#saint!verse molly

[addalittlemolly]

Compared to hell, Heaven was....different. It was always so bright, the light shining everywhere touching not just the sky but also in the clouds. His eyes were still trying to adjust and so he had accidently bumped into someone. "Oh, sorry."

Molly was outside her salon, giving the front stoop a sweep on a slow day and stumbled slightly but easily caught herself with one of her extra legs.

"No harm done, a lil distracted today, hun?" She asked.

[addalittlemolly]

"Yeah, no, I don' needta be hearin' ya talk about my brother that way, true or not. I grew up with him so those dings aren' exactly a big surprise but he is still my brother and I don' wanna hear ya talkin' about him like that, got it?" Molly replied sternly.

"Are you really that against someone wantin' ta change for de better? Or is just that it is the Morningstar's are the ones tryin' ta spearhead the redemption of others?"

@addalittlemolly

Adam in Heaven was larger than life in more ways than one. He was funny, loud, a show-off. He loved to rock out, do concerts, take his Exorcists out for a good time.

He was the life of the party, but even behind his grin.....there was an echo of something. Like he was desperate to be liked. That all his acting out was for show.

Here though, in Hell......he didn't even look like himself. Adam no longer had his mask but he had horns jutting out of his head like the horns his mask used to have.

His wings were a distant memory, his halo gone. His skin almost ashen grey and his eyes red. Claws on his hands that looked almost eagle-like.

But the worst was how he looked at Molly. There used to be a friendliness in him. But it was like Hell was scoured it away until all that was left was a raw and bloodied anger.

He looked.....broken. Like he hadn't smiled in his life. Broken.....and extremely dangerous.

His voice was cold.

" Redemption isn't real, kid. You're risking your life being down here.....these freaks won't hesitate to enslave you."

[humanteethmarksonhumanbone]

in honor of the fever dream that was july resulting it the creation of 8 (akbzkajaja EIGHT??? idk how i did that) OCs here is their introductions: +quizzes

Uni-ted Fears Crew (tma ocs) 

Molly Tindell she/her (it?) - avatar for the End, crisis hotline volunteer, 19 yo. After deciding to volunteer for a crisis hotline she discovers her abilities to… kill people like over the phone, technically the Fog™️ does it and shes just like a bridge. She thinks shes the chosen prophet of Death cause.. of course she does 🙄 /affectionate (shes the og oc)

Ángel Santiago he/she - avatar for the Eye/Hunt, priest in training, forces confessions 25 yo. Confessions Booths are inherently Eye coded but waiting for people to confess isn’t enough for the guy so she goes all s4 Jon and stalks people cornering the and munching on those juicy secrets cause like molly he has a prophet complex

Bridie Milligan she/her- avatar for the corruption/desolation, book restorationist 26 yo. After taking an internship at st Christina's she discovers a book that refuses to be restored (mold grows back, any work she does just come back worse) it becomes her obsession cause she believes in the preservation of memories and history, however the more she works with the book the more her own memories start to corrupt (basically the book is some artifact that destroys history cause irony, and preying on her worst fear of forgetting and letting people be forgotten)

Dante Montgomery he/him- avatar for the buried, traps people in catacombs 21 yo. The stereotypical rebellious kid of a rich family, hr grew up in France and was sent to England to avoid murder charges (hang with me) after he accidentally (?) killed his Ex boyfriend. After a few months at the university her discovers the Catacombs, gets lost and is presumed dead but actually he was just doing his avatar magical girl transformation thingy

+ Quetzál Gómez - they/he/she, Avatar of the Eye, journalism major investigating the creepy stuff that happens around the St Christina’s (they dont go to that university tho) he’s sort of unofficial, they just sort of appeared but i love her so he stay.

story: Saint Christina’s catholic university students individual (sometimes crossing) journeys to avatar hood 

Smithsonian Sapphic

Maya Barker she/they - Queer/Sapphic, works at an aquarium, Julies gf. Grew up near the ocean and loves all the creatures.

Juliette Vaughn she/her- demi sexual/demi romantic Bisexual, works at an art museum mayas gf. biggest history nerd with a tea addiction youll ever meet.

Fin Barker he/him -aro/ace maya’s twin brother, trans masc bass player, chronic third wheel (of his own volition)

story- museum curator x aquarium worker fall in love. My little cheesy hallmark where nothing bad happens ever. also they kiss infront of a sappho statue/painting cause obviously

Grove Springs

Lucy Maier she/her- from 1964 16yo.

Simone Chada she/they - from 2024 17yo.

story: so its all starts with Simone, she is a girl from our time (2024) and she finds this radio thing (like the ones you talk to and stuff) she gets into contact with another girl, Lucy.  They hit it off and become fast friends but over time they start to realize stuff specifically that they might not be from the same decade Lucy is from ‘64 and so yeah their just super confused and eventually odd stuff starts happening in the town, there are old styles of car from simone, “new” cars for lucy, shops start looking different (so basically their worlds are melding together into a mix of new and old stuff)  so they hypothesize that its the radio thats causing all of this and the only way to fix it is to destroy the radios to send thing back to normal but it might mean loosing each other

tldr: radio weirdness melds the past and present, the only way to stop is to destroy the radios even if it means loosing 

Silt verses ocs

pippa “sister strider” she/her- fell into the great gull river as a kid and eashrd up near a small rundown comune for thr Trawler man without many lf her memories. she grows up there being basically an extra hand.

lyra christopher they/he- used to live bear glottage, not alot is known about yheir backstory but they have alot of siblings. they are faithless and like pippa end up at the comune unconscious and injured.

story- pippa find lyra and nurses him back to health they become close friends dispitr lyras initial hesitation. However one day lyra goes my missing and is revealed to have been sacrificed with out pippas knowledge. Pippa is distraught and runs away where she eventually meets a god of lost things who is looking got her.

Maritime emos

Wilbur- Island resident, partially deft in his pedt ear. very mellow and sad. leads bowie around the island reluctantly

David “bowie”- goes to the island for a documentary hes making on the legends and haunted light houses

story- David goes to a small northern island reasrching thr myths and legends aamd haunted light house for a documentary hes making. Wil is forced to show him around the island and they fall in love. Bowie has to go home leaving Wil distrought however he makes his way back the the island a few years later

based on a dream i had

quizzes:

[sinceileftyoublog]

Riot Fest 2024 Preview: 5 Cant'-miss Non-headliners

St. Vincent; Photo by Alex Da Corte

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Emo Friday, indie rock Saturday, metal Sunday seems to be the theme of this year's Riot Fest--at least for the bands in the big fonts on the poster. Of the bands previewed here, you've got your pop-punk farewell, your art rock heavyweight, and your post-punk up-and-comers, but also the finest of the alt-country and hip hop worlds today. Yes, I'm fully aware that two of them overlap, but who's to say you can't go half and half? Here are 5 can't-miss non-headliners.

FRIDAY

Sum 41, 6:05 PM, Cabaret Metro Stage

"I don't wanna believe that maybe this is the end," Deryck Whibley sings on "Landmines", a standout from Sum 41's eighth and final album Heaven :x: Hell (Rise). On the contrary, Whibley's been pretty publicly okay with hanging it up, and I have to imagine it's in no small reason due to the strength of the record, two discs that, respectively, dive into the pop punk of the band's early years and the more metal-adjacent sounds of their more recent releases. It's as if Sum 41's released a greatest hits album of their various aesthetics. The first disc, Heaven, opens with "Waiting on a Twist of Fate", an impassioned blast that Sum 41 can still do as well as anybody, and doesn't slow down for the majority of its runtime. Even the songs where Whibley expresses ennui are ripe for rousing singalongs, from the barnburner "Future Primitive" to the stadium-sized "Dopamine". The band sounds as exciting as ever; the interplay between Dave Baksh and Tom Thacker's guitars, and Frank Zummo's rolling drums propel songs like "Bad Mistake".

Impressively, the songs on Hell are no less catchy and perhaps even more dynamic, such as "Over the Edge", whose hardcore verses subside for the hooky chorus and an unexpected piano outro. "I Don't Need Anyone", a song written after the band decided on calling it quits, sports a big, swinging bassline from Jason McCaslin, as if to say, "We might miss playing music, but you're gonna miss the feeling you get when listening to us, more." They even find room to document their penchant for live covers, delivering a fairly straightforward though no less burly version of The Rolling Stones' "Paint it Black".

On closer "How the End Begins", Whibley's perhaps a little more honest than he was at the beginning of the album, singing, "Sometimes I wonder if I have enough to say / Or am I just an echo, a reflection of yesterday." Even if Heaven :x: Hell acts as a proper career retrospective, it's a hell of a time, something the band can be proud of for years to come. Catch them for the last time on Friday night and rap along to the immortal "Fat Lip".

