d raced to the edge of your property, heart in your throat fearing it had been him, fearing that the person was hurt. It wasn’t Ryan, you could tell by the shock of red curls, and he hadn’t been seriously hurt, just sustaining a few bumps and a small but deep cut on the forehead. You’d offered as much help as the stranger who called himself Dakota would take, which unsurprisingly wasn’t much. He’d let you guide him across the creek to your back porch, but he balked when you’d invited him inside. Instead he’d waited on the step as you went in for a wet towel and some bandages to clean and cover the cuts with, making him a peanut butter sandwich and grabbing a few bottled waters from your fridge. 

When you came back out, you were again unsurprised to see your dog’s furry head resting on Dakota’s knee, her big brown eyes on the man as though she were full of concern. He reminds Roo of Ryan, too. He was a few years younger than the man who you’d grown up being neighbors with, but his quiet, unassuming nature and gracious smile were of the same ilk. You smiled as Roo lifted her head to look at you, as though giving you the all clear that the patient would be okay. “Good girl,” you’d patted her head as she stood and moved to curl up next to Dakota while you helped him with the bandages. He’d thanked you for your help, ruffled Roo’s ears, resulting in the dog giving a big lick to his hand, before he turned down your offer to give him a ride, and left through your front gate. 

Three weeks later you’d gotten his postcard in the mail from Maine, again thanking you for your kindness. On that same day, you’d gotten a call from Ryan in Minnesota, sharing the story with him and hearing the way his voice warmed when he told you you’d “done a real nice thing.” You’d chewed your bottom lip, voice all but breaking as you told him how it felt for that split second that you thought it might have been him, that he might have fallen under the train or hurt himself badly. There was a pause on his end before he’d cleared his throat and assured you that he was always careful, always safe. You’d seen him jump plenty of times, coming and going, and you knew this was true. He moved smoothly, taking sure footed steps and making well practiced grips. You’d seen him hoist himself up from the ground, taking a little piece of you with him as the sole of his second shoe left the gravel, and you’d watched him gracefully dismount, that stolen piece flying back to your chest as his smile walked towards you, one arm waving and the other clutching his beloved guitar. Stolen’s not the right word, you’d thought, knowing that you willingly gave that bit of yourself to him every time he left again. Regardless, it always felt like relief when he came back, even though you knew you had no real right to feel that way about him. After all, you were just friends.    

Watching the train from across your yard, you pulled your sweater around your shoulders and reminded yourself that he’d be back again in a few days’ time. You sat on your back step smiling as your dog galloped around expelling some energy after being cooped up all day, and the first few leaves of the season fluttered down from the branches. It was the end of September, and you could smell the change in the season as much as you could see it in the colors of the trees and the sky. But even if you couldn’t feel the slight chill in the air as the sun sank behind the mountains, even if you couldn’t see the way the clouds hung at a different angle, pewter colored and thick, you’d know what time of year it was from the rumble of the rails and that feeling in your chest that grew stronger everyday- Ryan’s coming home.  

The train crept away until it had pulled entirely into the unloading station and you could no longer see it, the whistle only a distant wisp on the wind. It took the last few rays of sunlight with it, the sky slowly turning inky black. It wouldn’t be long before countless stars blinked into being, so you called for Roo, waiting for her to run back up the steps before you headed back inside. Making yourself a cup of tea, you headed up to your room to read and wind down before bed, feeling like a kid counting down until Christmas. Only two more nights until he’s back. 

You’d known Ryan since high school, when your family had moved in next to his. His aunt still owned the house, and you’d never left yours, even when your parents had retired down to Florida. So when he came home- once a year, sometimes twice if you were lucky- you’d always made it a point to go to the homecoming bonfire, reminiscing about your teenage years and catching up on the things that didn’t fit in phone calls or letters. There were more than a few times when the warmth you felt from his eyes eclipsed the heat coming off of the giant central flame and the dozens of smaller fires that surrounded it, more than a few times that you wondered what else was behind that smile or what he wasn’t saying in the line of a song, his guitar propped on one knee as frosty air puffed from his lips. Don’t, you’d always cautioned yourself. Don’t change the way things are, don’t push things past what he’s willing to give you. You knew you already got more from Ryan than anyone else; knew that he made room for a few souls in his inner circle, and that somehow despite your lack of musical ability, you’d managed to gain a spot there along with Cowboy, Georgie and Virgina. It’s enough. As long as he’s in my life it’s enough. And it truly was. But that didn’t mean you’d say no to more. 

..  .. ..  .. .. ..  .. ..  

The next two days had passed like molasses in December, but finally you heard the sound that you’d been waiting for- that almost mournful howl of the train that announced it’s arrival, followed by the sweet refrain that always touched your heart as your mind filled with his voice and the voice of the nylon strings that he plucked with hardened fingertips. Throwing your sweater around you and shoving your feet into your boots, you swung the back door open, Roo racing out ahead of you. You can feel him, too, can’t you girl? Your smile grew wide and a laugh fell from your lips as the engine came into view followed by a string of green, orange and deep red cars. As the brakes started to hiss and the train began to slow, you stopped running, holding your breath as you saw him climb atop the edge of the car, swinging his long legs out and expertly choosing his landing spot. One boot, then two crunched into the rocks, his pack on his back and his case handle wrapped tightly in his fingers. You picked up speed again, noting the moment that he saw you, and the way that his posture changed. Normally he’d raise one canvas sleeved arm, swinging it over his head in greeting, but this time was different. You watched as he paused for a moment, completely still, as though he were seeing the view of your yard for the first time when in fact it had been far from it. But as quickly as he’d frozen, he’d regained motion, long strides closing the distance until all he had to do was leap the few feet over the creek. He’s here. He’s home. 

“Hey, stranger,” you said, Roo already waiting to greet him as he landed on your side of the small ravine. She whined excitedly until he reached down to pet her big fluffy head, scratching between her ears as her curved tail wagged to signal her happiness. 

“Hey yourself,” he said, setting the case down and spreading his arms wide for his welcome home hug. There it is, there’s that piece, you thought, as you felt them close around you, yours slipping around his waist, hands flat on his back. He held you for just a fraction longer than normal, breathing you in through his nose. “Missed you,” he said quietly, setting your heart drumming. “I miss you” was something he said on the phone or in letters. He’d never said it aloud to you before. Something’s different. 

But you didn’t have time to figure out what it was, simply returning the sentiment because, as always, it was true. You picked up his case for him and handed it back to him as was your routine, and you walked him to the gate that connected his aunt’s yard to yours. He’d go inside, visit with her for a while, shower, eat, stretch out his limbs and make a thermos of coffee before he’s be knocking on your door to walk with you down to the bonfire. It was routine, like the repetitious chorus of a favorite song. 

By the time you were seated around the dancing orange flames, the light flickering and casting shadows on the undersides of crunchy brown leaves, your heart was fluttering and your mind was buzzing. There was an extra layer of light in his eyes, an added note of tenderness in his voice as he played a few songs, one of them a new one he’d written since the last time you’d seen him. Roo was lying curled up by your feet with her head resting on Ryan’s boot, and you were struck by how right that seemed. Before you could think about it though, he’d said your name, and you’d turned, mouth falling open at the emotion in those cocoa colored irises. He rested his guitar flat on his knees so he could take your hand- something he never did- in his, bringing it atop the hollow instrument. Oh…

“I really did miss you. I…” he dropped his head, a nervous grin played with the corners of his mouth. “I been thinkin’ and I think I’ve been... fightin’ this for too long now. I don’t wanna just… I…” He raised his eyes back to yours and you couldn’t breathe, cheeks hot as his thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. “I like you…” another half laugh. “God that sounds...feel like we’re back in high school, but… I have feelings for you and-” 

“Ryan…” you exhaled his name, leaning closer. “Ryan, I...feel the same way…” You couldn’t believe what was happening, the world falling away until it was just the two of you, his guitar, your dog and the small flame you sat in front of. “I missed you, too, Ryan Brenner. I always miss you.” 

He dropped your hand then, reaching with both for your face, fingers slipping into your hair as he brought you into the last first kiss you’d ever have. It was sweet and slow, his lips brushing tentatively against yours as one of your hands came up to the side of his neck, fingertips finally learning what his jaw felt like beneath the coarse swath of facial hair. Neither of you wanted it to end now that it had began, so you let it continue, deepening cautiously but intentionally until you felt his tongue trace the inside of your bottom lip. Though your eyes were closed you felt your lashes shaking as something happened in your chest- that piece that he’d always taken with him, cemented itself more firmly than it ever had before. He’s back. He’s home...He’s...I’m his. 

When he reluctantly pulled away you were both breathing raggedly, but his smile was enough to overpower the fires all around you, enough to conceal the moon and hide all the stars. It was everything, and everything was different now. Before you could speak, not that you knew what you’d say, you were pushed aside by Roo’s 90 lb body as she excitedly jumped to lick Ryan’s face, as though she’d been waiting for this moment for you both, too. You laughed, your heart never feeling so warm, and Ryan did, too, wiping his face on the elbow of his sleeve before leaning back over to place another small kiss on your cheek. “Best homecomin’ yet,” he whispered against your skin as you leaned into his shoulder and his arm came around you. 

You had to agree.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @ymariejp @breanime @gollyderek @traeumerinwitzhelden

[just-jordie-things]

Training the Fox - Scott McCall

word count: 6,219 warnings: swearing, childhood trauma (?) emotional abuse summary: (y/n) was trapped as a fox for the past ten years of her life, but Scott McCall helps ease her back into society as a member of his pack.  Falling in love with her was just a bonus. (a/n): I just love writing kitsune!reader fics

You hissed and cried, the sounds soon becoming mingled as you ran faster and faster, hoping to shake off the hunters trailing you.  Your paws hurt and all of your muscles aching but you couldn’t stop.  They’d shoot you if you did, and you weren’t ready to die.  You wanted to shift back, you wanted to be a human again, like when you were young.  You were sure that years had passed, but you couldn’t be a fox forever, right?

Your thoughts and silent begs for another chance at life were cut off when you’d stepped into a bear trap.

You jolted up, springing upright and perching yourself in a squat on the couch you’d been sleeping on.  Your body began to shake, from the fear, and the lack of your fur coat to keep you warm.  Your head turned, side to side, checking your surroundings, but you didn’t seem to be in any danger.

Until you heard footsteps rushing down the stairs and towards the living room you were sat in.  You jumped again, spinning around and glaring with glowing fiery eyes at the man who ran up to you, standing at the back of the couch as you leaned over it to see him.

“(y/n)?” Scott, it was Scott.  You knew Scott, he was a protector, he trusted you, you trusted him.  He was the only one you trusted.  It was why you chose to stay here.

“Fine, I’m fine” You muttered, already curling back up as though you were still an animal.

“You’re lying, your heart’s beating like crazy, what happened?”

“Nothing I’m fine-”

“Come on” And before you could protest, Scott had his arms wrapped around you.  You wiggled uncomfortably, not used to physical contact.  “Tell me”

“No” You grumbled, shoving his hold off of you.  “Go back to bed.  I’m fine.  Leave me alone” You balled yourself up and willed yourself to go back to sleep.

“(y/n/n)” The nickname came easy off his tongue, and your eyes shot open to stare at him with surprise.  Last nickname you had was ‘vermin’ and it was by a hunter who’d been chasing after you for weeks.  “Open up a little you can trust me” Scott slowly sat down on the sofa next to you, reaching a hand out to you.

The fire in your eyes extinguished, reverting back to their usual y/e/c.

“You’re safe here, okay? Do you believe me?” You nodded your head a little, sitting up to properly speak with him.

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since I became human again” You told him.  Scott set his hand on your knee, and you didn’t shove him off this time.  “I’m scared they’re still going to find me”

“They won’t”

“You don’t know that” You said with a small snarl to your words.  But it didn’t affect Scott one bit.  He knew you were still adjusting, and that some things may be difficult.  He’d learned plenty from Malia to know how these things go.

