#the way the choir is often reaching out and speaking to you directly about what youre doing and who youre fighting. the way the sections

[tomb-mold]

speaking of the musical scoring in bloodborne, everyone recognizes ludwigs theme as one of, if not the best pieces of soulsborne music but the music that plays when you encounter the cleric beast at the very start of the game goes crazy. and when it comes back in laurence's fight its literally enough to bring me to tears

[delopsia]

Something Unholy | Rhett Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 3,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex in a church, mild size-kink, and a dash of Rhett having a corruption kink and getting off on the idea of cumming inside you.

"I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, dollface."

Oh, the things you would give to wrap both your hands around this motherfuckers thick neck and—

"—Can you please, just put the paper towels on the shelf?" Speaking in the firmest tone you can muster, cheeks flaming so hot you fear they may turn cherry red.

"And why does this have to involve me?" God, Rhett just keeps going; the choir girls are starting to notice, casting wayward glances from under false lashes as they whisper amongst each other behind open palms.

"Because you're tall enough to reach the shelf, and I'm not," pushing the paper towels toward him once more, forcing him to take them, "and if God wanted me to put them up there, he would have made me taller, or he would have given me a stepping stool."

For the first time all morning, Rhett's quiet, and for as much as he's fussed about this, you'd think this momentous task would take him longer than three seconds to complete. You're starting to see why Cece doesn't drag him along to Sunday services more often.

He continues to loom in the corner, leaning up against the wall like some sort of hot shot whilst he just watches. Wild blue eyes follow your every movement as you finish setting up the coffee booth like he's getting some sort of enjoyment out of watching you mull about. Doesn't offer help, just watches.

Asshole.

As soon as you start to walk away, ready to settle into the corner of an old, stained church pew, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk too. Like a shadow, following each and every step until all of a sudden, you're sitting between the end of the bench and Rhett Abbott.

"Do you have to sit so close to me?" Grumbling, you try to scoot further off, but there's not enough space for you to do so.

Rhett's jeaned thigh presses harder against your own, "yes, I do, actually."

"You're an ass," it comes out louder than you intend to, but if anyone overhears, they don't mention it. Not yet, at least.

"Wow, swearing in church now, are we?" Smug.

You're still contemplating strangling him right here and now; an attempted murder charge sounds a lot better than sitting in this hell for an hour and a half. The bastard is probably into it, knowing his reputation. The only thing that actually stops you from finding out is the sudden booming voice from the podium, commanding all eyes and ears on him, silence falling upon the room.

Usually, the preacher's go-to is to have everyone shake hands and welcome one another, but you're thankful that he skips right over the tradition in favor of jumping straight into his speech. A direct continuation of last week's sermon, according to the woman whispering behind you. You're not quite sure how, but you know Rhett would have given you more trouble if you got up to greet people.

As if on cue, a calloused hand settles on your exposed knee, just below the hem of your Sunday dress. Maybe it's because the air conditioner is running in the middle of December, but his hand feels so hot you fear it may melt right through your skin.

"Rhett," whispering as quietly as you can, "get your hands off me."

It only serves to make your situation worse because he leans over to whisper directly into your ear, "seems to me you're in need of someone to keep you warm."

Teeth nip at the lobe of your ear, tugging on it for a fleeting second. His hand slides off your knee, if only for a muscular arm to drape over your shoulders instead. Great, absolutely wonderful.

But God, he's warm, and he's changed his started wearing that seasonal cologne he wears every December. Something bordering hot chocolate and vanilla, not overly sweet but so, so warm. It matches him in the strangest of ways, you conclude, as you reluctantly melt into his side.

Okay, this is...alright. There are several couples doing this very thing in front of you, nothing weird about this at all. It's not like you can argue when Rhett is practically a blazing furnace right next to you; this dress is cute, but it definitely was not made for the colder months. 

For a long minute, all you find yourself doing is curling into Rhett Abbott's side and listening to the preacher's voice as it grows louder and louder. A relaxed conversation about coming clean to those around you devolves into a rant about sinners and sex before marriage. The longer it goes, the stiffer Rhett becomes next to you, until all of a sudden, he's drawing away from you.

Without a word, he gets up and walks out. 

Strangely, you don't hear the front doors squeak open, nor do you feel the icy draft that always sneaks inside. For a minute, you reckon he's just gone to the men's room. The more time passes, the more you don't think that's so true. 

Fifteen minutes after Rhett vanished, you excuse yourself and quietly venture out into the hallway. 

"Rhett?" You try, but your voice vanishes under the preacher's louder one.

Even so, the felt brim of a cowboy hat pokes out from behind a door, dark brown in color and a little ripped in the front. You only know one man with a hat like that. It seems he didn't hear you because he's eyes brighten at the sight of you like he's been waiting on you to come looking for him this whole time. 

"There you are," he breathes, struggling to fight off the shit-eating grin that's working its way across his face as he reaches for you. "Did I even manage to get under your skin?" 

"I thought you were kidding when you suggested this shit," you hiss, but you don't stop him from guiding you into this tiny little office space with its large mahogany desk and beat-up loveseat. "Of course, you got under my skin, you ass!"

Rhett shoves you down onto the couch with a soft thump and drops to his knees so swiftly that you hear them hit the floor. The force of it jostles his hat, but he's not concerned in the slightest with readjusting it, "good." 

There's no teasing or beating around the bush in the way he pulls your hips toward the edge of the couch, rucking the skirt of your dress up in the process, "then I suppose you won't mind me making it up to you?" 

Hot breath ghosts up your cold thighs, sparks a newfound heat directly between your legs. Okay, that, that...

"Was this your plan all along?" Leaning into the cushions of the couch, this is all so sudden, but you're not one to complain when his nose is brushing against the only fabric he hasn't pushed to the side yet. 

"Do you expect anything less from me, darlin'?" Long lashes bat themselves up at you as he speaks, bordering devilish in tone and something soft in gaze. 

A hot tongue drags up the front of your panties, forces eye contact as he does so. So much all at once, but not enough. The vague pressure of his tongue isn't enough when there's such a thin layer of cotton separating him from where you want him. Only when you're about to pull them off yourself does he reach up and hook his fingers under the thin elastic waistband. 

"Bring your hips up, doll," murmuring into your thigh, and you're just barely able to muster the strength to do so. 

Finally, finally, he pulls your panties off, neatly folding and tucking them into his back pocket like a trophy. Sure hope you get those back; those are one of your current favorites. 

Your thoughts are cut short by the sudden sensation of a dripping tongue swirling at your clit, sloppy and oh-so-wet. It's so abrupt that you find yourself jolting away, only to be drawn back in by steady hands on your hips, holding you in place as he licks you up and down in fat stripes. 

"Rhett," gasping for a breath you can't seem to catch, "fuck, did you forget we're in church?" 

He hums into you, sends a shock wave up your spine with it. His wandering tongue finds your entrance, lapping at it incessantly but not quite pushing inside at first. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, "been thinkin' of havin' you on my tongue since that alarm went off this mornin'." 

"So that's why you volunteered to come along?" Whining as he nods his head, "bastard—ah!" 

Just like that, Rhett's tongue slips inside of you, working in and out in languid thrusts as his nose presses harder into you. This little room is so quiet that you can hear the slick sound of his tongue working itself into your quivering cunt, his mouth so wet that it feels like he's drooling. 

Reaching down, he gets ahold of your thigh and guides your leg up over his shoulder, gives him better access to your writhing body. Practically fucks you open with his tongue, the soft tip of his nose bumping into your clit over and over. Enough to make you squirm, not enough to get you off. 