Waxahatchee; Photo by Molly Matalon

Saturday

Waxahatchee, 6:15 PM, Radical Stage

Katie Crutchfield's brand of alt-country might be a stylistic outlier at Riot Fest, but that makes it all the more punk, if you ask me. Leaning into the high and lonesome has resulted in the two best Waxahatchee albums so far, 2020's Saint Cloud and this year's impressive Tigers Blood (Anti-). Hearing her and her venerable band play these songs, at golden hour? That's unbeatable.

St. Vincent, 6:35 PM, Cabaret Metro Stage

On St. Vincent's first self-produced album All Born Screaming (Total Pleasure), the oft-acting singer adopts her boldest persona yet: herself. Throughout the record, she sings about loss, grief, and the art of keeping on, with a sense of brutal honesty we haven't yet seen from Annie Clark. "Give it all away cause the whole world's watching you," she sings on groovy opener "Hell Is Near", ditching the idea of role atop swirls of syncopated synth layers, dramatic piano, and hypnotic twelve-string guitar. What she cares about most is being subsumed by the music--well, that, and you being subsumed by her music, Clark embedding herself in your ears, like on the slinky, whip-cracking "Flea", rife with her trademark guitar squalls.

Part of Clark's comparatively straightforward communication, though, is letting us know when she's struggling. On "Reckless", she's shaken by the idea that those she loves will one day be gone: "Hey, ma, I'm cracking up," she sings, her usual assured baritone morphing into a creaky falsetto. She uses industrial beats and repetition of phrases to mirror emotional states of panic or release, screaming over and over "What are you looking at?" during the outro of "Broken Man", ending the title track by consistently chanting "all born screaming" beside skittering drums and a propulsive synth line. At the same time, All Born Screaming still finds time for uplift. "Violent Times", laden with David Ralicke's cinematic horns, is a tribute to finding love and practicing art amidst societal chaos. And the gorgeous "Sweetest Fruit", a salad of synaptic synths, galivanting drums, and twangy electric guitars, is dedicated to queer creators like SOPHIE and political cartoonist Daniel Sotomayor who passed away far too young. Clark has spoken about how the act of screaming is a sign that you're alive. As such, All Born Screaming shows a newfound appreciation for her earthbound world.

Live, expect to hear much of All Born Screaming, plus standouts from St. Vincent's previous five or so records.

SPRINTS

Sunday

SPRINTS, 1:20 PM, Cabaret Metro Stage

They don't even have to begin their set with "Ticking", and SPRINTS are still guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish. Yes, that song's build up of guitar, snare, and chanted vocals exemplifies the apex of the Dublin quartet's live intensity, but any of the hard-charging tunes on Letter to Self (City Slang), their terrific debut album, could introduce you to their urgent world. With SPRINTS, lead vocalist Karla Chubb sings about self-acceptance and love in the face of a world that stigmatizes depression and discriminates against queer folks, and she's got the might of Colm O'Reilly’s lead guitar, Sam McCann's groovy bass, and Jack Callan’s meaty drums to back her up. SPRINTS play early, and they might not play to a packed crowd, but everyone will leave a fan.

Tierra Whack, 5:00 PM, Rise Stage

Tierra Whack has been one of the most exciting figures in hip hop for the past half-decade. Her first major statement, her debut mixtape Whack World, consisted of 15 minute-long, world-building vignettes, each accompanied by a video. Her first three EPs introduced her as someone unafraid to blur genre lines, questioning the usefulness of such divisive tags to begin with. (They were appropriately titled Rap?, Pop?, and R&B?) Earlier this year, Whack finally released her debut studio album World Wide Whack (Interscope), and it's a proper emotionally complex follow-up to the identity struggles of Whack World. Sure, she flexes her rapping prowess and overall aura. "I make a dollar every time that my heart beats," Whack declares on "MS BEHAVE"; on "CHANEL PIT", she claims that--yes--at her concerts, the "mosh pit smell like Chanel." Much of World Wide Whack, though, is melancholy, delving into her anxiety and struggles with friendships and relationships. The nervous R&B of "BURNING BRAINS" is the sound of sensory overload, complete with pitch-shifted, molasses sweet, indecipherable backing vocals. On "IMAGINARY FRIENDS", built around a surf rock guitar line and minimal drums, she sings, heartbreakingly, " My last best friend, said he wish he didn't know me / His name was Oscar and he really hurt my feelings / When I grow up I want to hang from a ceilin'."

Whack often spits around understated, minimal production, and she references suicidal thoughts numerous times throughout World Wide Whack. But the album is not defeatist; instead, it's a statement of triumph despite her troubles. On "27 CLUB", talking through her ideations, Whack almost acts like her own guardian angel, showing herself what life would be like if she were gone. And the most joyous song on the record is "SHOWER SONG", a slice of Southern-fried synth funk about the joys of--you guessed it--singing in the shower. She adopts a nasal vocal style as if to emphasize her carefree attitude towards how she sounds, a moment where the ultimate curator is instead finding strength in her vulnerability.

It does take a good curator to put together an unforgettable live hip hop set, and Whack's likely to cull from her instant classic mixtape and new record at Riot Fest. Whether her mosh pit will smell like Chanel? To be determined.

[libidomechanica]

“Saint both playne, —That heuens, waies, most Rabbis Jewish to spill”

Stole a fright. A darknesse, alas     what He did kneeling did her eyes; for you, bigger then doe     come ye surer, the Lord and really with soure on me, whom     I shaped out with so happy he shall be bars to the paceth,     he thirst as your loved

your self alone cold, What’s the     peacefull of your cruelness. By thy meet as your gun fixed bad     end of journe now you into speake world—the sun’s some perfect     with you throbs of dawn. Of love so cruelty she marriage-     bed. And all night thee; the

heauen, so sweetness deed, and topples     of the gladsomene the lady’s worn delight shadowy     brows give calm around the day to looks inuests saddle, the     word. I would be with care. Could blew, but breake flown beated suck     they came: the sung worlds pryde:

sweep or shadows! Where were wont green.     One enur’d their length ouer euery parts doth emulated     orris-root where depend. All the world—the gadding doe wretched     well as lost could faint out and had stol’n thy loss, him down     his pursuit? For Mistressed

with holds of ioyes, and think, yea     having a lie! We seeke the stream was itself, to our al     the Spring there shepheard sought harbour, yet on earth is wanted     in her hear might eye doth its wouen as thought her! To let     you and twixt the greet: when

all one of his many worship     may place the tresure, with gazed her cheekes and now share of     silken kerchief folde, a pushed to do. Your selfe with vocal     reede at eight full verse. Now, since you how the woods of mortall     sore my thought his home, fayre

let vs bright not to my kind.     You canst the soure I strongly it repentine, two old kingly     suits begin, and kind of silk and damp the Bee ye beare,     can no more conuert. Will not wears to contrary leans hanging     hounds before. Thereof

immortal mother visage of     steel us as from leafless too high he nor forth to weaue.     As verse his very spring as best is in their meane, I     may, we still have has far to give to have a galloping     so, with all see mark of

the Stars. Every mind some gentle     space, as done. And the mercy offer’d to creeds, as vertues     of lies, it shoot ye haue soon the frost, a bellyful, thou     doe embled his Supremacy. Mine eyes al love more sweet,     scrawling, praysd for my forth

a debate with these amber because     of wisdom’s changed Gods eternal flowres here to the     learned, since i am because you the palace her sight!     Where in the ins and defiance soul! Spree. Shadow     in the Perfection, the

world wanton will last by dews gather     wiping ever, I fry? If I’m not condiscredit     it, ere tress him dost sense of half and wherwith me; I did     she will bury one not, thence our clever seemd to take and     sing body, the gods in

which doe you how say every     sorrowes glide into a siluer only on me, that flattered     the weighing both you can know. And then that cleave me their     fame is good day and the sun thy selfe desperature     vnderstanding else to me: for

loving pride hand. But the Moone: for     a lark. With the bare oaths of desire to a lark. Think     of love and soone and there, sir, whole world; ah me! Or, lay that     heauens scourselves not do, we fair the word to be paines.     Saint both playne,—That heuens, waies,

most Rabbis Jewish to spill. Well     me Latin I saw that loyalty; I know’st make her     complement, her may if we carefull smart: ne ought in their     sleepe did false preconcil’d in the scald attend upon the     companyde with Molly

poet tuck away hearts, to saue     was seare: suffices haunts a blur, a Film Fun laughters, to     him seemed to one’s my love your wind will her eclipse, and his     well and to me the bright all he the life? Down, but you, sir;     and in him say that same.

[aprilbrowines]

epithet erased: Holiday jeer

It was the night before Christmas and all was quiet in sweet jazz city, people were in bed dreaming of their gift while other were trying to get last minute shopping done. From the rooftop appeared a figure next to them was a smaller person bundled up tight and warm; they smiling down at the street with mischievous glee.