“I do” He said as softly as he could.  “Tomorrow I’m going to take you to meet Malia, and she’ll talk to you about it all”

“What do you mean?”

“She was just like you.  Trapped as- well as a coyote but it was eight years before we could help her” He told you.  “She had to adjust too”

But you frowned, not really caring about someone else’s life story.

“Just cause she can do it doesn’t mean that I can” You responded bitterly.  Your eyes blank and your body rigid.  Every few minutes you would shake from the cold, but you’d calm down not long after.  Instead of rolling his eyes, he smiled gently towards you.

“You could be right” He acknowledged.  “But what if you aren’t?” You frowned.  “What if it does work, and you don’t get nightmares anymore? And you aren’t so cold all the time?”

You were silent, staring at him with widened and curious eyes.  Although if you were being honest, you weren’t sure if it was possible.

“You’ll try, won’t you?” He asked, setting his hand on your shoulder.  You jolted slightly, and looked down to where he was warmly touching you.

“Yeah” You sighed eventually.  “I’ll try” Scott smiled at you, squeezing your shoulder before standing up.  “Get some sleep, we can go over in the morning, okay?”

“Okay” You whispered, watching as he pulled your fallen blanket up from the floor and set it in your lap.

“And if you have any more nightmares, don’t hesitate to come get me okay? I don’t mind” He offered kindly.  You could only shakily nod your head as he walked back to the staircase.  “And if after tonight you aren’t comfortable here, we’ll find somewhere else for you to stay, okay?” Again you nodded, and Scott sent you a smile, and headed upstairs.

You couldn’t believe his hospitality.  As soon as him and his pack of misfits found you, he’d welcomed you with open arms.  While at first you were skeptical and upset, since he was the reason you were suffering as a human.  But now as you thought about it, he had saved your life.  And he was still trying to.

You just wondered if it was possible.

The following morning was a mess.  Scott had you go through the shower, which you hadn’t done in years and couldn’t quite find the right temperature.  Eventually you’d turned it to the highest it could go sitting down and enjoying the heat.  After forty five minutes had passed Scott was banging on the door and begging you to be done.

You’d come out with a scowl on your face and a towel around your body.

“I was enjoying the warmth”

“(y/n) there’s steam everywhere” Scott replied.  “You could’ve passed out if you were in there any longer” He guided you into his room to help you find something to wear, seeing as you didn’t actually have any clothes.  You’d been wearing a sweater and leggings from their hunter friend Allison for two days now.

The clothes were supposed to be her way of telling you she was an ally, and you didn’t have to be afraid of her.  Though naturally you were still skeptical, you took them and thanked her.  Mostly because Scott said it was the polite thing to do.

“You can pick whatever makes you comfortable, it’ll mostly be too big but we can go to the store or something and find clothes your size” He said.  Your eyes and fingers raked over just about every piece of clothing in his closet, inspecting every pair of pants, jeans, khakis, sweatpants.  All his hoodies, tee shirts, sweaters, you didn’t let one thing go unnoticed.  But Scott was patient, letting you take your time so you could be comfortable.

“These are all too big” You said, but picked up a pair of grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt anyways.  Scott rushed out of the room as soon as you began to unwrap the towel, clearly not caring you weren’t alone in the room.

After changing into the big comfy clothes, you wandered around his room, snooping just a little bit.  Strumming a few strings on his guitar, reading the spines of books you wondered if he ever read, checking out the laptop he had.  You couldn’t remember what kind of computers were out before your childhood was taken away from you, but this seemed a lot more advanced than what was around back then.

“(y/n)?” Scott knocked on the door before walking into the room.  He’d heard you mess around with the guitar and figured you were finished up.

“Has it really been ten years?” You hummed, mostly to yourself as you looked at childhood pictures he had on his wall.  You didn’t know anyone in them, but somehow staring at them made you feel like you had missed out on something.

Scott sighed, walking over to where you stood at his wall.  But your eyes stayed glued to the photographs.  He studied you as you looked through each one carefully.

“I’ve been gone, for ten whole years” You whispered.  “I’ve missed everything, I don’t know anything, or anyone, I’m still practically a child but I’m....”

“Seventeen” Scott answered gently when he realized you had a hard time even keeping track.  You sniffled and shook your head, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of Scott’s sweatshirt.  Letting out a bitter chuckle, you turned towards him.

“I’m ready to go now” You said softly, turning away from he pictures.  Scott nodded as the both of you headed out of his room and down to his motorbike.  “Hey, Scott?” You asked before he could drive off.

“Yeah?”

“When we come back, can you tell me about those pictures?” She asked him.  Scott turned around to look at her, nodding his head gently.

“Sure we can” He said, smiling as he turned around again and started driving to Malia’s.

He knew it was going to be a tough adjustment for you, every part of it was bound to be difficult.  The social and societal aspects, people had changed in the last decade, the education you’d missed, the general news, and just dealing with the fact your chance at normal had been torn away from you.

“I don’t know what you want me to do” Malia growled under her breath to Stiles.  “I can’t help her, I wasn’t even able to help myself”

Stiles sighed, looking to Scott with an impatient expression.

“You have to try” Scot begged quietly.  He glanced outside to where you were with Lydia and Kira.  “Please, she needs your help” Malia groaned.

“Why? Because I was trapped as a coyote and she was trapped as a fox? That doesn’t connect us Scott, that makes us two bastards who got dealt shitty cards in life”

“Malia” Lydia’s voice hissed, making everyone spin around to see the front door open, the banshee standing in it.  But you and Kira weren’t far off, and with your heightened senses you heard her just fine.

Without another word you left the door and went storming into the woods just off of the Tate property.

“Great” The werecoyote grumbled, heading out to go after you.  Kira sighed, looking to the boys in the living room.

“She’s tortured” She told them, but mostly Scott.  “By her own past, but she wants to move on”

“I’ll go help look” The alpha said, taking off in a haste and hoping to trace her scent well enough to find her quickly.

“You can’t just- don’t just run away like that” Scott scolded you, angrily brushing leaves off of the sleeves of the sweatshirt you were wearing.  You didn’t say anything as he finished and pushed a helmet towards you.  Your hesitant hands held it firmly as you stared at him in sorrow.

“I was going to come back” You told him, hoping it would make him feel better.  Scott scoffed, but when he saw your apologetic expression he let out a deep breath.  “I’m sorry” You said, leaning her head up to be sure he was looking at you when she said it.

“I know (y/n)” Scott said, clasping his hand on your shoulder.  “Just… don’t bolt like that” He said before getting on the bike to go home.

“I won’t leave” She reassured him, setting her hands on his shoulders to keep her steady.  “Promise”

one year later

“Jesus fucking Christ how can I get out of here?” You muttered to Stiles next to you.  Everyone was gathered around the Martin family beach house, waiting for Kira to show up with Liam.

Scott had a little slip up the other night at the hospital, and everyone was anxiously waiting to meet the new beta.  Except Lydia, who was just pissed off the meeting place was the beach house.  Her family was hoping to sell it for some extra cash, and the idea of a new werewolf wrecking the place peaked her anxiety.

“I would also like to get out of this” Lydia agreed with you.

“Well I don’t want to be here either but we don’t exactly have the choice” Malia stated.  She, like Liam, was here for full moon reasons.  Which didn’t seem to be improving anytime soon.

“No one’s leaving, we might need all of your help” Scott said, focusing on you and Malia.  Both of you not happy about it but putting up with it anyways.

Besides, if Scott needed you, ou would never back out.

“I do love a good mauling” Stiles complained next to you, making you have to stifle your laughter behind your hands.

In the past year you’d become much closer to the rest of the McCall pack, and really became a part of the pack as well.  Control was something that you struggled with for a long time, and there are still nights that you find it difficult, but you’d still made so much progress.

“There’s not going to be any maul-” Scott was cut off by the doorbell ringing, and everyone’s attention shot towards the front, but no one moved.

“Well? Is someone going to get that?” Lydia asked, but still no one made the move to.

“Shouldn’t the host of the house get it?” Malia said, and the banshee rolled her eyes, but dragged her way over to the door.

“What if he goes berserk and tries to kill us all?” Stiles asked, looking around at everyone.

“We put him down” You suggested with a shrug, reaching for your belt, which was really your sword in disguise.  

“We can’t kill him” Scott said firmly, just to be sure there wouldn’t be unnecessary bloodshed tonight.

“What kind of party is this?” A new voice said, making your hands tighten on your belt.  You looked over to see Lydia and Kira, along with a new, younger face, who you presumed was Liam.  “There’s like, five of you”

“Liam, this is important” Stiles said, starting off the conversation since he and Scott were the only ones who actually knew him.  “You’re… one of us now”

“What?”

“Liam this… this is a gift” Scott said, and you and Stiles groaned simultaneously.  “The bite, it’s a gift”

“What the hell? That’s what this is about?” The sophomore rolled his eyes.  “You biting me like a total psycho!?” He jerked forwards towards Scott, and in seconds you’d stepped forwards in front of him, hands still on your belt but trying your best not to use it.

“I’d stay in place if I were you” You snarled quietly eyes flaring orange.  Liam’s body froze up before stumbling back to where he was.

“You- your-”

“(y/n)” Scott said carefully, gaining your attention, and nodding his head slightly to let you know it was okay.  “Look, Liam, this really is important, would you just listen?”

He’d given in, but you weren’t convinced that he even believed a word anyone was saying.  Scott went into great detail about what everything means, offered to answer any questions, even shared some of his own story, but Liam just seemed unresponsive.

“Okay” The new beta said.  “Let me get this straight then… werewolf?” He pointed at Scott, who nodded.  “Coyote?” He pointed at Malia, who also nodded, but in a somehow bored fashion.  “Harbinger of death?”

“Just banshee” Lydia monotoned.

“Foxes?” Liam sounded even more confused as he pointed to you and Kira.

“No” You growled.

“Kitsune… but fox works” Kira said a bit more kindly.  Liam nodded, looking between the both of you for another moment, before turning to Stiles.

“And what are you again?”

“Well a little while back I was possessed by an evil spirit… it was very evil” He said awkwardly, earning a weird look from Liam.

“And what are you now?”

“Better?” Stiles said, a confused expression on his face.  In your opinion, he looked about ready to attack him.  But so were you.

“Yeah, no.  I’m out.  You guys can’t keep me here, and I’m calling my friends and going home” Liam turned around to leave abruptly but Kira snatched his arm and tugged him back.

“You have to st-”

“You can’t keep me here!” He snapped at her, yanking his arm aggressively.

“Hey!” You stepped in, checking on Kira briefly as Liam had begun to yell at everybody.  “If you don’t calm down right now-”

“(y/n)” Scott came up to you now, trying not to let the heat of the moment get everybody riled up.  “Liam, let’s just calm down, okay? Just breathe-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down-!” Liam was screaming before suddenly collapsing, leaving Lydia standing behind him, Stiles’ baseball bat in her hands.

“God, you had to bite someone with anger issues, Scott?” She sighed, while everyone else stared at the unconscious body on the floor.

“Lydia Martin, always a badass” Stiles commented.

“Maybe we should-”

Again, the doorbell rang, leaving everyone exchanging confused looks.

“Oh my God!” Malia exclaimed as she raced to the windows.  “It’s- like- a- party- Stiles” She heaved, realizing the full moon’s effect was starting to take place.

“Okay- okay okay okay downstairs, now!” He ordered, getting the chains and rushing the both of them to the door.

“What? What do you expect me to do?” Lydia squealed, stopping Stiles before he could rush off with Malia.

“Lyds, who throws the best parties in Beacon Hills?”

“Me, obviously!”

“Then throw a party!” Stiles hissed, and without another word the banshee rushed back to the front door.

“Okay, (y/n), help me out, we’ll take him to the docks” Scott suggested,and without hesitation she lifted him up over her shoulder.