"Rhett, if you don't," the beginning of your threat is shaky, not intimidating even in the slightest, "get off that floor and fuck me right now."

His eyebrows raise, and his tongue slips out of you with the wettest noise you've ever heard. Fuck, he really must have been drooling, swollen, spit-slicked lips and wet chin glistening in the light, "yes, ma'am." The bastard just has to say it with a smile, too.

He makes no move to come up, though, and as his dominant hand lowers between your legs, you realize he's planning to lick you as he works you open. But you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

Lowering your leg from his shoulder, you seize him by the collar and pull. It takes him a moment to comply, and for a brief second, you think he's glued himself to that thinly-carpeted floor. With the softest whine, he rises, settling into the empty space next to you like a big ol' puppy. His eyes wide and confused, and it's not until you curl your fingers into his hair and drag him in that he realizes what you're doing.

"Kisses?" Whispering directly against your lips, surprised, but oh, does he just melt right into it. 

Soft, at first, just the simple mesh of lips that haven't touched each other since you first woke up, but then Rhett's finding his footing. Kisses you with a dizzying intensity, one hand cradling your cheek, the other slipping between your legs to tease the pad of his finger against your dripping entrance. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer, impossibly so, and it's so sloppy that you can't tell who's in control or who's calling the shots here. His thick finger presses into you, working in and out until he's knuckle deep, but he kisses you so softly, following your motions like a shadow. 

"Is that you clenchin' on my finger, or have I really not fucked you in a while?" His finger works in and out of you so slowly, a soft, simple motion that drags his knuckles against a gooey spot inside of you. Shit, when was—when was the last time you actually...?

"Both," you blurt, breathless, "I think this is the longest we've gone." Coincidentally, you think the last time you had sex was also on a couch. Given it was your couch and not some dingy thing in the back office of a church. 

It's only been a few weeks, three at the most, but it's been long enough for there to be a little bit of an ache as a second finger works into you. There's no way you're going to be walking out of here without a slight waddle in your step.

In and out, over and over, until he can work in a third. A thumb on your clit distracts you from the stretch, rubbing soft circles for every centimeter he eases into you. You're squirming, not sure if you're running away from the stimulation on your clit or chasing the feeling of those thick fingers delving in and out of you in short little thrusts. 

"Why are your fingers so fucking big?" Gasping as he kisses down your neck, those fingers curling against that little spot again. 

"Are they big?" And he's nibbling at the meet of your jaw, almost speaking directly into your ear, "or are you just small?" 

He's just big. 

Shaky, you fumble with his belt, absolutely relieved when you find that he isn't wearing one of those oversized rodeo buckles that are so hard to get open in times like these. Rhett chuckles against your skin, makes no effort to help or stop you as you pop the button to his jeans open. His fingers only quicken, properly fucking you with them now, and it makes it that much harder to reach past his waistband. 

"Shit," he hisses, jolting as your hand wraps around him and draws him out. Only letting him go to spit into your palm, wetting it just enough to stroke him smoothly. He's hard as a rock in your hand, heavy like one, too. Slow, he eases out of you, and with how empty you're feeling now, you hate to imagine how it's going to feel in a little bit. 

Your back hits the couch with a soft noise, the furniture creaking under the sudden placement of your weight. Then, Rhett's between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing against your freshly stretched rim but not pushing inside yet. 

"Didn't bring a condom," he breathes, "sure hope that ain't a problem, sweetheart." 

He sure doesn't sound apologetic. 

"Has it ever been a problem?" And there's more you want to say, but it's hard to speak when he presses into you, makes your back arch as he splits you wide open. 

Your legs clamp down around his lithe waist, lungs burning as you try and fail to regain your long-gone composure. Don't quite realize you had made a noise until he's shushing you, easing deeper inside until you feel his head fully enter you. Moves so, so slow that it's agonizing. 

Rhett pauses for just a second, chest heaving, "so tight, baby." 

"Can you move any faster?" You're intentionally leaving out the part that the longer he takes, the harder it is for you to keep your thighs from shaking around him.

"Hold on, darlin'," seizing your hips in his hands as he speaks, holding you still as he just about fucking stops, "I'm a little big for you, ain't I?" 

Big is a fucking understatement. Rhett's only about halfway in you, and you already can't fucking breathe. Never can. No matter how many times he's fucked you, slow, hard, it doesn't matter; you can never seem to get used to how big he is. 

His hands aren't big just for show; they're a fucking warning.

Finally, finally, finally, his hips come flush to yours, and you don't think there's any room for your lungs even to function anymore. Panting so hard that you don't realize Rhett's dropping to his forearms, kissing sweetly at your cheek. Such a stark contrast to the devilish roll of his hips between your legs. 

"Such a good girl for me," he soothes, "takin' every single inch just like that." 

His hips roll in tight little circles, getting you used to his size until you can catch your breath, long enough for your head to stop spinning, at least. All you have to do is nod your head once, and he's drawing back out of you, so familiar with your cues that he knows exactly what you're asking for. 

Then he's pushing back into you, and it's not even a long stroke, but it's enough to have you whimpering anyway. So thick that the head of his cock effortlessly massages the gooey spot inside your stretched pussy; you think you could cum just from this alone. 

"That preacher don't know what the hell he's talkin' about," and it's only now that you realize the sermon is still going, muffled but very audible through these old walls,  "every little lady deserves a man that can fuck her right." 

Rhett punctuates his sentence with a harder thrust, sending stars sparkling behind your eyelids like a light show.  Well, you can't argue with that statement. Not when he's doubling down and drilling into you in sharp, deep strokes that bullies his fat cockhead right into your sweet spot, kissing it with each and every stroke inward. 

"Rhett!" Fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, threatening to tear right into the thin material of his dress shirt. It's a kiss that smothers the whimper that boils out of your throat, dizzying but so, so tame compared to how his hips are working between your legs. 

"Look at you," leaning back until he's on his haunches, "innocent little thing gettin' fucked good by the big, bad cowboy." 

With that, he draws his hips back, snapping them back into you with a force that has you yelping. Hope nobody could hear that. Rhett's pace is changing, unrelenting, as he punches each and every breath out of your burning lungs. Feels so, so good that you can barely keep your eyes from fluttering shut, and it's all you can do to keep quiet when he licks his thumb and presses it into your swollen clit. 

"Oh, your hips are buckin' like mad now," and he has the absolute audacity to chuckle as he says it like he isn't in the middle of ruining you, "damn, girl."

"Hard to keep still when—" you can't finish your sentence, cut off by a wickedly sharp thrust, and he just holds it there. Grinding into you and eliciting this wet squelch that sounds absolutely sinful. 

It feels so good that the edges of your vision is starting to go white, and you don't know when you've started shaking, but you can't stop. Pussy throbbing as he settles down atop you again, legs just barely able to stay hooked over his hips. Rhett's moaning into your ear, deep and breathy, and you're not doing all that much, but it sounds like you're making him feel just as good as he's doing to you. 

"Do you wanna feel me cum inside you?" He whispers, biting at the shell of your ear, "do you wanna feel that?" 

All you can do is hum, barely able even to nod your head. The simple notion of Rhett cumming inside you is enough to have a coil tightening between your legs, clamping down impossibly tight around his thick cock. 

"Oh god," he's just barely able to keep talking, and the longer he goes on, the closer you can feel yourself getting, "so bad," punctuating it with another heavy thrust, "so bad."