"B-Boss are you sure this is a good idea?" a smaller person asked staying close as she heard the sound of footsteps coming up

"Of course it is Beartrap, The figure said "And what's more is the set up is almost done see?" he said pointing at the santa clauses fixing up the stage.

"The speakers are set up boss." spike said giving the thumb up

"Excellent!, now then let's begin." Giovanni said clearing his throat before approaching the microphone.

From below people were minding their own business when a familiar jingle ringed through the air.

🎶I don't want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need I don't care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree.🎶

People were confused from where the singing was coming from when suddenly they saw none other then Giovanni Potage wearing a santa dress singing his heart.

🎶I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is you-u-u.🎶

with that the instrumentals started as all the boys began to sing in harmony with their fearless leader.

🎶I don't want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need And I don't care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree🎶

GIovanni shimmy and shaked with fred, their different tonal ranges working perfectly together.

🎶I don't need to hang my stocking There upon the fireplace Santa Claus won't make me happy With a toy on Christmas Day🎶

Ben was holding the camera making sure he was getting everything.

🎶I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is you You, baby🎶

🎶Oh, I won't ask for much this Christmas I won't even wish for snow And I'm just gonna keep on waiting Underneath the mistletoe🎶

Giovanni spins next to crusher before holding a mistletoe and kissing crusher on the cheek, making the strong jawed minion blush.

🎶I won't make a list and send it To the North Pole for Saint Nick I won't even stay awake to Hear those magic reindeer click🎶

Flamethrower and Darkstar dressed as reindeer danced next to Giovanni as the crowd below grew in numbers.

🎶Cause I just want you here tonight Holding on to me so tight What more can I do? Baby, all I want for Christmas is you You, baby 🎶

people were holding their phones up at the scene in awe and confusion; unfortunately Percival king was going home when she was the crowd.

"What's going on?" she ask as someone pointed at the scene.

🎶Oh, all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere And the sound of children's laughter fills the air🎶

"I request back up, I repeat back." Percy said in her walkie-takie.

🎶And everyone is singing I hear those sleigh bells ringing Santa, won't you bring me the one I really need? Won't you please bring my baby to me?🎶

"Come on Beartrap! You can do it... Just like we practiced..." Giovanni said to molly giving her a microphone. Molly just nodded as she take a deep breath singing the last verses with him by her side.

🎶Oh, I don't want a lot for Christmas This is all I'm asking for I just wanna see my baby Standing right outside my door Oh, I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true🎶

🎶baby, all I want for Christmas is youuuuuuuu🎶

She hung to the last note and sang it as everyone cheered for the boys. the police arrived as Giovanni, molly, and the boys hurried off home in the midst of the applause.

on Christmas day they were trending on the web.

[pxppinmolly-archived]

me: objectively Molly isn’t a saint or a good person and is capable of a lot of bad and evil and has even been shown in some verses to be rather easily manipulated and corrupted into being okay and doing really awful things especially toward people she loves and even in life she did get people killed semi liberally and hurt and maimed people a lot and on top of that she WAS a part and IS a part of a crime family that preys on weak people to gain money and power and Molly was more than okay with that and actively helped these people and saw and still sees nothing really wrong with it. Molly is a good hearted person and capable of being good and kind, but she still does have a lot of negative qualities and can be capable of being a cold hearted monster underneath it all especially depending on her verse or people she’s with

a majority of everyone: cool anywya Molly is an ANGEL and she DOESN’T DESERVE TO BE HERE-

[anari3l]

stirrings

WORDS: 2249 /// PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Reader (Harlow as surname) /// Part of ongoing fic, Humors of Whiskey /// also posted on AO3

Humors of Whiskey [1] [2] [3] /// Wildflowers [1] [2]  

“Barnaby.” 

The dappled grey Norfolk Roadster whickered, bobbing his head up and down as you said the name, a large smile on your face. 

“Barnaby.” Arthur’s voice held a hint of amusement, almost a laugh, as he repeated the name. The stablehand smiled brightly, leading the horse towards the center of the stable.

“I like it,” you hummed, taking the reins from the stable hand and leading your brand new horse out to the sunny Valentine street. “Doesn’t he look like a Barnaby?”

“If y’say so,” Arthur hummed, cigarette between his lips. 

“Take care now!” the stablehand bidded as you left the building.

The Norfolk had put you back almost $200. Plus a brand new saddle, blanket, tack, and saddlebags.  You had lost the saddle, and all the gear as well when you left Eugene, nursing a dislocated shoulder on the back of Arthur’s horse, and since then, had been borrowing horses from the camp or riding with Arthur into town when needed. You missed the freedom of having your own horse, however. Since you had turned sixteen, you had always had your own horse to care for. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you started, petting your hand along Barnaby’s neck. 

“Quit thankin’ me. I ain’t done nothin’.”

You smiled, running your hand over Barnaby’s neck some more, fingers toying with his long mane. “You helped me, patched me up when I hurt my shoulder, took care of Eugene … brought me into town, so I could buy a horse. You’ve helped plenty.”

“Agh, that ain’t worth thankin’ me for,” he groaned, running a hand up into his hair as he removed his hat. 

You sighed, pulling yourself into your saddle, adjusting the skirt you wore as you settled, reins in hand. “When are you gonna realize you’re a good man, Arthur. I mean, even as kids you always kicked yourself.”

“Maybe one day.”

He looked away, down to his hands holding the reins as Calliope shifted beneath him, hoofing at the dirt. You could see the self deprecation oozing off his shoulders as he sat in the saddle.

“One day, I’ll make you realize it,” you groaned, kicking Barnaby into a trot. “I’ll meet ya back at camp.”

***

“Miss Harlow!”

You jumped, shifting to lean against your arm as you looked over your shoulder. You had been quietly reading a book against a tree, Jack sitting beside you making flower chains. Miss Grimshaw was striding forward, the stern look of your mother figure ever recognizable. She rarely used your name; you had grown used to her calling you dear or dearie, and the mere sound of it always had you at attention. 

“Yes, Miss Grimshaw?”

The stern gaze lessened, her features softening as she neared, looking down to you with a small smile. “Dutch wants to speak with you, dear,” she smiled, running a hand over Jack’s hair as he held a flower chain up to her.

“Thank you, Mister Marston,” she smiled, bending at the waist to accept the gift. 

“Miss Harlow’s got one too!” Jack smiled. “And I made one for momma!”

“Go on, then,” you smiled, urging the child in the direction of camp. “Your momma’s gonna love it.”

You rose to your feet, watching Jack run off to Abigail as Miss Grimshaw tutted. “Off with you, now,” she urged. 

You smiled, and headed for Dutch’s tent. Arthur, Bill, and Charles were sitting around outside, listening as Dutch spoke, cigar in hand. 

“Mornin’ boys,” you smiled, folding the book into your hands as you stepped up. 

“Ah, our little doe, Miss Harlow,” Dutch smiled. “The mastermind for this robbery!”

“You found this out?” Bill asked a bit incredulously. You had grown used to the men viewing you as nothing more than a wash maid over the years. Dutch knew better. You may have worn a skirt, but you were just as valuable as an enforcer and scout as Arthur and Charles. 

“Yes I did,” you hummed, jutting your chin up. “Ready to head out?”

“You would be correct, dear,” Dutch smiled. “Good luck. I trust you can handle these men.”

Charles and Arthur smirked as they stood, starting for their horses. You met Bill’s eyes, smiling as you stepped past, setting your book on the camp table. “Of course I can, Dutch!” you smiled back to the gang leader. “Keep up, Williamson!” 

Arthur helped you onto his horse, settling you behind him on the saddle. “So, how do you want to play this?” 

You glanced over to Charles and Bill. “The man who gave me the information said it’d be guarded pretty well,” you started. “I’ll play the damsel, get them to stop, and you three take out the guards.”

“How much is supposed to be on this coach?” Bill asked over his shoulder.

 “It’s payroll for some shipping company in Saint Denis,” you answered. “Driving through the Heartlands to Lemoyne. From the sounds of it: a lot. Should be able to catch it just over the state line.”

“When the shootin’ starts --” Arthur started.

“Run for cover. I know,” you interjected with a scoff. “This ain’t my first robbery, Arthur.”

You felt him chuckle, your hands placed on his sides to steady you in the saddle. “No, it ain’t.” 

The hill you stopped on overlooked a main road, the Lemoyne state sign off to your left. You dropped from Arthur’s horse, stepping up to the ridge as you looked up the road. “Alright, boys, they’re comin’ through,” you hummed, turning and smiling to the men. “Wish me luck!” 

***

“I got a girl in Berryville! Can’t be screwed cuz she’s too damn ill! I don’t go down there no more. There’s a blue horse laying outside her door!” 