“Oh geez, this kid is pure muscle” You muttered.  Scott frowned, taking Liam himself and leading you outdoors.  You followed closely behind.

Luckily you found rope and chains in the shed, and were able to tie Liam up so if he woke up then he wouldn’t be able to kill anyone immediately.  You and Scott were watching him carefully, though he was still passed out.

“We should’ve gotten takeout” You mumbled after about ten minutes.  Scott chuckled, looking over to you and nodding.

“Yeah, that would’ve been smart” He sighed.  “I didn’t think we’d have to knock him out, I mean seriously”

“Anger issues.  You gave someone the bite, who had anger issues” You monotoned, shaking your head.  “Bright side, I’m no longer the new crazy psycho”

“Oh come on, you were never a psycho.  New and crazy? Yeah a little bit, but I wouldn’t have said psycho” You smiled almost bashfully at the comment.

“Thanks Scott, that truly warms my heart” You joked, making him smile back at you.

“Actually (y/n), I think you’ve seriously progressed, I’m really proud of you” He said, and somehow you felt the entire mood between you shift.

“Yeah?” You asked, biting your cheek to keep from grinning too much.

“I mean, when we met you hated me for even turning you back” Scott said, making you roll your eyes.  “And now it’s like… I don’t want to say normal but it’s… it’s really good”

“It is” You confirmed softly.  “I do appreciate this life much more now, I used to think I’d be better off the fox forever, but…” Sighing contently, you looked over to Scott with a shy expression.  “I think I’m much better off here”

“Yeah, I do too-“

The sound of music booming in the house made you jump, curious eyes glancing to where the party had definitely just taken a turn for the craziest.  Scott could see the wonder on your face, knowing that you were intrigued by something so mundane.

“You can go inside, if you want, I’ve got him under control” Scott said, nodding off to Liam.  But you shrugged your shoulders and looked away from the house.

“I’ll stay out here with you” You said, giving him a small smile.

It was no secret you preferred Scott’s company over anyone else’s, having moved into their guest room, him being the one who helped you with control, not to mention you simply found his presence comforting.  Scott was kind, and he was funny, mostly not on purpose.  He helped you study to catch up with the other students in your classes, he also helped teach you to drive, but eventually you just had to go to Mr. Yukimura because he feared for his life while you were behind the wheel.  Everyone knew how close you were, everyone understood the connection you’d made with him.  He was your anchor, simple as that.  It didn’t need to be said, just simply kown.

“Have you ever been to one of those?” You asked him, pulling your knees to your chest and pointing towards the house.

“A party?” He clarified with a small chuckle.  You nodded your head, and Scott hesitantly nodded back.  “Once or twice, yeah” He seemed to think back on it.  “They’re alright, parts of it like the movies, most of it not.  Lots of drinking, but there’s no pressure to.  Same with dancing”

“Did you do that?” You asked him.  He shrugged a shoulder.

“I mean, I can’t get drunk so I don’t really drink anything anymore, and dancing was okay, it was nice being there with… her”

“Allison?” You asked carefully.  Her name had barely been spoken since her passing, but you seemed to understand the situation.

“Yeah” Scott responded.  But he didn’t seem as mournful as you’d expected, instead he smiled at you.  “That was crazy, it was the night of the full moon, I actually ditched her.  I don’t know why she agreed to go out with me again”

“Of course she did, you’re fun” You told him with a grin.  Scott laughed humorlessly, but smiled over at you.

“You might be the first person to ever say that” He said.

“Well you’re one of the few people I actually know, so” You said kindly.  “I would’ve gone on a second date” It was quiet for a moment as Scott studied you, how sweet you were being, how pretty you looked with the reflection of the water lightening your features.

“Thanks little fox” He replied somewhat jokingly, trying to make the mood lighter and get rid of the flutter in his chest from your words.  You smiled at the nickname, though countless times before you’d mentioned you hated it.  Right now, it was okay.  You could let it slide.

“Of course” You grinned at him again, setting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his middle sweetly.  “Tell me more about this party you went to”

“It was another one of Lydia’s.  She used to throw them all the time, before the crazy stuff stared happening” He said.  “It was my first date with- well actually it was my first date ever, and we were just… I don’t know, starting to get to know each other.  It was fun, we drank a little bit and danced a little bit, and everything was really great until I had to ditch her since it was my first full moon”  You chuckled slightly.

As he went on talking about his first few experiences as a werewolf, you grew comfortable, laying on him and listening intently.  You’d never felt so calm while babysitting a tied up kid.

“That kid is a fucking runt” You groaned as you stumbled into the McCall house.  “If he tries to kill me again, I’ll kill him first, I swear” Scott nodded along with you.

“Yeah I could be up for that”

Liam had broken loose, Malia had nearly killed Stiles, and a werewolf at the party got assassinated.  So it wasn’t exactly the best of Lydia Martin’s parties, and definitely tainted your perception on parties.  Liam had gone crazy on everyone who tried to help him or coax him down.  You’d managed to get your arms swiped at, and your patience was thinning.

“I feel like collapsing.  And dying.  I haven’t even healed completely” You said, checking over your still bleeding wounds.

“You want to wrap that up?” Scott asked, locking the front door behind her.  

“No, I just want it to heal as quickly as possible” You sighed.  “I’m just gonna take a shower and pop in a movie to fall asleep to, wanna join?”

“For the shower or the movie?” Scott joked, earning a jab in the ribs from you.  He laughed at his own joke before nodding his head.  “Yeah that sounds great, you can pick” He said as you headed for the stairs.  “I’ll make something to eat” He told you as you headed up the stairs.

“(y/n/n)? Scott? Is that you?” Melissa’s voice called, and before you could say anything, she was walking into the hall and fussing over your arm.  “Oh, sweetheart, what happened? Was it that new little bitch?” She asked, tugging your jacket off to assess the wound.

“Yeah but it’s- it’s alright Ms McCall” You said dismissively.  “It doesn’t hurt, I promise.  It’ll heal” The woman frowned, both at you brushing off the injury and at calling her ‘Ms McCall’.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Melissa?” She said, making you smiled a little bit.

“Until the day I die” You told her, making her scoff playfully.  “I’m gonna shower, Scott’s here too by the way, I think he’s trying to cook”

“Oh dear.  Better go stop that before it starts” She sighed, going downstairs to stop Scott from burning down the kitchen.

After twenty minutes you were bounding down the steps in sweatpants and a big tee shirt, your arms cleaned up and the cuts almost healed up completely.  Just as you were going to go into the kitchen to see what Scott made, you paused as you heard him and his mom talking.

“I’m just saying sweetheart, she’s a lovely girl-”

“Mom, she lives with us” Scott whispered out hastily, and awkwardly.  You hid behind the entryway to the kitchen, listening intently, because clearly they were talking about you.

“So? These things never work out the way we think they do.  Who knows? Maybe there’s something there?”

Something there? You thought to yourself, what does she mean by that?

“Mom.  Really.  Can we maybe drop this?” Scott pleaded.  Melissa sighed, and you guessed she was shaking her head.  “Seriously-”

“Okay, okay fine” Melissa gave in.  “But I have never seen a dynamic like yours that doesn’t result in somebody falling in love”

“Mom-!”

“Sorry! Alright fine, I’m out of here” Melissa said, and as soon as you heard her footsteps you moved out of the way, seeming as though you’d just come down the stairs.  “Oh! (y/n)!” She looked surprised to see you.  “How’s your arm dear?”

“Much better, thank you” You responded politely, hoping you came across as casual.  She nodded with a smile.

“Well, it’s very late for me, so I’m going to head up to bed.  You and Scott have a nice night now” She said, placing a hand on your shoulder before saying goodnight and going upstairs.

You padded into the kitchen, watching Scott put two grilled cheeses on plates and grabbing bottles of water.

“So you didn’t burn down the kitchen?” You questioned with a small smirk.  “Your mom seemed a little worried” He rolled his eyes.

“She’s just protective and awkward like that” He said.  He seemed a little flustered, like he was stressed about the sandwiches, but you decided against mentioning it.  Scott wasn’t great under pressure, and you didn’t want to make the stress worse.  “Do you have a movie in mind?” He asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Actually yeah, I found this one I used to watch a lot… before… you know” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to keep it low key.  “I thought it’d be nice to-”

“Okay” Scott nodded, agreeing instantly.  “What movie?”

You helped him bring your food out to the living room and handed him the DVD case to put it in.  Scott smiled at it, somewhat surprised by your choice.  But when he looked back at you, smiling and eating your dinner on the couch, you seemed excited by it.

“Sleeping Beauty?” He questioned.  “Really?” You nodded your head bashfully, and he pushed play before flopping onto the sofa next to you.  “That surprises me.  It has such a long and boring intro I’d think you’d be tired by it-”

“It’s not boring” You scoffed out of offense, hitting his chest with a throw pillow.  “It’s art.  I used to love this for it’s beauty.  It is Sleeping Beauty after all”

“Sorry, sorry” He chuckled, tossing the pillow back to you.  “I promise not to make fun of it”

And he didn’t, the whole first half hour you sat in complete silence.  With you intently watching the movie, eyes and ears glued completely to the screen, and Scott switching between watching the movie, and watching you.

He wasn’t sure if this gut feeling he had, had always been there, or if it had just woken him up.  But something was different between you two, and he knew it.  He figured you knew it too, and that’s why you’d been far more affectionate than you once were.

“I can feel you staring at me” You muttered, finally tearing your eyes off the screen to look over at him.  “What?”

“Hm?” He pretended to have zoned out, but you didn’t seem to care.

“Why are you staring? What’s wrong?” You asked, setting your now empty plate on the coffee table to turn and face him, giving him your full attention.

“Nothing’s wrong-”

“Then what is it?” You interrogated with wider eyes, knowing something was on his mind that he wasn’t telling you.  Likely about his conversation with Melissa earlier.  “Come on, Scott, seriously” You were seriously growing annoyed now.

“I’m just thinking, about nothing really, I just zoned out, no big deal” Scott said, trying to divert his attention back to the television.  But he did cave a little further.  “Just wondering what it was like when you watched this movie.  When you were younger.  Well, what a lot of your life was like when you were younger”

“Like what?” You asked, genuinely amused now as you smiled a bit.  The idea of Scott daydreaming about your past.

“I don’t know just… family stuff, regular stuff, I guess” He shrugged.  “Like… did you play with dolls? Were you a barbie kid?” You giggled at the simple dumb question, but felt your heart swell as his care to even ask.

“Yeah, I had my fair share of doll playing”

“See, that surprises me.  I could never picture you doing something so…”

“Girly?” You offered.  “Childish?”

“Yeah, I guess so” Scott shrugged his shoulders again.  He seemed comfortable enough, but something about him made you want to set your hand on his shoulder, like everyone seemed to do.

“I get it.  It’s hard to picture me having had a childhood at all” You stated.  Scott turned abruptly as though to interrupt you, but you kept going.  “I have a hard time remembering sometimes” You admitted softly.  He physically relaxed, looking at you curiously.  But you loved the look in his eyes as he scanned your features.  “There’s nights I’ll just lay in bed and force myself to think about as much as I can, until eventually I’ll fall asleep”

“(y/n) that sounds…”

“Traumatic?” You whispered.  Scott’s eyes seemed to stare into yours with the intensity of a fire.  “I’ve been through worse” You sighed, finally breaking the eye contact that was making your whole chest heat up.  You excused yourself to take your plate to the kitchen, taking a few steady breaths to calm your racing heart.

You set your plate in the sink, rinsing it off a bit and just standing there for a moment, allowing yourself to think about the nights where you’d sit in the living room and watch Sleeping Beauty on a loop.  You always loved the ending, the changing in colors of Aurora’s dress, something about it always entranced you.

When you’d turned to head back to the living room, Scott was walking in with his own plate, but he set it on the counter.