You want to reach down between your legs and urge his thumb to rub you a little bit faster, but you're not even sure you can take any more than what he's giving you. Not when he keeps whispering dirty things in your ear, with these breathy little grunts that keep adding to the fire burning up in your lower belly. 

"So bad, but you make it so good," no, no, now you're batting his hand away from your clit, because if he keeps rubbing it while he's talking like this, your orgasm is going to his you right this very second. With another little grunt, Rhett starts talking again, "oh, baby, I'm gonna fill you up." 

His thrusts are quickening, hips getting twitchy and messing up his rhythm in the most delicious of ways, "'m gonna fill you up with my cum." 

All of a sudden, you can't breathe anymore, your body going taut as you cum around his twitching cock. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, heart pounding so heavily it just might break its way out your ribs. Everything's spinning; you can't fucking think; all you know is Rhett's grunting quietly into your ear, and his hips are stalling. Filling you with hot spurts of his cum, until there's not a single millimeter of empty space left inside you. 

"That's right," you can just barely hear him, but he's there, "that's fuckin' right, takin' every last drop of me." 

You're not sure how long it takes you to come back, to get your head out from the clouds and back down to earth, but when you do, Rhett's already eased himself out of you. Tucked away inside his jeans again, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as his thumb pushes his cum back inside your swollen cunt. 

"You alright?" He asks sweetly, kissing the inside of your knee. 

It takes every fiber in your being to bring yourself to nod your head. Yeah, yeah, more than alright. 

"How 'bout I carry you outta here before they start lettin' folks out," he's so soft compared to just a few moments ago when he was drilling into you and whispering such filthy things, "get all settled up in a bath and have a nice, lazy day." 

All you have to do is hum your consent, and he's gathering you up into his chest, lifting you like it's the easiest thing he's ever done. It's hard to be cold when he picks his coat up off the rack on the way out, draping it over you like a big blanket. Yeah, a nice, lazy day sounds better than whatever the hell you had planned. 

And if anybody notices your sudden disappearances or the unmistakable sounds that came from the preacher's old office, they don't say a damn thing. 

[justholdingstill]

First is a pop and a scratch; there is a breath of quiet, long and deep. Then there is a heartbeat, drumming steady, growing louder and more urgent as the seconds tick by.

His fingers are nimble and practiced--graceful, even--despite the scars and calluses layered over one another, despite the pinky finger that was broken and healed months ago and which no longer moves quite the way it was meant to. They are beautiful hands. Steady, firm. Castiel has seen them stitch wounds and field strip guns and dissect vegetables for dinner, all with the same precise efficiency that they now apply to the task at hand.

He exhales through his nose; the heartbeat blends itself into a brief, confusing jumble of noises that resolve into a jarring wail and then melt, almost improbably, into the first lazy guitar chord of the album, which ripples its way down his spine like a physical thing. If pressed to describe the sensation, he would call it warm and liquid and highly gratifying. Tingly, even. It makes him shudder and sigh out loud.

Nobody asks, but he says so anyway. Dean laughs at him. “You are, like...you are really fucking high, huh, sweetheart?” 

He licks the glue on the rolling paper and twists his handiwork just a bit tighter, presenting it to Castiel with the corner of his mouth ticked up. His eyes are very red. “You sure you wanna smoke another one?”

“I was under the impression that being ‘really fucking high’ was the sole purpose of this endeavour, Dean,” Castiel tells him coolly. He makes a broad, dismissive gesture, discovering as he does so that there’s still a chocolate chip cookie in his hand.

“All right, all right, preaching to the choir here, buddy.” Dean fumbles for his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the planes of his face as he tilts it down toward the cradle of his hands. There’s the syrupy-sharp tang of smoke on the air again after a moment; Castiel chews his cookie and watches in fascination as Dean parts his lips (just as beautiful as those hands--as every inch of him, really) to let it spill out between them in a languorous white plume, as lingering as revelation and as heady as desire. He coughs a little bit at the end of the exhale, chuckling at himself this time before he waves the joint in Castiel’s face. “Your turn. And quit bogarting those, I had a hard enough time hiding half the batch from Jack and Sam.”

Reluctantly, Castiel trades Dean for the plastic container and tries not to be too distracted by the way he dives into the cookies with gusto, shoving one into his mouth practically whole with a bone-deep hum of satisfaction. Castiel occupies himself with dropping back into the pillows as he takes a few careful drags, his eyes catching on the record cover that Dean had been using as a rolling surface, forgotten in his lap.

“Is this considered homosexual music?”

Dean chokes, clapping a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spray crumbs. Once he’s calmed himself enough to swallow, he reaches over to pluck the joint back and eyes Castiel warily. “Not really, I guess? Why would you ask that?”

“There’s a--a prism. On the cover. A rainbow. And when we went to Pride with Charlie you said that rainbows are often used by the ‘gay community’--”

“Not again with the fucking air quotes,” Dean interjects.

“...fine, gay community. You said that rainbows can a way for the gay community to acknowledge and recognize each other. Is this gay music?”

Dean belly-laughs at that, though not unkindly. “Nah, man,” he says, still grinning, “I’m pretty sure that Pink Floyd are pretty damn straight. Although, what do I know for sure? Sometimes it’s just some cool imagery.”

Castiel nods. He mulls this over as Dean smokes, his face warming when Dean crowds up into his personal space to share his breath with Castiel, lung to lung, so nearly mouth to mouth. Dean has told him on previous occasions that this is called “shotgunning”, but he’s not sure why; it clearly has no relation to either firearms or violence, but that hardly seems to matter when it brings Dean so close, the green of his eyes bright and intent with something that Castiel had once thought he’d never have a name for.

Dean sucks in more air, and then he’s kissing Castiel for real, soft and wet, luxuriating in it. This--this lights up Castiel’s nerves just as much as the music does, more, pleasure pooling and igniting wherever Dean’s body is in contact with his own, waves of it rolling and breaking through his whole nervous system. It’s overwhelming, especially in combination with the female vocalist reaching for some explosive notes, now, singing as if they’re being physically tugged from the center of her chest by an unseen hand.

Castiel thinks he might understand how that feels.

“Jesus,” Dean gasps, breaking away to flop down beside him, raking a hand through his own hair. He dissolves into giggles, and Castiel can’t help but laugh with him. “I am blitzed, man. This is embarrassing.”

“I’m the only other person here,” Castiel feels obligated to point out, nuzzling at his ear, “and I have literally seen your soul at its barest and at its lowest. Is this really what embarrasses you?”

“Shut up,” Dean says, muffled because he’s hiding his face in Castiel’s shoulder, blushing so hard that he might as well be glowing. Castiel can actually feel the warmth of it radiating through the cotton of his shirt; it makes him want.

“So this,” he says, hesitant, picking up the earlier thread of their conversation. “This--you only do it with me. Not with Sam. Not with Charlie or Jody--at least not like this. But these, um. These... meetings...aren’t about us, about what--what we do together?”

“Jesus,” Dean groans again, rolling his eyes, adding a heartfelt, “Christ.” He hauls himself up off the bed and strips off his shirt, gesturing at Castiel to do the same. “Take your damn clothes off already, man.” He seems to catch himself on how that sounds, because he pauses with one hand on the buckle of his belt before shaking his head, grinning at some private joke. “I mean, yeah, I guess it’s a little bit about that. But no, Cas, we don’t hang out smoking weed and listening to the classics because it’s some kind of agenda, because you and I are, uh...you know. Because rainbows,” he offers, very careful to look anywhere but directly at Cas.