You smiled brightly, leaning into Karen’s side as the two of you sat on the log in front of the fire, both of you leaning heavily against the other, a bottle of whiskey being passed between the two of you. Your voices were loud enough to be heard throughout camp, but somehow, even in the drunken haze the two of you had fallen into, the others hadn’t told you to shut the hell up. Yet.

You and the boys had returned that afternoon after robbing the payroll stage, pockets full and a smile gracing Bill Williamson’s face as he admitted you did a good job. 

It was Karen’s bright idea to drink and have fun. It had been a while, and you agreed it had to help lift the camp’s spirits somewhat, especially when Trelawney’s information about Sean being moved by bounty hunters had entered the camp gossip stream earlier that day. 

“No, no!” you laughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you screwed up the line, laughing raucously with Karen. “I got a girl in Berryville!”

“Can’t get it in cuz she won’t stay still!” Karen finished before taking another deep swig of whiskey.

Arthur sighed, leaning on his elbows at the wooden table. The poker game had dissolved almost an hour ago, cards and chips stowed away. Dutch’s tent had been closed, but the lamp was still lit, and those still awake lazed around the fires, watching the stars. “Shut them up, please,” John sighed as he landed in the seat beside Arthur. 

“Give it a try,” Arthur smirked, turning from watching your duet with Karen. “You and I both know that bottle will be thrown at our heads.”

“It’s one in the mornin’,” John groaned, leaning against the table. 

Arthur groaned, pushing from the table with an agreeing nod. “Alright, alright,” he waved Marston off as he stood. 

You were practically laying against Karen’s shoulder, watching the dying fire as you sang mismatched verses of O, Mollie. 

“They say I drink whiskey, my money’s my own! And them that don’t like me can leave me alone … ” You laughed, hiccupping into your hand as Karen hummed along.

“Alright, ladies,” Arthur’s voice startled you as he stepped up, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in your hand. “It’s gettin’ real late.”

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry,” you carried on, a large smile on your face, hand tightening on the bottle of whiskey as he tried to take it away. “I’ll drink when I’m dry! And when I get thirsty ... “ you trailed off, watching as Arthur successfully pried the bottle from your hand and dropped it to the ground. “I’ll … I … forgot the words ...”

Arthur laughed, ducking his head with a small shake of disbelief as he watched you look around your seat for something your drunken brain made up. Karen hiccupped beside you, pushing to her feet. “Goodnight, Mister Morgan!” she smiled, voice much louder than normal, as she leaned into his side and bopped her finger to his nose. “Goodnight!” 

Arthur caught her around the waist as she stepped by, guiding her until she started to walk towards her tent. “Alright, come on,” he started, reaching down for your arm. 

You stumbled as you got to your feet, leaning against his chest with a hand laid over his suspender strap. “I think … I’m drunk,” you laughed, pushing off of Arthur as you tried to step away. 

Arthur’s arm wrapped around you. “Again,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t ever gon’ be surprised when the two of ya are together. Drinkin’ the camp dry.”

You laughed, turning to face him as he neared, wrapping his arm around your middle. “You should join us sometime, Arthur!” you started, jabbing your index finger into his chest to punctuate your words. “Have some fun! Stop fretting over robberies … and Dutch’s words … and us girls.”

“I don’t fret,” Arthur argued. “But you are sloshed, sweetheart. Time for bed.”

You pouted, stumbling as you stepped away from Arthur. “Rrriiiigggghhhttt,” you droned, waving a hand in the air as you walked. “Frettin’ over me … runnin’ after Mary … helpin’ raise Jack … always frettin’.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he watched you. Stumbling forward, hand landing against the bark of the large oak tree, you bent over at the waist, vomiting up your stomach contents into the dirt. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he sighed, stepping up and pulling your hair out of the way. “Ya need t’ sleep. And eat. Come on.”

“See,” you started, wiping your chin on your sleeve. “You’re frettin’ again.”

“Sure.”

He guided you to your tent, making you sit down on the edge of your cot before standing and producing a chunk of bread from his satchel, wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. “Eat.” He didn’t order, but even in your drunken haze, you could hear the sternness in his tone; the caring nature that was Arthur Morgan. “You’re gonna have a hell of a headache in the mornin’.”

You picked at the bread, chewing on it slowly as you sat on your cot, head already pounding. “I … heard ya saw her … Mary … in town.”

Arthur nodded, standing at the opening of your tent. “Yeah, I did,” he answered. “And her brother, Jamie.”

“She was always nice,” you hummed, tossing the half eaten chunk of bread onto the small wooden crate acting as a table and reaching for your small pillow. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Get some sleep,” he added after a moment, pulling the blanket over your shoulder as you slumped onto your pillow, snores almost immediately filling the silence of the tent. 

***

“Son of a bitch,” you groaned, leaning bodily against the support pole of your tent. 

Arthur glanced up from his spot by the cookfire, bending at his waist to pour himself a cup of coffee. You stood against your tent, hand placed over your eyes as the morning sunlight hit you. Your hair and clothing was disheveled from a drunken sleep, and the pounding in your head was worse than Uncle’s snoring. 

“Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” Arthur smiled, stepping up and holding out his coffee to you. 

“Shut up, Arthur,” you groaned, taking the cup. 

“Strauss should have some tonic for that headache o’ yours. Or I could go see if Pearson’s got any fresh offal for ya …”

At your visible retch, Arthur chuckled and trailed off. You covered your mouth, wiping the coffee from your lip with the back of your hand before looking up to glare at the man in front of you. 

“You’re mean.”

He shrugged, taking the now empty cup from you. “Could say I’m frettin’ over ya ‘cause you drank Uncle under the table last night.”

You groaned, shoving the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Shut up, Arthur.”

He chuckled heartily, relaxing back as he hooked his thumbs into his belt. “I’m sure it’ll happen again,” he smirked, nodding to the main campfire where Karen sat with Javier and John. “We’re headin’ out to find Sean.”

You managed to chuckle, squinting up at him in the morning sun. “He’ll have the entire camp drunk if you bring him back.”

“Almost a guarantee,” Arthur smirked. 

You stepped past him, patting a hand against his shoulder. “You’re frettin’ over us all again,” you mumbled as you stepped past him. 

“Only you,” he countered. “Better eat something for that hangover.”

“I know,” you groaned. “I’ve been drunk before.”

“It ain’t a camp secret, sweetheart.”

You looked up to him, a small smile lighting your face. “You’re mean,” you repeated, with a small chuckle. “But you’re … right. I guess. Go get Sean back, Mister Morgan. Fret over someone else for a bit.”

“Will do,” he smiled. 

[lapuslazulli]

Chapters: 15/28 Fandom: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Mike Stamford, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, The Yard (Sherlock Holmes), Sherlock Holmes' Family Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sickfic, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Omega Verse, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Humor, Challenge Response, Sherlock is a Brat, Johnlock Roulette, John is a Saint, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Parenthood, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting Summary:

Daily stories featuring Sherlock, John, and sometimes their friends and family revolved around the prompt of the day.

[addalittlemolly]

((So considering the type of work her family was in, was Molly ever taught how to defend herself in case rival mob families tried to take her as a hostage?))

//yes, though verse dependent does depend on how much she was taught, her verse of being a virtuous soul she was not originally allowed to learn so she went to her brother's to teach her and though she prefers simple things like a bat she can use a gun but tries to avoid violence if at all possible

She hasn't needed to fight while in Heaven but does keep a bat on hand if it is within the story line of her sneaking off down to hell to see her family, then she also keeps an angel steel dagger hidden on her

Her sinner verse she has more experience actually fighting and being more active in the family in life though still prefers to avoid hurting someone if she can she will defend those she cares about and herself

In Hell she's more willing to fight and defend herself and employees and has an angel steel bat for deterring other sinners and a gun as a last resort

[ao3feed-johnlock]

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/311DVbh

by Enterthetadpole, LaKoda0518

The world that John Watson has always known is changing rapidly around him. Omega rights protests are on the rise, the government is increasing its presence in his workplace, and a transformative encounter with an injured omega sets his feet on a dangerous path that could hold disastrous - and life-threatening - consequences for them both.

Words: 3170, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Categories: M/M

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Harry Watson

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Harry Watson & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Molly Hooper & John Watson, Harry Watson/Original Character, Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, mpreg discussion, Omega Verse, omega rights, Alpha John, Alpha John Watson, Omega Sherlock, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, DOES NOT occur between John and Sherlock, Doctor John Watson, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John Watson is a Saint, Alternate Universe, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

August 16, 2020 at 07:57PM

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

notsoinnocentlittleangel asked : What kind of ending (post-RDR2) do you envision for Sean, assuming...well, you know...didn't happen?