“Hey,” You greeted awkwardly.  “I didn’t mean to depress you-”

“No, you could never” Scott reassured.  “I’m just… curious I guess.  You don’t talk much about life before shifting and I just figure it’s something you don’t want to carry on your shoulders anymore” He said.  “So… if you ever want to talk about it…” You smiled at his offer.

“There was a little boy across the street from where I lived,” You said softly, eyes wandering to the floor as you recalled your previous life.  “We used to play outside together in the summer months, and in the winter we’d… well we rarely were outside.  I always hated snow, found it to be too cold and it put me in a bad mood to be cold”

Scott smiled, remembering how chilly you always were when he first met you, without a protective fur coat.

“His name was… his name was Ben” You murmured.  “I don’t know where he is now… but he was a great friend.  My only friend, really”

“Really? Just the one?” Scott asked, completely shocked.  You rolled your eyes and slugged his arm gently.

“After I shifted and… found out my parents were hunters I just… I don’t know, I bolted.  I didn’t think about it when I left, to check on him, I just got the hell out of there as fast as I could” You sighed, remembering sprinting on all fours into the night.  “I was so scared my own family was going to kill me… I just thought everyone would be against me at that point”

“(y/n)...” Scott breathed, smelling the heavy scent of dread radiating off of you.  He stepped forward to hug you, and you hesitantly accepted. It’d taken months to get you to this point of opening up, but he was glad you’d confided in him.  “You were too young to be afraid of such a thing”

“Yeah well, your childhood wasn’t peachy either McCall” You sniffled as you pulled away, wiping the pads of your fingers under your eyes to keep the tears from falling.  He half smiled at you, knowing you were just trying to take the focus off of you.

“I guess no one gets the happy backstory” He said, making you chuckle bitterly.

“I’m not exactly expecting a happy ending either, but this middle part is pretty content” You said, and Scott shook his head.

“No,” He stated.  “No, you get the happy ending”

“Unless you consider angry hunters with guns and torches a happily ever after, you are mistaken-” Before you could finish, Scott had stepped forward, cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours.  You squeaked slightly, completely taken off guard by the action.  But in a few moments you’d wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on the tips of your toes to reach him properly.  You’d never kissed anyone before, but it certainly was like in every movie you’d ever seen.

Scott’s hands traveled to your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepened quickly, your tongue swiping over his parted lips and immediately being met with his.  The slightest of moans died in the back of your throat,  but the sound made Scott’s grip tighten, before lifting you up completely, and setting you onto the counter.  In the brief moment of parting, you grinned at him, before leaning back in to slant your lips over his once more, your fingers tangling into his thick locks of hair.  You couldn’t help yourself, legs wrapping around his hips and letting his mouth trail along your jawline and to your neck, sucking sweetly on that special spot behind your ear.

“Fuck,” Your breath fanned out ever so softly, hands falling from his hair to his shoulders, your head falling back slightly to give him more access.  The smile on his lips was easily felt on your skin, and you pulled back to look at him again, slightly breathless but smiling softly as you shut your eyes and leaned in for one more gentle kiss.

The line that the two of you had been dancing on was finally crossed, in an earth shattering, life changing sort of way.

When you parted, your legs releasing to rest on either side of him, hands set gently on his shoulders as you stared at him.  Scott’s own heartbeat was starting to steady, his forehead pressing down against yours slightly as a smile graced your lips.

“That was… a bit unexpected” You mused, unsure of what to say, but Scott chuckled at the comment, pulling away so you could slide off of the countertop.  “But nice” You added, only making him laugh again.

“Yeah, very nice” He agreed.  He took your hand as the two of you made your way back to the living room to finish the movie.  This time cuddled up together with your legs strewn over his lap and your arms wound around one another.

With the trauma of your past, you were delighted to enjoy your present with Scott.

taglist: @aw-hawkeye @socially-awkward-nerd @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @lovelynerdytraveler @writings-and-stuff@jurassicpork @black-tights-black-heart @piper-x-lee

xoxo ~ jordie

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter twenty-seven (bud e luv bomb and satan’s lounge band)

October 23, 1988. New Orleans, Louisiana.

I haven't been able to find my shoes anywhere in Lars' place. Either I lost them in the restaurant or something else happened to them. Nevertheless, I don't really want to walk about the wet ground of the French Quarter barefoot. I found my ring in my jeans pocket, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I left my shoes. But nowhere in Lars' apartment can I find any shoes or boots or anything that seems to fit me. And the fact he hasn't woken up yet, at eight thirty, tells me I should probably bypass him and search for some shoes myself.

Meanwhile, I still haven't heard a peep from Ellen's apartment. I'm pretty sure I am the last person she saw given I'm met with silence each time I walk over there to knock on her door. I finally gave up about a half an hour ago when I decided it's better if I just take care of myself and fetch something to eat downstairs. I fix my shirt and head on downstairs with the coat over my body to see if it actually does fit me. Musty and scratchy, but does fit me well especially at my hips. I put on the gloves, which fit as though they were made for my hands. I lift my hair out from underneath the collar before wheeling around and heading out of the apartment. Lars is still sound asleep by the time I leave the apartment and head out to the hallway. The floor boards creak under my bare feet as I amble down to Ellen's door again.

Gently, I knock on the panel.

“Ellen? Are you there?”

I'm still met with silence.

“Ellen, it's Joey.” I feel odd saying this already. “I know you're probably gone now, like you went in your sleep but—” I don't know if it's the thirst of having drank a lot the night before or if it's the fact I was the last person for her to see me, but my throat is already closing up.

“—I want to tell you thank you. You know for... sharing your final moments with me and your last bit of wisdom. I'll admit I was a little unsure at first but—I don't know what I'm saying. You were a ghastly sick old lady taking her final steps and I want to thank you for letting me take them with you. But—I have to go now. I hope you and I can meet again one day.”

I sigh through my nose and feel the weight of the silence upon me. I close my eyes as I keep my hand on the door panel. I slide my hand down to the doorknob to feel it turn a bit. The door swings open and I'm met with a rush of cool air that smells clean once again. She's in there, I can sense it. It's like how I can sense Mrs. Snow or Vera in the same room with me. There's the corpse of an old lady in there but I don't really want to see it.

I close the door again out of respect for her. At least I can do one thing right for once in this past week.

I run my fingers through my hair before heading down the stairs to the bar and the restaurant, which is bustling with patrons and waitresses docked in black button up blouses and black and red skirts. I take a seat at the sole empty table near the stage, where the band of the day is setting up their amps and their equipment. A waitress strolls on over to me and asks me if I can have anything to drink.

“Cup of coffee please—no cream—and a blueberry muffin.”

She nods at me before stepping away. I can only hope I've got enough in my pockets to cover for it; I fold my arms over the top of the table and lean over so as to hide my face. I glance over my shoulder at the stage behind me and the girl in a lush crimson long dress that looks as though it's made entirely of velvet is setting up the microphone rack right down by her feet. I watch her stand up before the microphone itself and blow into it.

I adjust myself in the seat of the chair so my elbow rests on the top of the back and I'm facing her straight on.

She opens her lips and starts to sing “Blackbird” by the Beatles.

I learned to sing by covering the Beatles.

I can't help it: I do it along with her, but without my own microphone.

She lifts her gaze to me and our eyes lock together for a moment but it's long enough to coax a smile from her. I flash her wink and she wraps her fingers around the stand, to which I see a wedding ring on her third finger.

FUCK.

I sigh through my nose and that's when the waitress returns to me. I shift back around in my chair at the sight of a white mug of fresh black coffee and a big fresh blueberry muffin that I swear is larger than my fist. I take a sip of the coffee and it caresses my poor parched mouth with its warmth. I pick at my muffin, and I usually like my blueberry ones, especially the ones straight out of the oven. I think it just might be the hangover talking, though, so I keep drinking the coffee to the very bottom of the mug.

Little better. My headache is going away, but my appetite is still a ways off, though.

I pick at the muffin even more and once I reach the stump, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn my head to find the girl who was up on stage standing next to me but with a jacket over her dress.

“'Scuse me—er, I hate to do this to you,” she speaks with a little lighter of an accent compared to Ellen's, “but I saw you singin' earlier, and I was just wonderin' if it wouldn't be too much trouble for me to ask you if could you fill in for me, please? I have an emergency at home that I need to tend to, but I don't want my band to be without a singer again.”

“Um—sure.” The butterflies rise up inside of my stomach because this is a total unknown to me.

“We're just a cover band and we're only gonna do a couple of songs before we head on home, anyways. We're just the openin' band for the main act in a little while.”

“Yeah, I'd be honored to—it's no bother. Just lemme finish my muffin—”

She returns to the band, all of whom are already taking their places up on the stage. I wasn't hungry before but I wolf down the remainder of the muffin stump before striding over to them. I wish I hadn't already drank down the coffee because the whole thing coats my mouth for a moment. I recall what Ellen had told me the night before given this is the Big Easy and that someone will have work for you. I adjust the lapels of my coat and climb up the trio of steps leading up onto the stage.

There's a black girl with dreadlocks behind the small drum kit, a sandy haired boy holding an oversized blue bass guitar with five strings, and two boys with pompadours atop their heads holding twin red guitars. They're all wearing white shirts and black and white leggings held up with black suspenders.

Like a lounge version of Anthrax.

“Hey, guys, I'm Joey,” I introduce to them. “Your singer just told me she had to run on home real quick and so I took up to the challenge.”

“No challenge here, man,” the bass player assures me, “we're just gonna play two songs and then we're heading out.”

“The first song we're doing is 'Hush' by Deep Purple,” the drummer calls out to me. “Do you know that one?”

“Hell yeah! Like, by heart!”

“I like this guy already,” the guitarist on the right chuckles, taking out a comb from his trouser pocket for a quick swipe over his head, “let's get on it.”

I pull the thread bare coat over me before ambling over the stage to the microphone stand. I curl my fingers back to better break into the black leather gloves. All eyes are on me and the fact I'm the one person up here dressed in black with disheveled hair, bare feet, and dark Indian skin. I gaze on at the crowd before us. I hope Lars will hear me belt it out as the four of them launch into their heavy, rough sound right behind me. It's like being with Anthrax again as I grip onto the microphone stand with my left hand.

I think about Maya, who's back in Seattle; about Ellen, who's upstairs; Brick, who's in the hospital; the fact I got drunk last night and lied to my parents; and most of all, I think about my past with Anthrax. It's all coming down on me like a pouring, torrential rain from the incoming hurricane outside.

But all I can do is sing out, and sing loud.

Since I woke up hungover, and I had just eaten a muffin, I haven't been able to warm up but I go forth with it anyways. My voice comes out broken and garbled, but loud and still plenty powerful from my last performance on State of Euphoria, even against the full sounding bass and the loud guitars. Their instruments are rough and filthy in sound, as though they hadn't spent a lot of money on buying them, but they're good musicians, though. They're a good heavy weight against my voice.

I'm loud, even with the breaks in my voice and my stomach tightening up. Ellen's firmly on my mind as I'm nearing the end of the first verse.

I feel a piece of my hair falling into my face, but I don't care. If anything, it just adds to it.

Ellen died alone and I'm the one soul grieving her at the moment.

My voice breaks even more when I hit the chorus and I throw myself into it even more. The four of them join in with me on their microphones.

I think back to when Anthrax and I did a song at the end of our album from last year, Among the Living, called “Bud E Luv Bomb and Satan's Lounge Band”, where I was Bud E Luv Bomb, the smarmy lounge singer blitzed off his ass on booze and cocaine and God knows what else. We did it as kind of a joke, but I had become that very entity.

I am Bud E Luv Bomb, and this is Satan's Lounge Band right behind me.

I run my fingers through my hair so everyone can better see my face. This is where I open my eyes to catch a view of the audience. Everyone is gazing on at me in awe.