Castiel tilts his head, listening, and when he doesn’t speak, Dean blusters on. “No, it’s ‘cause you’re stuck with me, you know? Stuck with us, stuck here, stuck human...I guess I just figure if you’ve gotta take the lumps of it, the sore backs and the seasonal colds and the, the shitty truck stop coffee of it all, you should have some of the good stuff, too. If I’m not the one to teach you the finer points of stoner rock, ok, who will? It’s not all bad here, and I just want to make sure you know that.”

Finished with his speech, Dean grabs awkwardly for another cookie, presumably to stop himself from rambling any further. Something light and fond unfurls itself inside Castiel; he reaches out to draw Dean down into his arms again. “I assure you, Dean,” he says gravely, “I am absolutely certain of it.” Dean offers him a bite, which he accepts with equal gravity.

All of their kisses are delicious, to be fair, but they are undeniably more delightful chased with chocolate.

“Anyway,” Dean says with his mouth full, “take your fucking pants off. You wanna talk gay music? It’s gonna be Night at the Opera next, and that’s really gonna bake your noodle.”

_________________

Read it here on AO3! 

[redrobinhoods]

Sticks and Stones | Chapter 1, godforsaken mess

AO3 Link | 2,200 words (approx) | Chapter 2

A/N:  Fits between my illicit affairs and no choir. I have a story for Thorn in this timeline and I'm working on one for Thire, so Stone needs one too so I can fill in some gaps.

Story Summary: In the wake of Thorn’s death, Commander Stone is the only thing holding the Coruscant Guard together. Thire is adjusting to a role he’d never expected to fill, and Fox- Fox has fallen for a certain senator from Pantora.

Stone’s hands smelled like blasterfire and bacta, the scent so strong that he could smell it through the apparatus in his helmet that filtered the air he breathed. He himself was physically untouched, but the sight of Fox, motionless and in pain on the museum floor, had unsettled him. Fox was not in the clear yet. The first shot had burned between his shoulder blades and any damage to his spine had not yet been assessed, it couldn’t be until he was removed from the bacta tank and conscious. Stone knew that he would be fine. He’d will it into existence if he had to. Fox had cursed in pain at Stone when he had applied the emergency bacta kit he kept in his belt to the wound at Fox’s waist. That meant that there was no spinal damage, right? Stone refused to think of Fox being decommissioned. He would not lose another commander so soon. Thire could not lose another mentor so soon.

The two troopers at the door saluted him before one punched in the passcode without hesitation. Senator Chuchi was upon him the moment he stepped inside. “Is Commander Fox okay?”

Commander Stone took a moment to collect himself, glancing deeper into the safehouse to make eye contact with Thire, sitting uncertainly on a couch opposite where the senator had sat before Stone’s intrusion, before turning back to Chuchi. “They’ve got him in a bacta tank, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes.” He turned his body to face Thire. “Commander, have you assigned a detail to this building?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone bit back the urge to tell Thire to drop the ‘sir’ when he addressed him. Now was not the time. “Then go back to the barracks. Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

If Thire had any protests, they were not voiced. He rose from the couch and with a polite nod to Chuchi took his leave from the apartment.

Stone waited until the door had closed to speak again. “Are you comfortable, Senator Chuchi?”

“I do not believe that my own personal comfort matters, Commander Stone.” She drew herself together and glared directly into his visor. “It is my duty, according to Commander Thire, to let you and your brothers lay down their lives for me. I will not be comfortable until I see Commander Fox make a full recovery.”

“Then you may never be comfortable again.” Stone cringed a little under his helmet at the sudden change in the senator’s demeanor when she drew in on herself and refused to meet his gaze. This was why he had always left dealing with the senators to Thorn, now Thire. He would have to offer her some vulnerability. He sighed and removed his helmet, allowing his brow to settle into a look of concern. “My apologies, Senator Chuchi, I’m worried for him too, but there’s nothing we can do to help him now.”

“I know, Commander, I do. But I cannot help but feel responsible for his injury.”

“Fox would let himself get shot for fun.” And because he had a death wish as of late, but the senator didn’t need to know that. “This isn’t your fault, Senator.”

She nodded sadly; Stone didn’t think that she had believed him. “Thank you for your assurances, Commander Stone. I would like to retire now. I suppose that I shall see you in the morning?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will escort you to your office tomorrow. From there, Thire is preparing a detail to accompany you throughout your day.”

“Please give my thanks to Commander Thire tomorrow. I am afraid I may have been harsh with him this past hour.”

“We are used to far worse, Senator. But I will pass it on. Let us know if you need anything tonight.”

“Thank you, Commander Stone.” She drew herself together once more before stepping away from him and departing to the bedroom. A clean pair of bedclothes would be waiting for her there, as well as the basic amenities needed to sustain a healthy being of any species. It was very unlikely that she would want for anything. Still, Thorn had told Stone enough stories of the desires of senators that Stone had been prepared for the worst. But the night was young, so Stone put on a pot of caf and settled down onto the couch where Thire had been sitting. Plenty of things could still go wrong.

---

“I have a lead.”

“You’re going to have narcolepsy if you keep this up.”

“And you’re going to get addicted to spice if you keep drinking so much caf. We can play the false equivalences game all day.”

Thire’s likeness to Thorn unnerved Stone on the best of days. He often wondered if that resolve was what Thorn had seen in the then-lieutenant that caused him to single Thire out for promotion. Today, the suicidal drive for justice was no exception. “Then let’s play a new one. In your state, you are going to die if you track this down by yourself. Take a squad; your squad, my squad, Fox’s squad, I don’t care. Take one.”

Thire shook his head, the shadows moving across his face only serving to highlight the dark hollows under his eyes. “Then the bounty hunter will see us coming and we will lose our chance. If not for Fox’s sake, then for Senator Chuchi’s. This bounty hunter will be our best chance at finding out who wants her dead. This is our job, Stone, this is my job. Let me do it.”

“Thire.”

“Stone. This is my duty. Let me carry it out.”

Stone shook his head and sighed. “Fine.” Senator Chuchi’s words from the night before came back to him. It was her duty to let him and his brothers lay down their lives for her. It was their duty to die. “Where did your lead come from?”

“The Chancellor.”

And Stone couldn’t argue with that. “Be safe, Thire.”

Thire nodded and stood from the seat opposite Stone where he had been lounging. “You know me, sir.”

“My name isn’t sir. But I do know you, and that’s the problem.”

Thire shrugged. “I have a good feeling about this one. Stone.” Then he was gone.

Stone waited a few heartbeats for Thire to cross the office space before he rose from his own chair and stepped out into the main office area. Glancing around at what was being displayed on the monitors, he found his target quickly enough.

“Bravo.”

His brother jumped at the sudden presence behind him, quickly clicking back to the security tapes from the Galactic Museum. “Sir, I can explain.”

“The tapes are kriffing boring. I know. I’ll get someone else to look them over if you do me a favor.”

Bravo relaxed, letting a loose smile settle over his features. “Respectfully, anything to get out of this, sir.”

Stone nodded in understanding. “I want you to trail Commander Thire. If he engages anyone, I want you to be there in case he needs backup. Do not engage otherwise.”

“I’m on it.” Bravo could almost give Sergeant Hound’s massiff, Grizzer, a run for her credits when it came to tracking. He had come a long way from Geonosis, when he and Stone had limped out of the rubble kicked up by the falling Lucrehulks together.