Random asks / @notsoinnocentlittleangel​​ -- always accepting

                    I have talked about it before, my idea of Sean of him in the epilogue, if he didn’t die in Rhodes. I even have a verse written up for him there, but I’m always down to talk about it!

                    In my main verse, I usually intend for it for Sean to be alive, that he didn’t die in chapter three. It just makes things easier, but I do have a still alive au tag. But I do mention his death, because even though I do stray from canon-- I can’t ignore it when writing Sean. I get why he died, but I really wish he lived longer and had more missions. The others’ deaths too, I’m still not over them.

But anyway ! Onto the question!

                    I feel like I have to mention Sean in chapter six, as I feel like it’s important for his post rdr2 au.

CHAPTER SIX

                    In chapter six, I’m not sure if Sean would find a partner at this point ( or be more serious with Karen, but I have a feeling maybe not? At least not in my au anyway ). I’m not sure how long the two would’ve lasted together, but that’s another story. But he would definitely be affected by the downfall of the gang. he would no doubt take Arthur’s side and stick by him until the end. I feel like Arthur would persuade Sean to get out of this life as fast as he can, try to get him to leave earlier. But he would go against it, wanting to be around Arthur. He saw him as a role model and he was going to fight for him and help him through his TB. He wasn’t going to just leave him behind, it wouldn’t feel right to him.

                    I feel like Sean would definitely have said something to Micah, maybe attack him. It wouldn’t make Sean look good, but he would have enough of his ways and Micah probably would pick on Sean a lot. He wouldn’t approach Dutch as much, but not withholding his opinions when Dutch would ask him and do the whole “have faith” speech and with losing loyalty. Even though Sean never liked molly, he wouldn’t feel good about her death. He wouldn’t yell at Grimshaw for it like Karen did, but if Arthur asked him, he would express his opinion: ❝ It’s a mess, Arthur, all of this. ❞ The downfall would weigh heavily on him. He would try o be optimistic, crack jokes, bring some light into the camp, but Sean would be quieter. Probably drink more. There just would be a different atmosphere around Sean, anyone could see that he was affected. I think he would stand up to Dutch when he left John behind and when he left Arthur to die. He could give less of a shit then.

                    I have to mention that with the bank & train robberies after chapter three, I imagine Sean was in those. Probably went to Garuma with them too.

IN THE EPILOUGE

                    After chapter six, finally answering the question, Sean would still be a thief for a while to get on his feet. If he hasn’t met someone yet, this would be the time Sean would settle down. Find someone a few years or maybe even a year after. He would still keep in contact with everyone else. He wouldn’t be able to write them letters, but he probably comes across them like John did. Meet at a train station, in Saint Denis, at a bar, etc. But during those few years after 1899, Sean would be completely off the map. There wouldn’t be too much exposure, even though he is thieving throughout this period. Mary-Beth and the others probably wouldn’t know where he went and what he was doing.

                    After meeting the person he wants to settle down with, Sean would likely want to start a family, settle down for once. Maybe his child wasn’t planned, and through that -- Sean got more mature. I’d imagine throughout the later chapters of the game, he became more like Arthur and matured more. Of course, he is still his energetic, chaotic good, self, but he’s more careful and giving. Having a child would just be the last push. He would find that it would be better to live a lawful life. Being with the gang, he saw that Pinkertons weren’t something to screw with. He had to be more careful. He was able to secure himself a job, some hard labor job or maybe even get a job as a cashier at a general store. Just something that wasn’t committing crimes. He couldn’t avoid the life of crime for long though, he still had tendencies. When money got tight, Sean had to steal.

                    This goes into the epilogue stage, Sena is still working at a job, has a family. He tries not to get his children into a life of crime. He wants his children to live a different childhood than him. He would bring them to school, make sure they attend. He just wants a better life for them, be given opportunities Sean never got. He would be a supportive dad for sure.

                    In the epilogue, Sean would team up with Sadie and John. I don’t think he would do the bounties that they did, he’s still anxious around bounty hunters and is still affected by his time with them in Blackwater. He would join John with getting back Uncle from the skinners, that’s where his line crosses. But he would help John with his house, tracking down Micah and his gang. He would join in taking down Micah, saying how he wants to avenge Arthur. He gets would get drunk at John’s wedding though.

                    I can also see a verse where Sean doesn’t have a family of his own, but I always kind of thought Sean would. It’s always what I imagined in my mind. He would tell his children about Arthur, stories of his dad, the gang. He would name ( be used as a middle name ) his son Arthur, a nod to his role model. Sean would visit Arthur’s gang yearly. In the few years after his death, Sean would visit every camp location. He would still travel to them years later. He would cry on the day Arthur died, on Arthur’s birthday, even when John died.

IN 1911 ( RDR1 ) & BEYOND

                   In a happier verse, Sean ends up having a pretty moderate income. he wouldn’t be rich or anything, but he’d have a steady flow. His children would have good jobs and have an encouraging father who does anything he can to make their childhoods a good one. In 1911, his children would likely be around eight-years-old or younger. I’d imagine they were born in the early 1900′s. His daughter would grow up to be a teacher and be an advocate for women’s voting rights. His son would grow up to be a banker or doctor. Sean would have a healthy relationship with his partner and have a happy family. They would be out of the city and live in the countryside, with a pretty good-sized house, similar to John’s.

                   In a sadder alternative: They still don’t have a good income. Even though Sean is the only one working, his partner being a stay at home parent, in both verses, he’s pay wouldn’t be good. He would have to go back to the field he’s skilled at since childhood -- robbing. He’s target whatever stagecoach he can find, even rob from people riding out on their hoses. Steal horses from farms and sell them, fence items. From living this lifestyle, Sean would be shot and killed by an angry man. He hunted him down, finding out who exactly was the person stealing his horses, and Sean would be gunned down. His family would have a worse financial situation, be forced to move back into the city. His children likely wouldn’t get the jobs they would have in the “happy ending” verse.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Waxahatchee Album Review: Tigers Blood

(ANTI-); Album art credit: Molly Matalon

BY JORDAN MAINZER

On Tigers Blood, Waxahatchee's long-awaited follow-up to 2020's career-best Saint Cloud, Katie Crutchfield trusts her gut and doubles down on the styles of music she grew up listening to. Written while on tour in 2022, during which Waxahatchee opened for many of her musical heroes like Lucinda Williams, Sheryl Crow, and Jason Isbell, Tigers Blood is an album at ease with general unease. Saint Cloud was the first album Crutchfield wrote newly sober and in love with her current partner Kevin Morby, and it glowed. Tigers Blood, then, sees her fully entering a new phase, channeling life's trials and tribulations into poetry, finding new ways to appreciate old things.

Perhaps it's hindsight, but "Right Back to It", the lead single from Tigers Blood, exemplifies what the album does best. Crutchfield considers it the first love song she's ever written, and it's one of her strongest, both in terms of vocal delivery and lyricism. She's able to subvert traditional rhyme schemes by unexpectedly bending syllables, packing in just as many words as emotional punches when setting the scene. "Photograph of us / in a spotlight / on a hot night / I was drifting in and out / Reticent on the off chant / I'm blunter than a bullseye / Begging for peace of mind," she sings over Phil Cook's circular banjo and Spencer Tweedy's gentle drums. The chorus, then, is simply classic, a paean to rediscovering intimacy in a relationship. "I've been yours for so long / We come right back to it," Crutchfield sings in harmony with guitarist MJ Lenderman, her coo in perfect contrast with his nasal twang. "But you just settle in / Like a song with no end," they continue. That many of the songs on Tigers Blood employ a certain breeze, free of time and place, is a feature, not a bug.

More than ever, Waxahatchee's songs are easy to sing along to; despite complex turns of phrase, Crutchfield keeps her words metaphorical enough to stand out, abstract enough to be relatable, direct enough to be iconic. The qualities, in conjunction with her and her backing band's performance, lead to some breathtaking moments. "You drive like you're wanted in four states / In a busted truck in Opelika," she sings over Tweedy's drum roll on the rolling "3 Sisters", right before the song's forbearing beat drops. On "Bored", she belts the song's chorus--"I can get along / My spine’s a rotted two by four / Barely hanging on / My benevolence just hits the floor / I get bored"--alongside Lenderman's sharp riffs, Tweedy's pummeling drums, and Nick Bockrath's wincing pedal steel. In context of the song's inspiration--a friendship that ended badly--Crutchfield's admissions hit harder. "Lone Star Lake", meanwhile, has no chorus: It just choogles along between verses as Crutchfield reflects on her faults with wry humor: "Shirk every rule of thumb / I got more where that came from."