I wonder how many of the people in here are aware that I was once the lead singer for a thrash metal band and am now caught up in a hurricane of strange events.

Probably not many, because the couple right in front of me lean together to say something. After the guitar solo, I hear the man on the right say, “he's got a lot of soul” and the woman next to him follow with “yeah, he's an amazing singer. Lot of melancholy.”

Melancholy, yes, especially at the moment. Amazing? Meh. I'm not sure about that.

[words-are-my-existence]

Tea and Coffee

Introduction Part III: Mellifluous

Note: Contains fluff, comedy and angst. There may be mature themes and course language but mainly softness.

~

Time ticked away, the sun slowly making its way to the horizon to sleep. Jai still had not returned, obviously distracted by something adorable Eliza had presumed.

Still it wasn’t terribly busy, only a few patrons had come and gone, the morning hours of the day usually being more of their peak time so a quiet evening was expected. During this time if it was quiet Eliza would sit down and catch up on her reading or art, sitting by the table booth in the corner that caught most of the afternoon sunlight plus had the bookshelves right by it. Jai had outfitted the cafe with them when they had first opened and already they all were packed to the brim with various books and mangas she had collected for the store, Eliza wagered soon they would have to add a few more shelves if they wanted to add more to their collection.

The barista took her normal seat and began reading her current novel, keeping an ear out for the door to make sure she wasn’t startled again as she was earlier in the day. While she did so she kept an eye on the time as well, knowing that soon as it hit four o’clock sweet music would begin to play outside the cafe. And exactly as the hour came around beautifully plucked guitar strings began to sound, the tune gentle and calming like a lullaby made even more so by the deep but light singing voice accompanying the song.

Eliza put her novel away and quickly went back to the counter, making up an iced cappuccino as the musician outside continued to play their soothing melodies. Once she completed the drink she went outside, the busker finishing up their current song and looking up at Eliza with a large goofy smile,

“Hey Liz! Is that what I think it is?” The fluffy haired man asked excitedly as he rested his acoustic guitar down,

“Yup, one fresh iced cap with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles for Mr Chanyeol,” Eliza announced as she handed the drink to him. Park Chanyeol was a regular of sorts, coming to busk outside the cafe fours days each week at exactly four in the afternoon. It was like clockwork each time, the neighbourhood blessed by his music for the hourly periods. Chanyeol was definitely charming, with both his tall muscular figure and soft chocolate eyes, he drew in many passerbyers each time he sang. Which also aided the cafe in bringing in more clientele to. As a thank you for such Eliza would make up Chanyeol’s favourite drink, which he gladly accepted though he would also add that bringing in customers was more of his payment to the ladies for letting him busk in the first place. He was a gentle giant, never failing to brighten Eliza’s and Jai’s day with his presence and music.

As he took a few sips of his coffee Chanyeol glanced around confusedly,

“Huh your partner in crime isn’t with you today?” He questioned noticing Jai’s absence,

“Yeah she’s currently on a stock up run, though mind you she left three hours ago. Something tells me either she’s seen a cute animal, person or both and is completely distracted with that,”

“Hopefully she’s advertising your business while she’s at it,” Chanyeol added with a slight chuckle, Eliza rolling her eyes with a smile,

“She probably is. One good thing that comes out of Jai being side tracked is the fact she brings back plenty of people wanting to chat her up more. It’s funny seeing suitors chase after her though, brutally finding out later on she has zero interest in relationships beyond one night stands or that she just wants to see their pets instead,” Eliza shook her head as she continued,”I almost feel sorry for some but she tends to have her reasons so I stay out of it,”

“She is a quirky one,” Chanyeol noted as he placed his drink down and picked his guitar back up, absentmindedly strumming it as he spoke,”I’m sure that there’s still plenty of customers who come by to talk to you to,”

“What makes you say that?” Eliza asked in reply, the musician quietly focusing his gaze on his instrument,

“Well um, you’re an interesting person to...as well as very kind, beau-“ He had started but cut himself off as several women rushed up to him, each giggling and blushing as they addressed Chanyeol,

“Oh my gosh! We are such massive fans of yours!” One started and politely bowed, her friend batting her eyelashes as she spoke,

“We admire you sooo much! Please can we get a picture! And an autograph to?!”

“I-I um please not to close, uh thank you-“ He nervously stuttered. Chanyeol was a soft spoken person and gentlemanly, so he wasn’t used to these sort of interactions especially with females. Jai was usually here to help sort overly excited fans out but it looked like Eliza would need to step in this time,

“Alright ladies please give him some space, he will get to both your requests if you wait just a moment and calm yourselves,” She sternly spoke up as she moved forward in front of Chanyeol creating a small barrier. One of the girls frowned upon seeing Eliza, her eyes growing green with envy. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by her friend who subtly pinched her arm,

“We’re sorry, we got a bit over excited there. We’ll wait of course,” She apologised, elbowing the noticeably angry friend who mumbled a sorry.

“Thank you, I’ll grab some pens and papers for you both,” Eliza cheerfully said, rushing off to retrieve such items. They calmly waited as Chanyeol signed autographs for them and posed for selfie as well, the two walking away happy and satisfied though the jealous one did throw Eliza several glares which the barrister ignored. There was plenty of people like that these days and Eliza had learnt to take no heed of them, it was a waste of energy and time being envious especially over guys.

Chanyeol let out a heavy sigh of relief,

“Thank you so much, I’m really not comfortable when those sort approach me. They just want so much and expect to get it,” He breathed and looked at Eliza gratefully,

“It’s no big deal, people need to learn about personal space mind you,” She responded shaking her head,”I best head back inside and let you continue your set, just give me a shout if any trouble rises again,”

“Ah wait!” Chanyeol shouted and hastily jumped to his feet, almost knocking his guitar over,”Before when I talking, before those girls I...I um...”

He was trailing off and getting quieter with each word that Eliza couldn’t make out what he was saying at all,

“It’s alright I know I have a few customers who take interest in me as well, I’m not envious of Jai more so happy I’m not bothered constantly by random strangers,” She reassured him as Chanyeol paused. He stared down now at Eliza with a troubled look. He was a good several inches taller then her, flustering the shorter girl slightly,

“Have you ever considered...actually dating any of them?..”

“No, not really. I rather date someone I’ve actually talked to after some time or I myself am actually interested in,” She ruminated, growing curious to why Chanyeol was inquiring on the topic,

“Can I ask why you’re so concerned on this matter?”

She caught him off guard with this question, Chanyeol quickly looking away. Was he blushing?

“I...I...” He tried speaking but seemed to have the words caught in his throat.

Before Eliza could press more the two were suddenly tightly embraced by a third party, a giggling voice perking up,

“Look at you two cuties! Is this one of men Jai spoke about that was crushing on you Lizzy? Man it’s so great seeing you!” The person in question let go and moved back a few steps smiling, Eliza grinning herself in recognition,

“Levi you’re back! How was Japan?” She hugged the puffy black haired girl back, Chanyeol bowing to her in surprise at her appearance,

“It was great as always, Lucy already wants to go again. She can’t get enough of Kyoto and wants to go to Hiroshima next,” Levi explained and bowed to Chanyeol,

“Chanyeol right? Jai has told me heaps about you and the other guys, it’s nice to meet you!”

“Other guys?...” He managed to say as he grew pale, but the ladies didn’t seem to notice as Eliza started to lead Levi in inside,

“Come on you need to tell me everything! Where is Lucy by the way?”

“Oh she’s helping Jai bring back a bunch of coffee beans, I’m assuming she was on a stock run,” Levi guessed while Eliza nodded,

“Yeah. Good thing Lucy is with her, she can keep Jai on track to actually get back her,” She joked, waving to the frozen musician,

“I’ll catch you Friday Chanyeol, we’ll pick up on our convo then. Take care!” She finished as she and Levi went inside, Chanyeol slowly taking his seat again and running a hand through his hair,

“I need to tell her...” He whispered to himself and nodded his head thoughtfully. He resumed busking, filled with a new sense of determination on having decided on a course of action for the next day.

~

[bowtiedchicago]

What Are Some Fun Stuff To Do While Camping? - Quora in Bakersfield

Among my favorite tips to share that we utilized as kids is to bring pillow cases however no pillows. That's right. Here's what we do rather: Put so the pillows are soft and fluffy. If if you need to make middle of the night or first thing in the early morning potty runs, you can throw on your jackets quickly and after that tuck them back inside the pillow cases when you return. March 3, 2018 It doesn't matter how you camp in a Recreational Vehicle, a camping tent or a vacation rental. Those are simply the locations where you hang your hat and curl up for the night. Outdoor camping is a chance for severe enjoyable and activities. Furthermore, it's an experience that you can personalize for your household's interests based upon the season and where you're going.

In reality, there are plenty of basic activities for your next family getaway. To avoid brain storm sessions with your family, here's our very Sun list of camping activities! There are loads of exciting things you can do in the water if your camping site is near a lake, river, pool, or other body of water.

Slip on your swimsuit and have some enjoyable in the water. Skipping stones Fishing Swimming Floating or lounging Canoeing or kayaking Boating Water snowboarding Tubing Wave runners Water volleyball or basketball Diving Snorkeling Have a water balloon battle. Bring an inflatable wading pool and fill it with water. This is terrific if you head to a camping or RV resort with energy link! Not all camping and RV resorts have a full list of amenities like Sun RV Resorts.

Disc golf (Frisbee golf) Horseshoes Ringtoss Corn Hole Yard bowling Soccer Football Kickball Baseball Bikes Hiking Spelunking (caving) Ensure you have a skilled guide with you. Capture the Flag Hide and Seek Tag (there are lots of variations) Red Rover Part of the happiness of outdoor camping is being closer to nature.

Fun Camping Activities For Teens And Tweens - Meander ... in Lake Isabella

Make certain to respect the location where you are. Do not disturb or harm the wildlife. Birdwatching Animal watching Capturing fireflies Bug collecting Nature event (pine cones, rocks, flowers, and so on) Cataloging Rocks Fossil Hunting Searching for wild berries, nuts, and other edible plants. Have an outdoor camping scavenger hunt. Geocaching Remaining active and taking pleasure in the day is a fundamental part of every outdoor camping journey.

If you're camping to escape routine stress, then here are some excellent methods to unwind and take pleasure in the household camping trip. Swing in a hammock View the trees blowing in the breeze Listen to nature Take great deals of naps Musing and let your mind roam Float on the water Stargaze Possibly the kids require some downtime in the tent.

There could even be some unforeseen weather condition that is keeping you "inside". Obviously, you might simply be unwinding under the defense of your camping tent to leave the bugs. There are lots of things you can do inside the camping tent, either alone or with pals and family. Read books and publications Read aloud to each other Card video games Parlor game Crafting (knitting, sewing, drawing) Watch films on portable gadgets Play on other electronic gadgets (iPods, iPads, Gameboys, and so on) Comprise stories to tell each other Snuggle The camping trip doesn't end when the sun sets.

The darkness is a thrilling time while household camping due to the fact that you're not dealing with the lights and turmoil of the city. Inspect out these amazing nighttime activities. Make shadow puppets Choose a nighttime walk Play flashlight tag Play hide and seek in the dark Go for a midnight swim Research study the stars Shoot off fireworks Launch sky lanterns Play radiance in the dark bowling.

Tips And Ideas For Camping At Home With Kids - A Mom Explores Sequoias

Utilize a ball to knock them down Inform ghost stories Play Reality or Dare Sing campfire songs Play a guitar or other instrument Dance around the fire Check out new varieties of s'mores Make colored fire. Packages of colored fire crystals or pine cones are sold at many camping supply stores.

Camping is an adventure in and of itself, however long days at the campground can produce pockets of boredom you can bust in a 2nd with these camping activities, crafts and suggestions. From making camp tasks into fun to color-diffusing nature art, take a look at these fun outdoor camping activities for kids.