“Thank you, Bravo.”

Thire would be pissed at Stone when he found out.

Thire was absolutely pissed at Stone when he found out.

“I had everything under control!” Thire would have slammed his trigger hand on Stone’s desk if it weren’t in a sling.

“You almost died!”

“You don’t know that! She was stunned, it was already over. If you hadn’t made Bravo intervene-.”

“She could have recovered by the time you dragged your sorry ass over there! Thire, I can’t-.” Stone brought his hand to his face and took in a deep breath. Yelling wouldn’t make the situation any better. “Thire, there is still a very real possibility that Fox may die and I can’t- I can’t do this alone. Just stay alive, Thire. For Thorn.”

Thire’s face twisted into a grimace of pain and he closed his eyes. “He would be so ashamed of me.”

“No. He would have never been ashamed of you, Thire.” Stone reached over the desk and placed his hand on Thire’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. “He was so, so proud of you.”

Thire sighed and brought a hand to the bacta patch on his bicep. “Does the pain ever go away?”

Stone knew he wasn’t talking about the injury. “Some days. Others, it hurts worse than it did before. We all have the nightmares, Thire.” Two years later, Stone still begged for Aurra Sing to show Ponds mercy in his dreams. The once sparring partners had rarely had time to talk after Geonosis, but his absence had torn a hole in Stone’s heart. “Thorn used to say that the commanders of the Coruscant Guard are cursed. Maybe we are.”

“Give our track records, I’m inclined to agree.” Thire sighed again before his attention was caught by the blinking comm on his wrist. “That’s the Chancellor. I need to go.”

“I understand.” Stone watched Thire rise painfully from his seat. “Thire? We wanted you to know, on the books you made the arrest. You were the highest-ranking officer on scene, and you did do everything but cuff her. You can leave that part out when you brief the Chancellor.”

“I don’t deserve-.”

“Thire.” Stone snapped before softening his voice. “Go easy on yourself.”

“Thank you, Stone.” Thire stepped towards the door to Stone’s office before pausing and turning back to him. “Sir- Stone, I have put together a few security details for Senator Chuchi for your approval. There’s just one issue. I believe the most effective guard would be one where one of our men stays inside the senator’s residence with her. Given the capacity we are running at with the loss of my squad on Scipio and our current assignments, we have no available men who have been trained for intimate guard. Given that Senator Chuchi is a woman, I fear that an untrained guardsman would be too much of an intrusion.”

“What about Jek or Impulse? They were on her security detail at the gala, she’s already acquainted with them. She knows most of us by name, I think that she would feel comfortable with nearly any-.”

“I want to put Fox in.”

Stone’s lips moved to form Fox’s name, though no sound came out. He remembered a time a few months ago, when Thorn was telling him over getting dressed that Senator Chuchi reminded him of Fox. Thire hadn’t been there for that conversation, but Stone hadn’t been privy to all of Thorn’s conversations and it made him wonder what he and Thire had discussed concerning his commanding officer and the senator. “Why?”

“You should have seen her, Stone, right after he was shot. She was heartbroken. From my observations, I think that he’s endeared himself to her. Besides, it will give Fox a few days to kick back and catch up on flimsiwork. He’s going to be hurting, and you know that they won’t give him adequate time to recover. They never do.”

“I will advise Senator Chuchi on the matter. Thank you, Thire.”

---

Senator Chuchi was on her feet the moment Stone entered her office. “Are you to accompany me home, Commander Stone?”

“I am afraid not, ma’am. Your apartment is not yet secure, I will be taking you back to the safehouse.”

“And what of Commander Fox?” She had yet to move from her spot beside the desk.

“I received word on my way here that they will be taking him out of bacta tomorrow if there are no obvious signs of permanent injury. If he is disabled, Senator, I’m afraid he will be retired.”

Senator Chuchi nodded and grabbed a small bag from a hook on the side of her desk. “Thank you for informing me, Commander Stone.”

She didn’t know what he had meant by retire. Stone decided that he would not be the one to inform her that the word was a death sentence for clones. He waited for her to cross the room while he found the words to avoid the topic. “If he is not retired, Commander Thire suggested that he lead your security detail from inside your residence.”

Senator Chuchi tilted her head up at him. “That is not standard operating procedure, is it?”

“No, Senator. But I must tell you in confidence, we are understaffed for senatorial detail at the moment. Commander Fox is the only unassigned man with the training required. If you are not comfortable with his presence, there are other men who we can assign.”

“No. I would be perfectly comfortable with the presence of Commander Fox. But thank you, for your concern. I heard that Commander Thire has captured the bounty hunter who tried to assassinate me?”

“Yes, he did. He is briefing the Chancellor on them now. Whoever wants to kill you will be caught soon.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Commander Stone, for your confidence.”

Once again, he didn’t have the heart to tell her how many lies and half-truths had lined their conversation. Instead, he nodded and fell into step at her side to escort her back to the safehouse.

[issaxcharlie]

Story: Messing with the stars

Chapter 1

Bobby

I always end up here. It is as if her voice drags me back. It’s a miracle that no one has noticed how often I sit here to see her.

She finishes rehearsing, I grab my backpack and race to the parking lot to catch up with my friends.

Lottie, Gary, Lucas and Hope are waiting for me in front of Lottie's car.

"Bobbycakes, where were you?" Lottie looks annoyed, the others just get in the car.

“Sorry, Lottie. Mr. Hughes wanted to talk to me about my homework.”

My eyes move like magnets to her, like every single day. She has her dark brown hair tied up in a beautiful braid. Her green crop top matches her beautiful eyes perfectly. She laughs as she walks home with her best friend, Kassam. The two quickly bonded over their love for music and had being inseparable ever since.

“Bobby, are you listening?” Lottie brings me back to the real world, she looks angry. But decides to just get on the wheel. I walk into the passenger seat and turn to see her beautiful face one more time.

“Did you hear that this time it will be obligatory for us to participate in the school play this semester? It will directly impact our Drama class. ”

Everyone sighs in frustration.

“Why are we taking Drama again?” Asked Gary, clearly annoyed.

"Is mandatory this semester, an attempt by the school to make us more creative and versatile, or something like that." Says Hope, somewhat disinterested. After all, she is known for being good at whatever she does. She doesn't mind leaving her advanced math class for a semester in order to recite some lines.

"It wouldn't be a bad thing if I had to kiss that beautiful theater freak." Gary is smiling, definitely imagining himself in that situation. Gross.

“Alison Light?” Wow, Lucas seems to have been paying attention to her too.

"Hell yeah mate, she’s gorgeous." Lottie rolls her eyes, and Hope dramatically changes the conversation.

Alison Light, aka Sunny or Sunlight. (Or at least that's how I would call her if I had the guts to speak to her.) Everyone else calls her Ally, and I'm embarrassed to say that my friends call her theater freak.

There is a rumor, that Sunny's dad passed away 5 years ago. Her mom found a job in London, so they had to move from Scotland. Alison took refuge in music, which has always been what she loved the most, entered the choir, the school band, each play, whatever was involved with music, she did it. That's how she earned the ‘theater freak’ nickname from everyone else, especially, Lottie and Gary. Unfortunately, everyone listens to Lottie and Gary.

I came to school a year later. Lottie immediately thought I had the potential to belong to her group, to this day I have no idea why. She told me that if I wanted to belong, I had to be around people with potential, and when Sunny approached with vibrant eyes and a huge smile to introduce herself, Lottie pushed her to the side, and made fun of her for having a 'crush' on the new kid and behaving ‘desperate’.