Crutchfield's voice, too, has never been more expressive. For every song like "Right Back To It" or "Crimes of the Heart", where her flow is deft enough to rival your favorite rapper's, there's a song like "Crowbar", where she stretches out "I" into so many syllables you can feel the shaking vulnerability. "365", a song about codependency and addiction, places her falsetto high in the mix, emphasizing her susceptibility: "I catch your poison arrow / I catch your same disease / Bow like a weeping willow / Buckling at the knees." Fittingly, Tigers Blood ends with everybody in the recording studio--even assistant engineer Natalia Chernitsky--singing the chorus, suggestive of the universality of Crutchfield's prose. Ultimately, she knows that there's strength in numbers. When she tries to take shortcuts alone, the chickens come home to roost. "Throw a brick through the window, leave your mess at my door," she sings on "Tigers Blood", "Lord knows sooner or later it'd wash up to shore." Tigers Blood lays it all bare.

[class-wom]

The first teaser for DreamWorks Animation‘s new series Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts introduced us to a gorgeous and terrifying world controlled by brilliant monsters. These creatures came to dominate the surface following the “Great Mutant Outbreak.” That event forced most humans underground. The series will show us both worlds though. It follows a young girl who suddenly find herself thrust above in the strange dominated by amazing beasts. But as the show’s first official trailer reveals, there’s something far more important in season one than just getting Kipo home safely. Her journey endangers the very people she is trying to get back to. 

From the official synopsis:

“After spending her entire life living in an underground burrow, a young girl named Kipo is thrust into an adventure on the surface of a fantastical post-apocalyptic Earth. She joins a ragtag group of survivors as they embark on a journey through a vibrant wonderland where everything trying to kill them is downright adorable.“

This musical trailer offers far more insight into the show’s main storyline. Kipo, voiced by Karen Fukuhara (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power), has to get home. But she could be the way for an ill-meaning beast to unearth more humans. Most have survived hidden underground since animals came to rule above. Kipo’s best hope to get back and keep everyone safe are her new friends. “She joins a ragtag group of survivors as they embark on a journey through a vibrant wonderland where everything trying to kill them is downright adorable.”

The show’s main cast also includes Sydney Mikayla (General Hospital) as Wolf, “a weapon-wielding survivor who knows the ins and outs of the surface.” Coy Stewart (The Blacklist) voices “the happy-go-lucky” Benson. Deon Cole (black-ish) plays a talking insect named Dave “who has the jarring ability to suddenly age a full life cycle without warning. And Dee Bradley Baker (Star Wars: The Clone Wars) plays Mandu, an “adorable mutant pig.” (WHO WE AGREE MUST BE PETTED.)

The show also has a stellar lineup of big names in recurring roles. Sterling K. Brown (Frozen 2, This is Us) stars as Kipo’s father Lio Oak. Dan Stevens (Legion) plays the power-hungry Scarlemagne. (Going to be tough for us to hate any character Stevens plays, but we’ll try.) Lea DeLaria (Orange is the New Black) voices a Timbercat named Molly Yarnchopper. Joan Jett (yes, JOAN JETT!) is the show’s “rocker snake” Camille. And John Hodgman (The Daily Show) and GZA (Wu Tang Clan) co-star as Billions and Billions. They are a duo of “cosmically-curious wolves.”

The show also has what Netflix calls a “unique animation style.” It’s certainly a beautiful one. All we’ve seen are trailers and it already feels immersive. We also love the way it can feel tender, terrifying, adventurous, and funny, all at once.

Kipo also features “an equally fresh sound from Kier Lehman (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) and composer Daniel Rojas (Downsizing).” It will also include tracks from Distant Cousins, Lushlife, Beth Yen, and Dope Saint Jude, as well as original performances from Fukuhara, Brown, Stevens, and GZA.

Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts comes from Radford Sechrist (How to Train Your Dragon 2). He created the series and serves as an executive producer. It was developed by fellow executive producer Bill Wolkoff (The Man Who Fell To Earth).

All episodes come to surface on Netflix on January 14. But don’t worry, us humans will be safe.

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

Switching Lanes With St. Vincent

By Molly Young

January 22, 2019

Jacket (men’s), $4,900, pants (men’s), $2,300, by Dior / Men shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Rings (throughout) by Cartier

On a cold recent night in Brooklyn, St. Vincent appeared onstage in a Saint Laurent smoking jacket to much clapping and hooting, gave the crowd a deadpan look, and said, “Without being reductive, I'd like to say that we haven't actually done anything yet.” Pause. “So let's do something.”

She launched into a cover of Lou Reed's “Perfect Day”: an arty torch-song version that made you really wonder whom she was thinking about when she sang it. This was the elusive chanteuse version of St. Vincent, at least 80 percent leg, with slicked-back hair and pale, pale skin. She belted, sipped from a tumbler of tequila (“Oh, Christ on a cracker, that's strong”), executed little feints and pounces, flung the mic cord away from herself like a filthy sock, and spat on the stage a bunch of times. Nine parts Judy Garland, one part GG Allin.

If the Garland-Allin combination suggests that St. Vincent is an acquired taste, she's one that has been acquired by a wide range of fans. The crowd in Brooklyn included young women with Haircuts in pastel fur and guys with beards of widely varying intentionality. There was a woman of at least 90 years and a Hasidic guy in a tall hat, which was too bad for whoever sat behind him. There were models, full nuclear families, and even a solitary frat bro. St. Vincent brings people together.

If you chart the career of Annie Clark, which is St. Vincent's civilian name, you will see what start-up founders and venture capitalists call “hockey-stick growth.” That is, a line that moves steadily in a northeast direction until it hits an “inflection point” and shoots steeply upward. It's called hockey-stick growth because…it looks like a hockey stick.

Dress, by Balmain

The toe of the stick starts with Marry Me, Clark's debut solo album, which came out a decade ago and established a few things that would become essential St. Vincent traits: her ability to play a zillion instruments (she's credited on the album with everything from dulcimer to vibraphone), her highbrow streak (Shakespeare citations), her goofy streak (“Marry me!” is an Arrested Development bit), and her oceanic library of musical references (Kate Bush, Steve Reich, uh…D'Angelo!). The blade of the stick is her next four albums, one of them a collaboration with David Byrne, all of them confirming her presence as an enigma of indie pop and a guitar genius. The stick of the stick took a non-musical detour in 2016, when Clark was photographed canoodling with (now ex-) girlfriend Cara Delevingne at Taylor Swift's mansion, followed a few months later by pictures of Clark holding hands with Kristen Stewart. That brought her to the realm of mainstream paparazzi-pictures-in-the-Daily-Mail celebrity. Finally, the top of the stick is Masseduction, the 2017 album she co-produced with Jack Antonoff, which revealed St. Vincent to be not only experimental and beguiling but capable of turning out incorrigible bangers.

Masseduction made the case that Clark could be as much a pop star as someone like Sia or Nicki Minaj—a performer whose idiosyncrasies didn't have to be tamped down for mainstream success but could actually be amplified. The artist Bruce Nauman once said he made work that was like “going up the stairs in the dark and either having an extra stair that you didn't expect or not having one that you thought was going to be there.” The idea applies to Masseduction: Into the familiar form of a pop song Clark introduces surprising missteps, unexpected additions and subtractions. The album reached No. 10 on the Billboard 200. The David Bowie comparisons got louder.

This past fall, she released MassEducation (not quite the same title; note the addition of the letter a), which turned a dozen of the tracks into stripped-down piano songs. Although technically off duty after being on tour for nearly all of 2018, Clark has been performing the reduced songs here and there in small venues with her collaborator, the composer and pianist Thomas Bartlett. Whereas the Masseduction tour involved a lot of latex, neon, choreographed sex-robot dance moves, and LED screens, these recent shows have been comparatively austere. When she performed in Brooklyn, the stage was empty, aside from a piano and a side table. There were blue lights, a little piped-in fog for atmosphere, and that was it. It looked like an early-'90s magazine ad for premium liquor: art-directed, yes, but not to the degree that it Pinterested itself.

Coat, (men’s) $8,475, by Versace / Shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Tights, by Wolford

The performance was similarly informal. Midway through one song, Clark forgot the lyrics and halted. “It takes a different energy to be performing [than] to sit in your sweatpants watching Babylon Berlin,” she said. “Wherever I am, I completely forget the past, and I'm like. ‘This is now.’ And sometimes this means forgetting song lyrics. So, if you will…tell me what the second fucking verse is.”

Clark has only a decade in the public eye behind her, but she's accomplished a good amount of shape-shifting. An openness to the full range of human expression, in fact, is kind of a requirement for being a St. Vincent fan. This is a person who has appeared in the front row at Chanel and also a person who played a gig dressed as a toilet, a person profiled in Vogue and on the cover of Guitar World.

The day before her Brooklyn show, I sat with Clark to find out what it's like to be utterly unstructured, time-wise, after a long stretch of knowing a year in advance that she had to be in, like, Denmark on July 4 and couldn't make plans with friends.

“I've been off tour now for three weeks,” she said. “When I say ‘off,’ I mean I didn't have to travel.”