Program your little campers how to press leaves and flowers they are pretty on their own or can be utilized in some other camping crafts. Create bark art. Using a blank notepad against a tree and rubbing a crayon or soft pencil throughout the paper, kids can bring up the texture of bark to craft unique nature-focused art.

Help kids form color-diffusing art right at your campsite that mimics tie-dye designs. Simply cut leaf shapes from coffee filters, color them with markers, quickly dip and remove the "leaves" from water, and permit them to dry. Add a splash of color (Rent a Trailer). Bring your brushes and any type of art paint and send kids off to collect rocks in the camping site.

18 Ways To Keep Your Kids Busy At The Campground – Sheknows in Lake Isabella

Embellish with acorns. Utilizing a collection of the acorns right at your feet, children can fashion sparkly acorn lockets by painting the nuts and tying a string or twine around the stem of the acorn. Weave in some enjoyable. Using drinking straws and yarn, your kids can make an on-the-go weaving loom to produce any outdoor camping craft imaginable, from bracelets to scarves.

Next, place the straws flat on a table and tape them together side-by-side at the middle. Then connect a brand-new piece of yarn to among the outside straws and weave the yarn in and out of each straw back and forth pressing each row down until the project is the desired length. Renting a Trailer.

Offer kids camp tasks. It's simple to fend off dullness when kids are pitching in - Rent a Trailer. Have kids assist with camping area jobs like collecting sticks, filling water containers, hammering stakes and more. Turn chores into competitors. When camping with kids, stating "chores" can be a dirty word; however, you can conceal camp tasks in an "Iron Camper" contest like an Iron Chef and host a cook-off, see who can collect the most kindling, time the fastest tent sweeper, and so on.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

An Everyday Hero by Laura Trentham

Heart of a Hero #2

Eagerly anticipated and well worth waiting for! The second book in this series takes on a new set of characters living in a new town but continues to deal with life issues of military veterans and the people that are in their lives. In some ways it is the story of dreams and goals that were held dear for years and yet something happened in life to derail, detour or destroy the dream from appearing as reality. Greer had dreams of being a hit in the music business, Emmett dreamed of adding to the family military legacy in a big way, Ally and her mother dreamed of a family life with father and husband and yet...those expectations were not to be. And yet...when things don’t go as expected there is always the opportunity to do one of two things...wallow or move on and make the best of it. I really enjoyed this book!

What I liked:

* Greer: banged up and bruised and wallowing a bit she is given a job to do and in doing community service impacts Ally and Emmett in ways that improved her life, too. I liked the way she interacted with Emmett and with Ally...she is a person I wouldn’t mind having as a friend.

* Emett: withdrawn and nursing his wounds he is hermit-ting and wallowing until Greer shows up and begins to draw him out. When he started to emerge I really REALLY began to like him.

* Ally: an old soul that had more on her plate than a fifteen year old should have to deal with. She was tough with a soft center – was rooting for hermit-i

* The parents of Emmett and Greer – they were a soft place to land for their children even though their children might not have always realized it. It did take a bit to warm up to Emmett’s father but all’s well that ends well.

* The military persons from old and current wars that made appearances

* Eddie the horse and Bonnie the cat

* The big reveal...and how it impacted more than one

* Even the sad bits were heartwarming and gave a positive vibe for the future

* The “realness” of the story

What I didn’t like:

* The fact that sometimes people, for whatever reason, opt to escape and in doing so harm not only themselves but others...but...that is life. If those people are lucky they will have people come into their lives that can help them do a U-Turn.

I can’t wait for book three…

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press – Griffin for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

SYNOPSIS

Laura Trentham, the author of The Military Wife, is back with an emotionally charged novel about redemption and second chances. In the vein of Josie Silver’s One Day in December, AN EVERYDAY HERO (St. Martin’s Griffin, February 4, 2020, $16.99), explores the challenges of a relationship and ultimately discovering that love…and joy is worth fighting for.  

At thirty, Greer Hadley never expected to be forced home to Madison, Tennessee with her life and dreams of being a songwriter up in flames. To make matters worse, a series of bad decisions and even crappier luck lands her community service hours at a nonprofit organization that aids veterans and their families. Greer cannot fathom how she’s supposed to use music to help anyone deal with their trauma and loss when the one thing that brought her joy has failed her.

Then there's Emmett Lawson, the golden boy who followed his family’s legacy. Greer shows up one day with his old guitar, and meets Emmett’s rage head on with her stubbornness. A dire situation pushes these two into a team to save a young teenager, but maybe they will save themselves too. . .

BUY LINKS

Macmillan: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250145550

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250145554?tag=macmillan-20

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-everyday-hero-laura-trentham/1131936712;jsessionid=B7619745B109010F501CA5500AB3BAF3.prodny_store02-atgap02?ean=9781250145550#/

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250145550?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=1101dd10476711ea83cc00ae0a240614

Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250145550?aff=macmillan

Powell’s: https://www.powells.com/book/an-everyday-hero-9781250145550?partnerid=33241

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

“Disorderly conduct. Public intoxication. Resisting arrest.” Judge Duckett put down the paper, linked his hands, and stared over his reading glasses from his perch behind the bench with a combination of exasperation and fatherly disapproval.

Greer Hadley shifted in her sensible heels and smoothed the skirt of the light pink suit she’d borrowed from her mama for the occasion. “I’ll give you the first two, Uncle Bill—” The judge cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me—Judge Duckett—but I did not resist arrest.”

“That you recall.” Deputy Wayne Peeler drawled the words out in the most sarcastic, unprofessional manner possible.

She fisted her hands and took a deep breath. The impulse to punch Wayne in the face simmered below the surface like a volcano no longer at rest. But ten o’clock on a Monday morning during her arraignment was not the smartest time to lose her temper, and she’d promised herself not to add to her string of bad decisions.

She sweetened her voice and bared her teeth at Wayne in the facsimile of a smile. “I recall plenty, thank you very much.”

Truth was she didn’t recall the minute details, but the shock of Wayne’s whispered offer on Saturday night to make her troubles go away for a price had done more to sober her up than the couple of hours spent in lockup waiting for her parents.

Dressed in his tan uniform, Wayne adjusted his heavy gun belt so often she imagined he got off every night by rubbing his gun. Giving him a badge had only empowered the part of him desperate for respect and approval. His nickname in high school, “the Weasel,” had been well earned.

Unfortunately, she was the unreliable narrator of her life at the moment and no one would trust her recollections. Judge Duckett, her uncle Bill by marriage until he and her aunt Tonya had divorced, rustled papers from his desk.

The ethics of her former uncle acting as her judge were questionable, especially considering they had remained close even after he’d remarried, but if nepotism is what it took to make this nightmare go away, then she wouldn’t be the one to lodge a complaint.

“A witness claimed you were sitting quietly at the end of the bar until a song played on the jukebox. What was the song?” Her uncle glanced at her over his glasses again, which made him look like a stern teacher.

“‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood.” She forced her chin up.

His mouth opened, closed, and he dropped his gaze back to the paper. A murmur broke out behind her.

She would not cry. She wouldn’t. She blinked like her life depended on a tear not falling. Later, in the privacy of her childhood bedroom, she would bury her face in the eyelet-covered pillow and let loose.

Beau Williams, her cheating ex-boyfriend, was only partially to blame for her embarrassing behavior. It was a confluence of setbacks that had had her holding down the end of the bar. Hearing Carrie’s revenge anthem had hit a nerve exposed by the shots of Jack. Rage had quickened the effects of the alcohol, and that’s when things got fuzzy.

“Yes, well. That is a rather … Let’s move on, shall we? The witness also claims after a heartfelt, albeit slurred speech about the vagaries of relationships and how the moral fiber of the Junior League of Madison was frayed, you fed five dollars into the jukebox and played the same song for over an hour. ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline, was it?”

Ugh. She didn’t recall how much money she’d fed the machine, but it sounded like something she would do. “Crazy” was one of her favorite songs. A master class in conveying emotion through simple lyrics. She was just sorry she’d wasted five dollars on Beau. He didn’t deserve her money, her heart, or Patsy.

“No one can fault my taste in the classics.” Greer tried a smile, but her lips quivered and she pressed them together.

Her uncle continued to read from the witness statement, “You proceeded to throw two glasses on the floor, shattering them, and attempted to break a chair across the jukebox.”

She swallowed hard. A vague picture of a frustratingly sturdy chair surfaced. The fact the chair remained intact while she was falling apart had sent her anger soaring higher and hotter. A glance from her uncle Bill over the paper had her giving him a nod. She couldn’t deny it.

He continued, “A patron called 911. When Deputy Peeler arrived, he pulled you away from the jukebox and forced you outside. That’s where, he claims, you kicked him … well, you know where.”

“Wayne dragged me down the stairs—”

“Deputy Peeler, if you please.” Wayne sniffed loudly.

“As Deputy Peeler escorted me down the stairs, I lost my balance and fell. The heel of my shoe jabbed into his crotch. Sorry.” Greer didn’t make an attempt to mask her not-sorry voice with fake respect.

If she accused Wayne of misbehavior on the job, he would deny it and spin it somehow to make her look even more irresponsible. Lord knows, she’d embarrassed her parents enough for a lifetime. Anyway, seeing him rolling on the ground and cupping his crotch had been sweet payback.

“I sustained an injury where that spike you call a heel caught me.” Wayne half turned toward her.

Instead of playing it smart and soothing his delicate male ego, she batted her eyes at him. “I’m sure that’s left the ladies of Madison real upset.”

Wayne took a step toward her. “You are such a—”

The gavel knocked against the bench and her uncle stood, looming over them. “I’ve heard enough, Deputy. Sit down.”

Wayne turned on his heel and left Greer to face her uncle Bill. This was where she would promise such a thing would never happen again, and he would give her a stern warning before dismissing all charges.

“I’m striking the resisting arrest charge. It was an accident.”

Greer forced herself not to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at Wayne. That left only two misdemeanors, which her uncle could expunge with a swipe of his pen.

He settled behind the bench and picked up his pen, his gaze on the papers. “You will pay for any damages.”

“I’ve already reimbursed Becky.” Technically, she’d had to use her parents’ money, considering she’d crawled home from Nashville broke. “And apologized profusely. You can be assured there will not be a repeat performance. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good. As for the other charges…”

Her deep breath cleansed a portion of the tension across her shoulders, and a smile born of relief appeared.

“You will perform fifty hours of community service.”

Her smile froze on her face. It sounded like a lot, but she’d been stupid and immature and deserved punishment. “I understand. Clean roads are important.”

“Litter pickup? Goodness no.” He took his glasses off and smiled at her for the first time, but it wasn’t the jolly-uncle smile she was familiar with. “You have talents that would be wasted on the side of the road picking up trash, Ms. Hadley. You will spend your fifty hours working at the Music Tree Foundation.”

“I’m not familiar with it.” She swallowed. The mention of music set her stomach roiling. “Highway 45 was in terrible shape on my drive in last week.”

“The foundation is a nonprofit music program that focuses on helping military veterans and their families cope with the trauma they’ve endured serving our country. They’re in need of volunteer songwriters and musicians.”

“I can’t write or play anymore.” Her dream of hearing one of her songs on the radio had died. Not in a blaze of glory but from a slow, torturous starvation of hope. At thirty, she was resigned to finding a real job and cobbling together a normal life in the place she’d tried to leave behind.

“My decision is final. As far as I can determine, your brain—despite this lapse in judgment—is in fine working order. You can and will help these men and women heal through your gift of music. Unless you’d rather spend thirty days in county lockup?”

Would her uncle actually throw her in jail? For a month? “No, Your Honor, I don’t want to go to county lockup.”

“Good. Once you turn in your log with all your hours signed off by the foundation’s manager, your record with this court will be cleared.” He handed her file to a clerk. “Case closed. Next up is docket number fourteen.”