I didn’t defend her. I followed Lottie down the hall, and didn't turn to see her even once.

Every day when I see her in the hallway I wonder why I chose a scary stranger instead of the girl with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, and the conclusion makes me quite embarrassed.

I chose Lottie because I was tired of being the kid everyone made fun of regardless of the consequences, the one who was just a joke. The boy Caitlin Evans cheated on by pretending she wanted me to be her boyfriend just to humiliate me in front of the whole school. I saw the opportunity to be someone different, and I took it. Letting go not only poor and humiliated Bobby, but also the opportunity to meet Alison in the process.

The next day I walk with the boys to the auditorium. Most of the students are already there. The music is quite loud, and her perfect voice immediately reaches my ears. As we get closer I can finally see what's going on. Kassam and Alison are doing a duet of the song "Into the Unknown" which in my opinion is not easy to sing. I’m annoyed to admit that they sound perfect together. Their harmonies are beautiful and their notes are totally clean and well placed. All of us who do not normally belong to this class, have our mouths open.

“As you could hear, this class has talent to spare. I will not accept less than what I know you can give. Everyone will sing a part of the song you wrote me yesterday on the list.” Mr. Hudson loves music as much as Alison, and has been an important person in her life for the past few years. He has always been kind to me, and has invited me multiple times to participate in his plays due to my and i quote ‘charming personality ’.

Auditions started. Surprisingly my friends did a pretty decent job. I would not choose them as the protagonists but they were not bad.

I always wanted to try theater. I've been watching it for years, since I've never missed a play by Alison, no matter how delusional it sounds. And I always liked singing, but believe me or not, I have stage fright. Also, even if I sang, the chances of me beating Kassam in the lead are microscopic.

"McKenzie, let's go. I have a feeling you will do a good job, I am excited to hear you.” Mr. Hudson, I honestly hope I don't fall off the stage while I go up, for me that will already be a victory.

The music starts playing, but I am unable to open my mouth. I turn to meet her green eyes, which for the first time in years seem to speak to me. She tries to tell me to focus on her, and I do. The song starts again, and this time I manage to start singing the words, which sound more whispered than anything else.

"Of your kiss, your touch, your love" Sunny starts singing with me, everyone turns to see her, but she seems determined to help me sing this song. I remain somewhat fearful during the chorus, and she takes the second verse like a queen. Focusing on making me feel comfortable, still staring at my eyes and taking my hand.

Suddenly, she is the only thing I can see.

The connection I felt the first time I saw her feels stronger than ever as we dance together across the stage, our voices sounding perfect next to each other, like they're meant to fit together.

I'm definitely not half as good as Kassam is, but without a doubt my connection and chemistry with Sunny is much stronger, or at least that's what I want to believe. A man has to have hope. It was a magical moment, like when Troy and Gabriella meet and sing 'Start Of Something New' together. Don't judge me, I saw her with my sister Gemma.

The song ends and everyone is shocked. Lottie seems about to pass out, and Lucas looks at me in disbelief.

"I've found my stars." Mr. Hudson whispers, his eyes lit up.

"What? No way! They were supposed to be solos, not duets ” Lottie yells, clearly about to lose her patience.

"My decision is final. I've never seen so much chemistry, it's like they were meant to be together. ” Seems like I'm not the only one who thinks so. I knew Mr. Hudson was a smart guy.

"This work is going to be the best we have ever done, I assure you." Sunny blushes slightly, we are still holding hands, and I honestly don't feel like letting her go, but she starts to pull apart gently.

"Thank you, Sunny." I whisper, she looks at me with mischief in her green eyes. That's when I realize what I said. WE ARE NOT NEAR THE STAGE OF NICKNAMES, GOOD ONE IDIOT.

"Omg, I'm so sorry, Alison. I, You probably don’t even know my name and I’m calling you by a nickname, this is so embarrasing.” I start to mumble things that I don't understand myself.

She smiles at me, trying to calm me down. "It's okay, Bobby McKenzie. Professional joker, awesome baker, beautiful eyes. From Scotland, just like me.” She emphasizes my name, so I have no doubts that she knows who I am. And I almost passed out with the beautiful eyes thing. Fuck, she's so sweet.

“Sunny sounds adorable, I was getting tired of theater freak anyway. And like Mr. Hudson, I could see your full potential. You just needed a hand.”

I blush, hard. She likes it. Both the nickname and the fact that she made me blush. I can see it on her face.

Lottie grabs my arm and starts dragging me toward Hope to leave.

This time I don't let history repeat itself.

"I'll see you tomorrow... Sunny." I wink at her, trying to sound and look as cool as possible.

She smiles. "See you tomorrow, partner."

[flipsideds]

“ oh, haha... ”  a default response to a very non-default situation –– a little post-show, barside rendez-vous with an older man who insists nour has been singing to directly to him the entire night. “ flirting ?  i... ”  

gentle eyes gloss over the banquet hall’s dimmed lights, bright smiles, flickering electric candles... “ . . . what’s that ? ”  and then he’s off, gin and tonic in hand. three strides and it’s already half-drained. yikes.

or, alternatively :  greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so graceful, ever so unintentionally magnetic nour al-busiri! below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down. i am so excited to plot & write with all of you !!

( i’m scheduled for a tonsillectomy tomorrow so i’m gonna be so grateful for the distraction, y’all have no idea. ) 

if you want some great mood-setters for this beb’s backstory / insight into his soul, slap on some jacob collier, kevin garrett, or charlie burg ‘n let’s get cookin’ !

so this is all copy-pasted from a discord chat with devon bc i improvised nour’s entire life story over a span of... 10 minutes ?? bahaha pls enjoy i apologize in advance. ( i also put this in normal text size bc it is v long and i don’t want anyone hurting their eyes !! protect dem beautiful retinas <3 )

h i s t o r y .

his parents met in grade school in egypt, but then didn't reconnect until their masters studies crossed paths in london... immediately fell head over heels again ( had they been searching for one another in crowds since being 6-7 years old?? maybe... ). graduated top of their class, accepted job offers in london in the biopharmaceutical realm. but then. when nour was 3...

they were involved in a freak monorail accident on their way back from a science conference in amsterdam. the babysitter paid 80 quid to watch the kids for two nights became their sole protector in this world. british authorities had trouble contacting other kin, but managed to reach mr. al-busiri's mother, rashida, who was still living in dahab with her second husband, zaim.

the al-busiri's came from old money. so off nour goes ( and potentially his older bro if i decide he exists... potential wc with a rami malek fc tbh ) to live in the city which, unbeknownst to him, sparked his parents' storybook love.

so nour grows up in this like... picturesque seaside childhood. collects shells. bonds with his grandmother and her husband. they encourage him with school, etc. but he quickly shows that he excels at maths and... music? wow. that's unexpected. gets his first piano at 5. first guitar at 6. by 8 1/2, he's managed to hodge-podge together a little recording studio for himself in his bedroom, and he's constantly serenading his friends at school.