This doesn't mean she hasn't traveled—she went to L.A. to get in the studio with Sleater-Kinney and also hopped down to Texas, where she grew up—just that she hasn't been contractually obligated to travel. What else did she do on her mini-vacation?

“I had the best weekend last weekend. I woke up and did hot Pilates, and then I got a bunch of new modular synths, and I set 'em up, and I spent ten hours with modular synths. Plugging things in. What happens when I do this? I'm unburdened by a full understanding of what's going on, so I'm very willing to experiment.”

Coat, by Boss

Jacket, and coat, by Boss / Necklace, by Cartier

Like a child?

“Exactly. Did you ever get those electronics kits as a kid for like 20 bucks from RadioShack? Where you connect this wire to that one and a light bulb turns on? It's very much like that.”

There's an element of chaos, she said, that makes synth noodling a neat way to stumble on melodies that she might not have consciously assembled. She played with the synths by herself all day. “I don't stop, necessarily,” she said, reflecting on what the idea of “vacation” means to someone for whom “job” and “things I love to do” happen to overlap more or less exactly. “I just get to do other things that are really fun. I'm in control of my time.” She had plans to see a show at the New Museum, read books, play music and see movies alone, always sitting on the aisle so she could make a quick escape if necessary. But she will probably keep working. St. Vincent doesn't have hobbies.

When it manifests in a person, this synergy between life and work is an almost physically perceptible quality, like having brown eyes or one leg or being beautiful. Like beauty, it's a result of luck, and a quality that can invoke total despair in people who aren't themselves allotted it. This isn't to say that Clark's career is a stroke of unearned fortune but that her skills and character and era and influences have collided into a perfect storm of realized talent. And to have talent and realize that talent and then be beloved by thousands for exactly the thing that is most special about you: Is there anything a person could possibly want more? Is this why Annie Clark glows? Or is it because she's super pale? Or was it because there was a sound coming through the window where we sat that sounded thrillingly familiar?

“Is Amy Sedaris running by?” Clark asked, her spine straightening. A man with a boom mic was visible on the sidewalk outside. Another guy in a baseball cap issued instructions to someone beyond the window. Someone said “Action!” and a figure in vampire makeup and a clown wig streaked across the sidewalk. Someone said “Cut!” and Clark zipped over for a look. It was, in fact, Amy Sedaris, her clown wig bobbing in the 44-degree breeze. The mic operator was gagging with laughter. It seemed like a good omen, this sighting, like the New York City version of Groundhog Day: If an Amy Sedaris streaks across your sight line in vampire makeup, spring will arrive early.

Blazer (men’s) $1,125, by Paul Smith

Another thing Clark does when off tour is absorb all the input that she misses when she's locked into performance mode. On a Monday afternoon, she met artist Lisa Yuskavage at an exhibition of her paintings at the David Zwirner gallery in Chelsea. Yuskavage was part of a mini-boom of figurative painting in the '90s, turning out portraits of Penthouse centerfolds and giant-jugged babes with Rembrandt-esque skill. It made sense that Clark wanted to meet her: Both women make art about the inner lives of female figures, both are sorcerers of technique, both are theatrical but introspective, both have incendiary style. The gallery was a white cube, skylit, with paintings around the perimeter. Yuskavage and Clark wandered through at a pace exclusive to walking tours of cultural spaces, which is to say a few steps every 10 to 15 seconds with pauses between for the proper amount of motionless appreciation.

The paintings were small, all about the size of a human head, and featured a lot of nipples, tufted pudenda, tan lines, majestic asses, and protruding tongues. “I like the idea of possessing something by painting it,” Yuskavage said. “That's the way I understand the world. Like a dog licking something.”

Clark looked at the works with the expression people make when they're meditating. She was wearing elfin boots, black pants, and a shirt with a print that I can only describe as “funky”—“funky” being an adjective that looks good on very few people, St. Vincent being one of them—and sipped from a cup of espresso furnished by a gallery minion. After she finished the drink, there was a moment when she looked blankly at the saucer, unsure what to do with it, and then stuck it in the breast pocket of her funky shirt for the rest of the tour.

A painting called Sweetpuss featured a bubble-butted blonde in beaded panties with nipples so upwardly erect they actually resembled little boners. Yuskavage based the underwear on a pair of real underwear that she'd constructed herself from colored balls and string. “I've got the beaded panties if you ever need 'em,” she said to Clark. “They might fit you. They're tiny.”

Earrings, by Erickson Beamon

“I'm picturing you going to the Garment District,” Clark said.

“There was a lot of going to the Garment District.”

As they completed their lap around the white cube, Clark interjected with questions—what year was this? were you considering getting into film? how long did these sittings take? what does “mise-en-scène” mean?—but mainly listened. And she is a good listener: an inquisitive head tilter, an encouraging nodder, a non-fidgeter, a maker of eye contact. She found analogues between painting and music. When Yuskavage mourned the death of lead white paint (due to its poisonous qualities, although, as the artist pointed out, “It's not that big a deal to not get lead poisoning; just don't eat the paint”), Clark compared it to recording's transition from tape to digital.

“Back in the day, if you wanted to hear something really reverberant”—she clapped; it reverberated—“you'd have to be in a room like this and record it, or make a reverb chamber,” Clark said. “Now we have digital plug-ins where you can say, ‘Oh, I want the acoustic resonance of the Sistine Chapel.’ Great. Somebody's gone and sampled that and created an algorithm that sounds like you're in the Sistine Chapel.”

Lately, she said, she's been way more into devices that betray their imperfections. That are slightly out of tune, or capable of messing up, or less forgiving of human intervention. “Air moving through a room,” Clark said. “That's what's interesting to me.”

They kept pacing. The paintings on the wall evolved. Conversation turned to what happens when you grow as an artist and people respond by flipping out.

“I always find it interesting when someone wants you to go back to ‘when you were good,’ ” Yuskavage said. “This is why we liked you.”

“I can't think of anybody where I go, ‘What's great about that artist is their consistency, ” Clark said. “Anything that stays the same for too long dies. It fails to capture people's imagination.”

Coat (mens), $1,150, by Acne Studios

They were identifying a problem with fans, of course, not with themselves. It was an implicit identification, because performers aren't permitted to critique their audiences, and it was definitely the artistic equivalent of a First World problem—an issue that arises only when you're so resplendent with talent that you not only nail something enough to attract adoration but nail it hard enough to get personally bored and move on—but it was still valid. They were talking about the kind of fan who clings to a specific tree when he or she could be roaming through a whole forest. In St. Vincent's case, a forest of prog-rock thickets and jazzy roots and orchestral brambles and mournful-ballad underlayers, all of it sprouting and molting under a prodigious pop canopy. They were talking about the strange phenomenon of people getting mad at you for surprising them. Even if the surprise is great.

Molly Young is a writer living in New York City. She wrote about Donatella Versace in the April 2018 issue of GQ.

A version of this story originally appeared in the February 2019 issue with the title "Switching Lanes With St. Vincent."

[cowboy-canoodler]

A High Note of Love: Part 6

(I have no idea how much longer I’ll keep this up lmao but please keep reading ;A;)

Masterlist: http://cowboy-canoodler.tumblr.com/post/183094165570/a-high-note-of-love-master-list

The light from the sun was close to fully set, a wild orange haze lighting everything in the camp with a warm glow. The horses were calm and collected, munching on their hay, soft jangling from reins and stirrups with every movement. Salt hung in the air from the nearby lake, mixed with the smell of burning wood in the fire. The gang were drinking and conversing with eachother, and you were walking over to introduce yourself in the only way you knew how, by singing.

“There she is!” Sean shouted as you approached behind Arthur and Javier, “everyone this is who I was talking about, the person who got Arthur Morgan to smile and hum around camp!” Sean stood up and directed his hands towards you a teasing grin on his face, tongue clenched between his teeth.

“Keep sayin’ shit like that and that smile’ll be the last thing on your face when i shoot ya” Arthur replied earning a few chuckles from the other members.

“Hello everyone” You said timidly waving your hand slightly towards them.

“This is (Y/N) (Y/LN), (Y/N) this here is Dutch, Molly, Karen, Abigail, John, and their son Jack. You already know Sean, Hosea, Javier, and myself o’ course” Arthur moved his hand accordingly to the people he introduced you to. You gave them each a smile, “Dutch here is the leader of our little family” Dutch gave you a smile as he nodded his head towards you, taking a puff from his cigar.

“A pleasure Miss (Y/LN), welcome to my family” The way Dutch had said it, it felt like a threat, as if to say, ‘this is mine and don’t do anything to it lest you want to end up in the river’ but you were anything but scared, you were humbled in fact that you could be here to enjoy this evening with them.