She stood there until he met her gaze with his unflinching one. “Go home, Greer.”

Her parents were waiting at the door to the courtroom. While they’d faced the horror of having to bail their only child out of jail stoically, her mother’s embarrassment and disappointment were ripe and all-encompassing. Greer wilted and trailed her parents out of the courthouse.

She felt like a child. An incompetent, needy child living in her old bedroom and dependent on her parents for emotional and financial support. She thought she’d hit rock bottom many times over the years, but her situation now had revealed new lows.

The silence in the car built into a painful crescendo.

“The tiger lilies are lovely this year, don’t you think?” Her mother’s attempt at normalcy was strained but welcome.

Her father’s hands squeaked along the steering wheel as an answer.

Greer huddled in the backseat and stared out the window, the clumps of flowers on the side of the road an orange blur. As a teenager, she’d chafed at her parents’ protectiveness and had wanted nothing more than to escape to Nashville, where she’d been convinced glory and fame awaited. Now she was home and a disappointment not only to her parents but to herself. Even worse, she hadn’t come up with a plan to turn her life around.

“Ira Jenkins is back in the hospital. I thought I’d run by and check on him. Since Sarah passed, he seems a shell of the man he once was.” Her mother turned to face the backseat. “Would you like to come with me? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“He won’t remember me, Mama.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Greer scrunched farther down in the seat. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a man she hadn’t seen in years.

“You’ll have to get out eventually and face the music.” Her mother’s smile wavered and threatened to turn into tears. “So to speak.”

Her mother was trying, which was more than could be said for Greer at the moment. Her parents deserved a better daughter. Someone successful they could brag on at the Wednesday-night potlucks at church. Not a daughter they had to bail out of jail.

“I will. I promise. Just not to see Mr. Jenkins.” Greer leaned forward and squeezed her mother’s hand over the seat, needing to give her something to hope for even if Greer wasn’t sure what that might be.

Her father cleared his throat. “You need to think about the future.”

He ignored her mother’s whispered, “Not now, Frank.”

“A job. Or back to school. We’ll put you through nursing or accounting or something useful.” He shifted to meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. “But you can’t keep on like you’re doing. You need a purpose.”

“I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow.” School had never been her wheelhouse. She’d been sure she’d make it in Nashville and had never formulated a backup plan.

They pulled up to her childhood home, a two-story brick Colonial on the main street of Madison, Tennessee. Oaks had been planted down a middle island like a line of soldiers at attention. They had grown to shade both sides of the street. It was picturesque and cast the imagination back to a time when ladies lounged on porches with their iced tea and gossiped with their neighbors to escape the heat of summer. Air-conditioning had altered that way of life.

At one time, as a kid, she’d known every family up and down the street well enough to knock on their door for help or run through their backyard in epic games of tag. Now, though, the houses were being bought up by people who used Madison to escape the bustle of an expanding Nashville. They built pools in the backyards and fences and weren’t outside except to walk their trendy dogs.

The march of progress through Madison added to her melancholy sadness. There was a reason not being able to go home again was a recurring theme in books and songs.

“We love you, Greer. You know that, don’t you?” Her mother’s voice was tight with emotion, but she didn’t turn around, thank goodness.

Her mother never cried and if Greer witnessed tears, she would burst into sobs herself and embarrass everyone.

“I know. Thanks for everything. I’m going to do better. Be better.” It seemed a wholly inadequate promise she wasn’t even sure she could keep, but it was all she could manage. She ducked out of the car and skipped around to a side door of the house that was always unlocked.

Her room was both a haven and a mocking reminder of the state of her life. Posters of album covers papered the wall behind her bed, the colors faded from the sun and the edges curling with age.

In high school, she’d gravitated toward indie folk artists and away from the commercially driven country-music machine located a few miles south. Joan Baez was flanked by Patty Griffin and Dolly Parton. Even though Dolly veered more country than Greer, no one could deny the legend’s songwriting chops. The guitar Greer had hocked for rent money had borne Dolly’s signature like a talisman. Sometimes Greer ached for her guitar like a missing limb.

The flashing glimpse of a woman in a pale pink suit stopped her in the middle of the floor. She turned to face the full-length mirror glued to the back of the closet door. God, it was like glimpsing her mom through a time warp.

Greer touched the delicate pearls that had been passed down to her on her eighteenth birthday. They were old-fashioned and traditional and stereotypical of a Southern “good girl.” Not her style. She’d left them in her dresser drawer when she’d left home the day after high school graduation.

A tug of recognition of the women who had come before her had her clutching the strand in her hand as if something lost were now found. Was it her circumstances or her age growing her nostalgia like a tree setting roots?

She turned around to break the connection with the stranger in the mirror, stripped off the pink suit, and pulled on jeans and a cotton oxford. Her mother would appreciate seeing her in something besides the frayed shorts and grungy concert T-shirts she’d lounged around in the last week. She reached behind her neck for the clasp of the necklace, but her hands stilled, then dropped to her sides, leaving the pearls in place.

She stepped out of her room and was enveloped in silence. Her father had returned to his insurance office and her mother must have set off for her hospital visit. The house took on an expectant quality, as if waiting for its true owners to return. She was no longer a fundamental part of this world. Not unwelcome, perhaps, but a loose cog in her parents’ lives.

She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a ham sandwich. May was too early for fresh tomatoes, but in another month or two her mother’s garden would make tomato sandwiches an everyday treat.

Craving an escape, Greer grabbed a book and settled in her favorite window seat. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same expectant silence. The chime of the doorbell made her start and drop her book. If she pretended no one was home, maybe whoever was on the front porch would go away. The last thing she wanted was to face one of Madison’s gossips masquerading as a do-gooder.

The creak of the door opening had her bolting to her feet.

“Greer? I know you’re home. Are you decent?” Her uncle Bill’s booming voice echoed in the two-story foyer.

She propped her shoulder in the doorway of the sunroom. “Letting yourself in people’s houses is a good way of getting shot around here.”

“While your mama would have liked to have shot me during the divorce with her sister, I hope we’ve made our peace.” He closed the door behind him and Greer did what she’d wanted to do in the courtroom—she threw herself at him for a hug.

He lifted her off her feet and spun her once around. Her laugh hit her ears like a foreign language. It had been too long since she’d laughed from a place of happiness.

“You could have just come out to the house. You didn’t have to get arrested to see me.” Bill let her go, and she led him into the sunroom.

“Do you want something to drink?” Greer asked, already turning for the kitchen and the fresh brewed pitcher of sweet iced tea.

“No, thanks. Mary has fried chicken ready to go in the pan, so I can’t stay long.”

Bill had divorced her aunt Tonya more than a decade earlier and married the choir director of the biggest black church in town. A scandal had ensued not because he’d married a black woman, but because he, a long-standing deacon in the Church of Christ, had converted to a heathen Methodist.

“How is Mary?”

“Always singing.” He shook his head, an indulgent smile on his face, as they settled into their seats.

His comment sprinkled salt on an open wound. She’d begged off going to church with her parents because of the questions she was sure to face and the hymns she couldn’t bring herself to sing. Some of her earlier happiness at seeing him leaked out. “Good for her.”

“I came to make sure you weren’t mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I got the impression you expected me to dismiss the charges.” His smile turned into a wince.

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you had, but I get it. I was an idiot and deserve punishment.” She picked at the fringe on a decades-old needlepoint pillow and cast him a pleading glance. “I’d rather pick up trash, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not the same to me.” He crossed his long legs and tapped a finger on the cherry armrest of the antique chair that looked ready to surrender at any moment to his bulk. “Do you remember Amelia Shelton?”

“Mary’s daughter? She was a couple of years ahead of me in school. We didn’t hang out or anything, but she seemed nice.” Greer couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Amelia. Greer’s side of the family had skipped Bill and Mary’s small wedding ceremony; the acrimony between him and her aunt Tonya hadn’t faded at that point.

“Amelia is the founder and director of the Music Tree Foundation and is desperate for qualified volunteers. You’ve been playing and singing and writing music since you were knee high. It was meant to be.”

“It’s not meant to be. I’ve got to get a real job.”

Her uncle made a scoffing sound. “You’re too much like my Mary. You could never leave music behind.”

“Music dumped me on the side of the road, gave me the finger, and peeled out.” Greer shook her head and touched the string of pearls, her gaze on his polished black dress shoes. “I’m a mess, Uncle Bill. I have nothing to offer. In fact, I’ll probably make things worse for whatever poor soul I get paired with.”

She expected him to argue, but he seemed to be weighing the truth in her words like the scales of justice. His shrug wasn’t in the least reassuring. “Amelia has done something really special with her foundation. It might do you a world of good to focus on someone besides yourself.”

“Dang, that’s harsh.”

He patted her knee. “I’ve seen all kinds come through my courtroom. The ones who turn it around are the ones who quit feeling sorry for themselves.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Beau is an asshole. Not the first or the last you’re likely to encounter. Don’t you deserve better than him?”

“Yes?” She wished she’d been able to put more conviction into the word.

Beau was successful, nice-looking—even though a bald spot was conquering his hair day by day—and respected in their town. They’d known each other since high school, but had only started dating in the last year.

He was solid and steady and comfortable. Three things lacking from her life. Catching him cheating with the president of the Junior League had been another seismic shift in her world, leaving her unsure and off balance.

“If you can’t believe in yourself yet, then believe me. You are talented, Greer, and you have the ability to help people find their voice.” He slipped a card out of his wallet. When she didn’t reach for it, he waved it in her face until she took it.

A tree styled with musical symbols of all different colors decorated one side of the card. She ran her thumb over the raised black ink of Amelia’s name and an address on the outskirts of Nashville. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to stay in my—and the court’s—good graces. She’s expecting you tomorrow at three.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Her smile was born of sarcasm.

Bill rose and ruffled her hair like he had when she was little. “Not wicked. Lost.”

Greer walked him out, brushed a kiss on his cheek, and murmured her thanks. She leaned on the porch rail and waved until he disappeared down the street.

I once was lost, and now I’m found. She’d sung “Amazing Grace” so many times that the lyrics had ceased to have an impact. But, standing on her childhood front porch, having come full circle, a shiver went down her spine, and goose bumps broke over her arms despite the heat that wavered over the pavement like a mirage. Her granny would have said that someone had walked over her grave. Maybe so. Or maybe change was a-coming whether she wanted to face up to it or not.

Copyright © 2020 by Laura Trentham

AUTHOR BIO

Laura Trentham is an award winning romance author. The Military Wife is her debut women’s fiction novel. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.

SOCIAL MEDIA

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LauraTrentham

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LauraTrenthamAuthor

Author Website: http://www.lauratrentham.com/

Macmillan Author Page:

https://us.macmillan.com/author/lauratrentham

[jarmes]

JJBA Twisted Destiny Chapter 3 - Nero Zeppeli’s Viva La Vida, Part 2

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

A few strikes from Nero is all it takes to open up the first of the cocoons. The silk rots away, revealing the body that lies within. “Another skeleton,” Nero says.

“Why are there so many cocoons in one place?” Johana asks.

Nero pulls out his phone to shine a light on the skeleton. “This body is more decayed than the one we found by the dorms. There’s even less flesh left, meaning this one is probably older,” he says while scratching his chin. “If I were to guess, the Stand User we’re looking for started out by luring people to this basement. Now that they’ve gotten more confident, they’ve started attacking people aboveground.”

Nero strikes two more of the cocoons, releasing the corpses found within. “How many people do you think they’ve killed?” Johana mutters.

“The articles that I read said eight cocoons appeared around this campus. Including the five down here, that is a minimum of thirteen victims,” Nero says. “Probably more, because it is likely some of our killer’s victims have not been discovered yet.

Johana takes a step into the shadowy storage room. Nero waves his arms, telling her to stop. “What?” she asks.

Nero points the light down at the floor, revealing a tangled mess of silk string spread around the floor of the storage room. “Watch your step,” Nero says. “I do not know what will happen if you touch those strings, but it most likely will not be good.”