( death tw / illness tw ) then comes zaim's stroke. he lives for four months after, but he loses his ability to speak. his motor skills deteriorate. nour and his grandmother do their best to tend to him –– she's already about 40% down the macular degeneration path, but hasn't told him yet that her vision's going. so 10 y/o nour does what he does best: unconditional love and support, delivered through the gift of song. zaim dies after requesting his favorite song: 'blackbird' by the beatles, sung in verses alternating from english to arabic.

after,  it's just nour and rashida against the world ( maybe his brother too bergorghre if i decide he's a thing ) . rashida's forced to come clean about her vision the day she can't for the life of her find the bloody pen she just put down so she can finish signing off on nour's choir trip permission slip. ( it's right next to her, to her left, just out of her closing field of vision. ) things progress more rapidly after that. by the time nour's 16, his grandmother is legally blind. it's not an uncommon sight to see him at the markets or strolling along the beach with her on his arm. she refuses canes as long as nour's around. ( “ don't rob me of my youth, nuri-nuri [ my light ] ”  )

despite her growing dependency on him, she encourages him to apply to unis all over the globe. by the time college apps roll around, nour is somewhat of a local household name: he plays summer concerts, coffee shops, and is even asked to play at his teacher's wedding ceremony –– and his neighbor's cat funeral.

acceptances roll in. julliard. berkeley. chicago school of music. he chooses chicago, because there's someone there. someone he connected with online a few years back, a friend, but... could turn into something more. this hopeless romantic heedlessly ventures off to find out if this boy in chicago might... be someone. something more.

spoiler alert: he gets to chicago, starts music school. and each meet-up they set? gets pushed. sometimes it's traffic. a cold. transit trouble. can't get work off, sorry. things with ma are really tough. the excuses kept coming but... nour's naive. he believes every word. but in his second year of uni, things....... start getting suspicious. by chance, he spots this man in the window of a coffee shop downtown. overjoyed, he texts as much. but ... messages go read and unanswered. phone calls dwindle.

his music suffers. so does his muse. so much so that he's tempted to drop out, to throw in the towel, to just...... go back home. he speaks with his grandmother each day on the phone. she's doing well, stop worrying, nuri-nuri, your uncle is taking good care of me. nour goes on dates. thinks about chicago boy. thinks about him a lot.

he's 20 when it happens. sat on a stage in a little dive bar, tuning his acoustic guitar for an opening number, and there. those eyes. he knows them.

they talk after the show, in the alley. share a cigarette. and it's almost like... maybe things are finally clicking. maybe this is finally their shot.

except chicago boy ( neil ) says they have to stop talking. that he had to just... see nour for himself. see that he's real. hear him sing, and... move on. nour doesn't buy it. pushes back. asks why the hell neil'd come out now only to slink back to the shadows. things get heated. neil yells. and the men... the men who hear and come running ?  they think nour is the cause of it all.

( hate crime tw, violence tw )  how many kicks does it take to break to the center of a broken heart ? twelve. how many broken ribs does it take to immobilize a probably terrorist, dude ? four. shattered wrist. snapped ankle. broken arm. cracked skull. and neil scuttles off like nour's bad meat. bad blood. like he asked for this. 

chicago school of music receives a call from weiss memorial three days later.

nour never gets his degree. he breaks his apartment lease. flies home after he heals, spends a year with his grandmother and uncle. just... creating. writing, playing, trying to fill that void with something. but then things with his uncle get heated. he wants to put his own mother in a home, sell the estate, pocket the cash. nour fights it, but he's got no legal bearing.

the nursing home concept never takes hold, though, because his grandmother's still sharp as shit and refuses to sign anything nour doesn't read first. eventually the uncle grows tired of fighting and stops trying, just... slinks back to his husband and keeps his mouth shut. nour's grandmother pressures him to go back to chicago, make that city wish he never left. take back his own story. together they work to find a live-in aide they trust. freshly 22, nour ventures back to the city that broke him.

he finds cheap housing, a gig. the malnati, seems legit. good money. good exposure. and then he meets @ryderxmms​ –– they form one night stand. when not scheduled for malnati banquets, you can find nour providing vocals ( and occasional keys ) in the dive bars / parties the band lands gigs at.

g e n e r a l .

nour creates like food and drink don’t exist, sunlight is an illusion, and all the human body needs for sustenance is sound. he can find his way around just about any instrument under the sun, but his main poisons are piano, acoustic guitar, and digital recording tools –– think jacob collier and you’re right on the money.

actually, i’m stealing a lot of jacob collier discography and pegging it as his creations. this kid’s got an experimental sound and loves it.

he grew up speaking english and arabic equally, but because he learned english in london and then continued in egypt, he does have a mild brit-arab accent. it’s v cute, i promise.

looks like he’d be a total lothario, yeah ?? but. he’s so shy ?  so sweet ?  get him on a stage and he’s shameless but plop him in a bar and eye him up and he’ll honestly just smile nervously and pretend you’re looking at someone else.

love languages : singing to his succulents and plants before his 5am morning runs. facetime calls at times least convenient for him, but most convenient for you. little notes written on napkins, smiley face doodles included. candy bars. lingering a little longer in doorways after saying hello, just to see you smile.

he’s got major water sign vibes. birthday comin’ up in march, woot woot !!

he often wears very simple statement pieces. he likes rings, crystal pendants, leather bracelets. soft tees layered with embroidered jackets, metallic blazers. somehow he pulls off mixed media and crazy prints that should never go together ?  he just... is so easy breezy.

he often wears his hair wild ‘n curly, unless the gig he’s got mandates a more streamlined look. 

falls in love.... 14 times a day ??�� really.

has a scar across his left temple from the incident with neil. will probably write it off as a bike riding accident. ( he doesn’t know how to ride a bike. )

don’t let him cook ever, okay ??  unless you want him to literally do this.

pls come at me for all the plots ?  i’m so open for all the things !!!  y’all got me on discord, so feel free to slide on into my dms. i promise i will be so thrilled <3

[jbaiata]

The making of “The Ballad of Charlie and Grace”

Stephen Hawking once famously observed that even those who believe everything in life is predestined look both ways before crossing the street.  And while I don’t believe the arc of our lives is entirely predetermined, I do think it is contingent on us to be open enough to recognize seemingly chance encounters for what they are: opportunities. Or, as Jackson Browne more eloquently puts it: “Pay attention to the open sky/you never know what will be coming down.”

In April of 2016 I was presented with an amazing opportunity: to give voice to a story that was just begging to be told.  Each year I volunteer for a fundraiser in Ridgewood, NJ - Saylestock, to benefit The Matt Sayles Foundation for Salivary Gland Cancer.  It’s an inspiring day - an all day music and arts festival that inevitably creates some magic moments for organizers and attendees alike.  Toward the end of the day I was approached by a town resident and asked about the origins of the fundraiser. I told her how Dave and Kathy Sayles had turned the most convulsive, painful event of their lives - the death of their young son to a rare cancer - into an urgent, vital cause.  That resident, Lisa Paterson, could unfortunately relate.  We fell into an hour long conversation, and Lisa bared her soul to someone who had been a complete stranger to her  moments before.  

Widowed on 9/11 when her husband Steven was among those murdered by the terrorists, Lisa was left to raise her twin four year-old’s, Lucy and Wyatt, alone. And to work through her own searing grief while trying to ensure her children did not become collateral damage to the worst terrorist attack in our country’s history. She endured a Sisyphean, near decade-long struggle to get Wyatt, who is developmentally disabled, to accept that his father was gone.  I was incredibly moved, and determined that the story needed to reach a much wider audience.

While driving down to Philadelphia the next morning, I was fixated on two things. The first was the conversation with Lisa, and replaying in my mind something she had recounted about Wyatt’s finally turning the corner.  She’d found a working farm the then teenaged Wyatt had really taken to, and when asked why he liked it so much, he’d replied “Daddy’s in the sky there.”  The second was how much I’d thoroughly enjoyed one band in particular - a self-described “funk, soul, jazz and rock fusion” outfit that I wanted to see again.  What the hell was their name? I had thrown one of the Saylestock handout brochures into my work bag, and quickly pulled it out. Ho-lee shit. “SkyDaddy.” The name of the freaking band was SkyDaddy!  