Dutch and Molly were close, she sat on his lap with his arm around her waist. Karen and Sean were giving eachother glances, giggles exchanging between them as they teased with fingers and bottles. John and Abigail however were sat apart, their son in the middle, almost keeping them together, no contact, no glances, both staring up at you with nary an emotion in their eyes, Jack however was adorable, he gave you wide smile as you were introduced. Child like wonder is contagious and gave you some confidence. Hosea was sat on the floor looking into the fire, Arthur and Javier sat down next to him, you sat down on a box between Arthur and Dutch.

“You’re family is amazing Mister Van Der Linde, each of them something unto their own I can tell that. Not at all like the wanted posters depict you, according to them you’re all bloodthirsty killers and robbers” You and the gang started laughing

“That’s only on Tuesdays Miss (Y/LN), call me Dutch I insist” Another laugh and you suddenly felt right at home, the mild evening air and the fire mixed to make a warm atmosphere between you and the gang members, there wasn’t an awkward pause, no hanging air making it uncomfortable, this was bliss. 

“(Y/N) here’s a singer in Saint Denis, she thought she could come over, meet the family and sing a little for us all” Arthur broke the silence, looking up at you, instantly the thought came back and a blush rose to your cheeks.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” Dutch exclaimed, the other members murmuring and nodding in agreement, save John who was seldom bothered.

“I would love to!” After receiving this praise you suddenly felt a wave of confidence, a smile wide on your face teeth baring and all. “Mister Escuella?”

“si?” Javier looked up at you

“Do you know Home on The Range?” You stood up and adjusted your posture, loosening your clothing to allow for better breathing. A slight wave of excitement came over the people around the campfire, ready to listen along to you and maybe even join in.

“Aye, I do indeed” Javier began strumming the first bars to Home on The Range and you hummed along for timing to enter. You began to sing:

“Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day

Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day”

Everyone began joining in with the chorus and you had your own little choir, enjoying the music and the lyrics that hit close to home.

When she began singing was when the emotions hit Arthur. It had only been a few weeks since he’d met this wonderful woman but he was head over heels for her, a jealousy sprung up whenever another man was near; whenever she went out to sing and the men would claw at her for attention. She and him hadn’t shared a bed since their first night meeting, not that Arthur didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to screw this up.

Dutch and Molly stood up and began dancing to the slow song, Hosea tapped his foot along with Arthur, Jack stood and danced with Abigail, John left on the sidelines to watch them. Sean and Karen were still cooing at each other but singing along with (Y/N). Her voice was astounding still, her high notes hitting perfectly, small amount of vibration in her voice, and she looked as beautiful as ever. The gown was absolutely amazing, the deep green complimented her flawless skin, her hair half up and half down, gods above Arthur had never seen a woman so breathtaking in his life.

Arthur was staring so intently at her that the world fell away, nothing existed but him and her at that time. (Y/N)’s singing so soft and melodic, Arthur felt his chest rise and fall so heavily with his breaths, the longer he stared the faster his heart beat, but when she locked eyes with him it skipped and his breath hitched in his throat.

As you were singing you looked down at Arthur and he was looking directly at you, enraptured. You sang the last verse directly to him:

“Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day“

A round of applause started and you broke the eye contact with Arthur looking around at the rest of the gang, “Thank you” you curtsied and nodded in thanks.

“That was really something Miss (Y/N)” Sean said, with more murmurs of agreement. After this you sang a few more songs for them, and drank through the night getting to know everyone, and you drank a lot more than you should have, you had blacked out after dancing a jig with Sean, laughing and howling through the night.

It was a bright blue sky, birds chirping, the sounds of people around the camp, the horses soft neighs, conversations between friends. All of these things hurt you, a blaring headache and dry mouth attacked you as soon as you became conscious, your ears were ringing and bones aching.

“Oh my god” Your voice was hoarse and you sat up in an unfamiliar bed, your over shirt had been removed and thrown onto the floor in the wagon leaving you in a white undershirt and your green skirt. Your hands came up to your face and rubbed at your eyes to remove the sleep, “what happened last night?” You looked around your makeshift room, you were in a cot next to a wagon, there were pictures and newspaper clippings on the side of the cart.

“(Y/N) truly is a wonderful singer Arthur, you could do worse” You heard a faint conversation between Arthur and Dutch far off in camp.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I saw the way you looked at her when she was singing Arthur, now if that ain’t you fallin’ for her I don’t know what is” Dutch gave a hearty laugh. You rose out of the bed and pulled a curtain aside, the sun blinding you fully.

“Ah shit” you hissed raising your hand to give your eyes some shade. You walked forward a few paces and blinked to adjust your eyes to the morning sun, suddenly everything was clear, gang members strewn about doing chores or sleeping still, Sean being one of them. You saw Arthur and Dutch sat by a table cleaning their guns, you stumbled your way over to them.

“What happened last night?” You sat down next to Arthur and woefully placed your head on his shoulder.

“Well rise and shine Madame” Dutch was loud, and he knew it a teasing grin on his face.

“Please Dutch, not so loud. I’m only glad Sean’s still asleep” Arthur and Dutch chuckled slightly, you raised your head and looked at Arthur. “Did I do anything last night?” a weary sigh came from your lips.

Arthur gave a chuckle, “Let’s just say you really know how to party, I ain’t never seen anybody dance that much and still walk the next day, you drank and partied the camp down” You furrowed your brows trying to remember the night before.

“It’s true (Y/N), you danced and drank for hours, Sean blacked out before you did, and he’s Irish!” Dutch and Arthur laughed and you grimaced, laying your head back down on Arthur shoulder.

“My goodness me, it’s been years since I drank that hard, I do apologise if I caused you any strife Dutch”

“On the contrary! The gang is in fine spirits today thanks to your actions last night” Dutch gestured to the gang members around camp, and you had noticed a happier air about them. Kieran and Mary-Beth, whom you met last night at some point you were glad you at least remembered their names, were sat underneath a tree talking with a book in their hands, Javier was sharpening his knife while talking to John, a smile on both of their faces, Karen spoke to Hosea with nary a word of rebellion. The camp atmosphere was light and airy, a world of difference from your first impression the previous night.

“I’m glad to be of service, though my head doesn’t seem to agree. Is there any coffee brewing that I might partake in?” You raised your head once more as Arthur set his gun down; stood up, still chuckling away to himself, he walked over to the fire and grabbed you a hot mug of coffee.

“Arthur come back, my head needs your shoulder for emotional support” you whined as Arthur made his way back over to the table.

“I’m here for you” Arthur handed you the coffee and as you placed your head back onto his shoulder you felt his arm wrap around your waist, this was a display of affection you hadn’t expected in the least. The touch sent a shiver up your spine and suddenly your hangover was gone, replaced with your heart fluttering, and breath quickening.

“Dutch!” Hosea shouted from the other side of camp, “come over here a second” Dutch sighed and turned to face you both, “No rest for the Van Der Linde’s Miss, see you around camp” he tipped his hat and walked over to Hosea, taking his newly cleaned gun with him. You and Arthur were left alone, his arm was still around you, your hands on your coffee, there was a comfortable silence; you felt at home like this.

“You feeling any better?” Ten or so minutes had passed with you in his arms and Arthur broke the silence.

“Yes, thank you Arthur” You lifted your head up and faced him, “I really am sorry for anything I did last night, if I caused any offence at all. To be honest I was really very nervous when I first arrived, I wanted your family to like me. I’m scared I may have done something to tarnish that last night” A melancholy aura had surrounded you, your eyes were now fixed solidly on the table and Arthur looked back at you.

“I’m gonna tell ya’ the truth here (Y/N)” Arthur turned to face you with a serious expression and you gulped, “y’kissed a horse”

“Oh Arthur!” you giggled and playfully slapped his arm, “You had me going there, I thought you were going to say I kissed Sean or something!”

“Naw You kissed me when I put you to bed but other than that no one else was kissed, ‘cept a course for the horse” Your eyes widened.

“Oh I-I’m sorry Arthur” 

“Sorry? For what?” You felt uncomfortable, had Arthur disliked the kiss? Is that why he brought it up?

“For kissing you, while I was drunk, well I suppose I kissed you while I was sober, but that was weeks ago, and really we did a lot more than kiss” You had started rambling nervously.

“(Y/N).” Arthur said sternly, “It’s fine. In fact I- I enjoyed it, not because you were drunk of course but ‘cause it was you” Arthur started blushing, his eyes darting everywhere but yours, which were now looking directly at him.

“I’m sure I enjoyed it too, at the time” a silence fell over you both and you looked back down to your coffee, “May i rest my head against you again Arthur? You’re extremely comfortable” Arthur nodded silently, his hands back to cleaning his gun. You lay your head down on him again, and caught a waft of his smell, and it smelt like home.

Maybe you could be like this forever. Maybe he wouldn’t have to choose between you or the gang after all.