Johana pulls out her phone flashlight and carefully moves around the room, searching for clues among the large cocoons and silk covered tables. “This room isn’t big enough for someone to hide,” Johana says. “But we seem to be the only people in here.”

“Hold on, could you be quiet for a moment?” Nero says.

The two stand in silence for a moment. Nero tilts his head at one of the cocoons and listens. “I hear breathing coming from within that cocoon,” Nero whispers.

Nero tiptoes towards the cocoon. The arms appear at his side, ready to strike. “Two people came into this room earlier and only one left,” Nero whispers. “The one that didn’t leave, they’re hiding within this cocoon.”

The arms strike the cocoon, rotting it away. Nero grabs the individual within by the throat and lifts them into the air. The arms pull back to prepare for another punch. “Wait!” Johana shouts.

The fists stop centimeters away from the mysterious person’s face. The face of an unconscious man with horn-rimmed glasses, a man Johana has the displeasure of knowing. “I don’t think he’s our killer,” Johana says. “He’s unconscious. Plus, I know this asshole. He’s one of my teachers, an asshole named Dre.”

Nero sets Dr. Dre down on the table. “So the killer isn’t with us,” Nero says. “That is good.”

Johana places her finger on Dr. Dre’s throat. “He’s alive, if only barely,” she says.

“The killer must have tied him up right before we got here,” Nero says.

Johana slaps Dr. Dre awake. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

“Someone tied you up in the library basement. Do you remember who?” Johana asks.

Dr. Dre doesn’t respond. A few moments later he starts snoring. Johana sighs and shakes him awake. “Who did this to you?” she asks.

“I feel so tired,” Dr. Dre mumbles before falling back asleep.

Johana groans. “He won’t stay awake,” she says.

“Perhaps he is still under the effect of the Stand that knocked him out and tied him up,” Nero says.

Nero glances back at Dr. Dre’s cocoon. “What do we have here?” he mumbles.

Behind the now rotted cocoon Nero spots a cork board covered in pinned photographs, some of which have been covered in Xs. Nero and Johana both walk over to get a closer look. “That’s a photo of Dr. Dre, and that’s a photo of Louise Ciccone,” Johana says. “This cork board, it’s a list of victims.”

Then Johana notices it, a circled picture of Kan in the bottom corner of the board. “Shit,” she says.

The heavy door of the storage room slams shut. The thud echoes through the storage room, causing Johana to jump and almost stumble into the tangled web of silk on the floor. “I think the killer has returned,” Nero whispers as he turns his head.

“Calm down, the door probably just shut on its own.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Nero slowly points his finger at a pair of cocoons sitting by the door. “There were five cocoons when we came in. I destroyed four. And there are two sitting by that door,” Nero says. “I think that the individual that closed that door is hiding in one of those cocoons.”

“Do you know which one has been here from the start?”

Nero shakes his head. Slowly, he walks towards one of the cocoons. He strikes it open, revealing a skeleton sitting within. A gigantic spider leaps out from within the cocoon and attaches itself to Nero’s chest.

The arms appear once more and rip the spider off, slamming it against the wall of the storage room. Nero charges at the final cocoon and unleashes a flurry of punches, destroying it. Only, the killer isn’t sitting within the mysterious new cocoon. In fact, the new cocoon is completely empty.

“I don’t understand,” Johana says.

Then she notices it, a trickle of blood coming from the ceiling of the storage room. She shines her light on the ceiling and discovers a grisly sight. A man in a white mask and black hoodie holding onto the ceiling using silk.

“Look out!” Johana shouts.

She’s too late. The man in the mask swings down and kicks Nero in the head, knocking him out. The red and blue spider crawls onto Nero and imprisons him in one of the cocoons.

The masked man turns his head towards Johana. “Pretty neat plan, wasn't it?” he says with a scratchy voice.

Johana doesn’t respond. “Creating a fake cocoon to trick your friend while hiding on the ceiling, the type of plan you’d expect from a genius like me,” the masked man continues. “Good thing I came up with it. That man with the beanie seemed pretty strong. He’s the first person to ever land a hit on my pet.”

“Who are you?”

The masked man laughs. The spider, now done tying up Nero, crawls onto the man's shoulder. “Who am I?” the man asks. “I’m the bad guy.”

The man walks over to the table Dr. Dre lies on and draws a knife from his pocket. He plunges the knife into Dr. Dre’s throat, creating a geyser of blood. Johana rushes towards the table and kicks it, sending it flying at the masked man.

The masked man hurdles over the table and flings the blood from the knife at Johana’s eyes, blinding her. Johana jumps back and raises her arms to protect herself. The spider runs around Johana’s legs in a circle, ensnaring them in its string. The masked man kicks Johana in the stomach and she falls onto the silk covered floor.

After only a few seconds on her back, Johana feels tired. Very tired. She tries to crawl to her feet so she can continue the fight, but her legs don’t work. Johana slips from consciousness.

+++

Nero Zeppeli is having a wonderful nap when he hears a muffled ringing. He tries ignoring it so he can continue his nap, but the stupid noise just won’t go away. Nero sighs and opens his eyes to darkness. He tries stretching his arms, only to discover he can’t move them. He shrugs this off and falls back asleep. Then the ringing comes back.

Nero ignores the ringing once more. But, instead of going away, the ringing is replaced by a new noise, a robotic voice telling Nero to leave a message after the beep. A few seconds after the beep, Nero hears Kan Nijimura’s voice.

“Hey Johana, I know you’re off doing cool secret agents stuff with your weird cousin, but I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Kan says. “The concert starts in ten minutes and I’m really nervous right now. I could use some moral support, you know?”

When he hears Johana’s name, Nero’s eyes snap open. In an instant, he breaks out of the cocoon. He walks over to the source of the noise, Johana’s cell phone, and uses it as a flashlight.

Nero scans the room, taking in what happened after he was knocked out. He sees the overturned tables, the pool of blood, and the body of Dr. Dre. Finally, he notices a new cocoon on the other side of the room.

Nero runs over to the new cocoon and destroys it. He picks up Johana’s unconscious body and leaves the storage room. As Nero walks through the library basement, Johana’s eyes slowly open. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“The Stand User knocked us and tied us up in those cocoons. I assume he planned to slowly drain all of the energy from our bodies, leaving us as lifeless husks like the ones we found down there,” Nero says. “Fortunately, your friend called you about some concert and the ringing of your phone woke you up.”

“Oh god, Kan!”

Johana shoves her way out of Nero’s arms and dashes up the stairs and into the library, earning her scowls from a few librarians. “Don’t worry, JoJo, you have plenty of time to make it to this concert,” Nero shouts as he chases after her, earning him even more scowls.

“This isn’t about some concert!” Johana shouts as she burst out of the library. “A picture of Kan was on that guy’s creepy victim collage. I think she’s next on the list!”

The two run across campus, making their way the quad where the concert is held. In the distance, the see a stage with spotlights hanging from rafters. A decent sized crowd has gathered on the other side of the stage to listen to the show.

Johana hears the roar of a guitar and smiles. “Kan’s alright,” she says as she stops moving.

Suddenly, the man in the white mask swings down from on top of a building and kicks Johana in the stomach, knocking her back into Nero. “I’m surprised to see you here,” the man in the white mask says as the duo pull themselves to their feet. “No one has ever managed to escape from one of my traps. I suppose I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Seriously, who are you?” Johana asks.

The masked man laughs. “I suppose I should reveal my identity to you, my mortal enemy, now,” he says. “After all, we are in the endgame.”

The man pulls off his mask, revealing the face of a young college student with buck teeth. “The truth has been revealed,” he says. “Bask in horror at this stunning revelation.”

Johana and Nero give each other a look of confusion before turning back to the masked man. “That doesn’t really answer the question,” Johana says.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me!”

“Sorry, I’m drawing a blank here. Have we met?”

“We had three classes together last semester!”

“It’s a big school.”

“We live in the same building!”

“What type of weirdo knows their neighbors?”

“We talked to each other like, five hours ago!”

Johana furrows her brow. “Wait, I recognize you now. You’re that guy who works at the library, right?” she says.

“I have a name,” the masked man mutters.

“Hold on, give me a minute.”

Johana turns to Nero for help. He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know his name,” he says.

The masked man starts pulling his hair. “This was going to be this big moment where I reveal my identity, and you don’t even know my name,” he says.

“I wanna say, Stanley?” Johana says.

“My name is not Stanley!” the man who is not named Stanley shouts.

“Wait! I remember now. It’s Rabbit Jimmy, right?”

“My name is James goddamnit!” Rabbit Jimmy shouts. “Not Rabbit, not Jimmy, and certainly not Rabbit Jimmy. That’s a just a stupid nickname people gave me after you punched half of my teeth out.”

Nero gasps and Johana shoots him an angry look. “Okay, first of all, don’t be mad at me for beating up the bad guy,” she says. “Secondly, I don’t even remember punching you.”

Rabbit Jimmy sighs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “No one ever remembers James. No one ever wants to be friends with James, or hang out with James. Everyone is always mean to James. At least, they were.”

“My days of being treated like garbage are over,” Rabbit Jimmy says. “The girls who rejected me, the teachers who made me cry, the mean neighbors who punched my teeth out, all shall fear the man in the white mask! The shall grovel before me and beg for mercy. And I shall deny them their lives just as they have denied me respect!”

“Wow, there’s a lot to unpack here, but I think it’d be better if we just threw the whole suitcase away,” Johana says.

The red and blue spider emerges from underground and crawls onto Rabbit Jimmy’s shoulder. “You see, my dear archenemy, I was recently bestowed a unique, godlike power that allows me to defeat any adversary. This ability allows me to create a powerful being that follows my every will. You can’t see it, but right now my godlike pet, which I have elected to call Wrap God, is sitting on my shoulder.”

“You mean that spider?” Johana asks.

“Yes, this spider,” Rabbit Jimmy says.

Rabbit Jimmy does a double take. “No, that can’t be right,” he says. “No one but I can see Wrap God!”

Nero starts laughing. “What’s so funny!” Rabbit Jimmy screams.

“You are in so over your head that you do not even realize that you are in over your head,” Nero says. “That spider is what we call a Stand.”

“A Stand?”

“Stands are physical embodiments of an individuals fighting spirit. They are rare, yes, but I have seen them many times before.”

“But, none of my victims could see Wrap God!” Rabbit Jimmy whines. “What makes you so special?”

“Stands can only be seen by other Stand Users, James,” Nero says. “And I possess a Stand.”

Nero knocks his fists together and energy pours out of his back, melding together and transforming into a humanoid shape. A bulky man made of salt crystals appears behind Nero. “This, James, is my Stand, Viva La Vida!”

TO BE CONTINUED IN:

Chapter 4: Nero Zeppeli’s Viva La Vida, Part 3

STAND STATS

Name: Wrap God

Dub Name: Silk God

User: Rabbit Jimmy

Namesake: “Rap God” (Eminem Song)

Appearance: Takes the form of a large red and blue spider, about the size of a frying pan. Has drills on the ends of its legs that it uses to dig through the earth.

Abilities: Has the ability to create thin durable silk. When this silk is in contact with human beings for more than three seconds, two things happen. First, the silk causes the individual touching it to become extremely sleepy, eventually knocking them out. Secondly, energy is drawn out of the affected individual across the string, beginning with body heat and eventually moving on to energy stored within cells, causing them to rot and decay at an extreme rate. Rabbit Jimmy is immune to both of these effects. Rabbit Jimmy can absorb this energy by touching his strings and use it to increase his strength, speed, and healing. Rabbit Jimmy knows how to create large cocoons, tangled webs, and snare traps using Wrap God’s string, allowing him to more easily ensnare targets.

Stats: Power-D, Speed-C, Range-B, Durability-D, Precision-B, Potential-B