Photo: Lisa Paterson (second from left) poses with the band SkyDaddy and a friend. Credit: John Baiata

In that moment, chance encounter begat providence.  Lisa and I began a long series of spoken and written conversations that, half a year later, culminated in this story, and a second on “NBC Nightly News.”  Lisa was a completely open book, confiding her private pain and doubts, and granting me access to those who knew her best. She invited me out to Wyatt’s farm to spend the day there.  I interviewed  Wyatt’s longtime doctor. I interviewed Lisa’s therapist.  But it was a conversation with Lisa’s exceptional daughter, Lucy, that would eventually birth “The Ballad of Charlie and Grace.”

Lisa had shared with me the extraordinary, lifelong bond Lucy and Wyatt had developed, and even credited Wyatt with saving Lucy’s life as an infant. Lucy was failing to thrive, in trouble, and nothing the doctors had tried was working.  It was only after Wyatt was laid beside his sister in the NICU that Lucy began to respond.  Still, speaking at length with Lucy directly was revelatory.  I came away with a much clearer understanding of the “two unique souls united by birth” dynamic associated with twins in general, with an even deeper appreciation of the lifelong, unbreakable bond Lucy and Wyatt has forged - and with the inspiration for a song.

Photo: An infant and endangered Lucy Paterson . Credit: Paterson family. 

I’ve been writing song lyrics since I was a teenager. To see the vast majority of them is to understand just how difficult good songwriting is. In each case, I set out to write about a specific subject. I wrote the lyrics.  This will inevitably sound cliche` but I can think of no other way to describe it: for the first time, with “The Ballad of Charlie and Grace,” the lyrics wrote me.  They started coming to me in the days after that phone interview with Lucy, and kept up a steady patter in my brain until I finally reached for a notebook beside my bed, and began to capture the voices in my head. 

Wyatt and Lucy became Charlie and Grace.  I cribbed Charlie’s name from Charlie Greene, an outstanding young man who had also lost his father in the 9/11 attacks. I’d gotten the chance to work with Charlie in the summer of 2011, and had recently introduced him to Lucy.  I cribbed Grace’s name from John Newton, the poet and clergyman who wrote “Amazing Grace” a hundred and forty years ago.  In all, the lyrics contain references to fifteen other songs, and eight bible verses. (If you’d like to see how many you recognize or are just a glutton for punishment, they are all annotated at the end of this blog.)  Once finished, I had a thought I’d never conjured before about lyrics I’d written: “These don’t suck.”  

I shared the lyrics initially only with Lisa, a fellow music nut like me, and with my wife Anna.  Encouraged by their enthusiastic responses, I made my best decision yet, and shared them with my cousin Flynn - along with the story I’d written about Lisa, Lucy and Wyatt for context.   

Photo: Wyatt and Lucy Paterson today. Credit: Paterson family.

My wife Anna has long pondered how to leverage all the music trivia in my brain for financial gain, and I consider myself pretty knowledgeable about music in general.  But Flynn (That’s his full, legal name) is an actual musician, and someone whom I’ve always looked up to. Music has long been the common thread between us.  As teenagers I was enthralled listening to his takes on local rock heroes the Stray Cats, and many others.  As adults he would often invite me on Friday nights to come sing and play a little percussion with a small group of his musician friends. Nothing serious - “basement band” stuff.  But it meant a lot that a group of musicians whose talent level far exceeded my own would include me.  Since moving to southern Florida, Flynn has played extensively and cultivated an impressive network of musician friends in the area. He plays guitar beautifully, writes and records, and has notebooks filled with original lyrics of his own. And so when he got back to me, I was not quite prepared for his reaction.  

It was beyond encouraging.  He was effusive in his praise, and inspired by the story behind the lyrics. Flynn became the driving force behind the project. It took more than two years to bring to fruition, and in all that time his north star for it was clear-eyed. He wanted to give the lyrics a musical home to be proud of, for sure, but more than anything he was driven by his heart, and by doing something special for the Paterson family. Without his recruiting and wrangling of musical contributors, his booking of studio times and overseeing sessions, the steady stream of ideas and feedback he ran by me, this song would not exist.  I am grateful beyond words.

In February of 2018 Flynn and I went into Rain Cat Recordings in Jensen Beach, Florida to lay down the first and most important building block of the song, a gorgeous guitar track that he had written to accompany the lyrics. We had home field advantage. The wizards behind Rain Cat, Jeff Coulter and Bryan Lamar, were well acquainted with Flynn. Having been briefed on the project’s origins in advance, they were happy to get involved. 

Photo: Flynn working the guitar track at Rain Cat Recordings

Flynn had recorded a scratch vocal track that day as well, but it was a placeholder until we could identify a vocalist. He offered up a wide array of vocalists he knew and could approach - men and women.  I felt strongly that it should be a woman, as the chorus is sung from Grace’s first person point of view.  In the end we decided to try and recruit Summer Gill for the project. I confided in Flynn that I’d kept a running list in my head for years of my own “heavenly choir,” the voices I would choose to sing me home when my time came: Mavis Staples, Emmy Lou Harris, Aretha Franklin, Linda Ronstadt and Alicia Keys. Summer’s voice moved me in the same way those others did, wringing emotion from every verse. I had my doubts that we could get her onboard.  She was gigging constantly in support of her latest EP, working on songs for her next one, and our little song seemed a trifle by comparison.  And so we were both thrilled when Flynn reported back that she’d readily agreed to work with us - and all the more so upon hearing her evocative vocal. 

Photo: Summer Gill during one of our sessions at Rain Cat Recordings  

Along the way there were plenty of setbacks. While at Rain Cat with Summer during the first session to record the vocal track, Flynn got word that his Mom had passed.  Another session was scuttled last minute after Summer was involved in a car accident. Some musicians proved more difficult to schedule than others, and a good chunk of time was lost trying to schedule one in particular.   

That disappointment was more than made up for by the contributions of Adam Emanuel, a multi-talented musician who, in Flynn’s words, was “all in from the beginning.”  From Adam we got a vital piano track; one he tinkered with and improved over several sessions. Adam also gave life to Flynn’s vision for a “sweetener” track.  After considering a couple of other paths  - a pedal steel guitar? Nah. Flute? Nope - Adam came up with the synth strings that really enhanced the song’s emotional resonance.       

Photo: Adam Emanuel laying down the piano track at Rain Cat Recordings

And then there’s the guys behind Rain Cat, Jeff and Bryan.  It’s no given that artists who are really good at making music are experts at mixing it, and these guys are both. They also support their artists out in the community, and have developed a fiercely loyal client base because of it. It’s got to be all kinds of cool to be in the business of bringing others’ musical visions to life. Serious respect for these guys.  

Photo: Jeff Coulter and Bryan Lamar. Courtesy: Rain Cat Recordings 

Throughout the process, Flynn and I engaged in a grand jury level of secrecy, so as not to spoil the eventual reveal to Lisa and Wyatt. Lucy, however, was conscripted as a necessary co-conspirator.  Her first reaction to the lyrics she helped inspire was moving and heartfelt:

“I had to take a step back from the computer in order to compose myself... Thank you so very much for depicting my family’s story, specifically mine, in such a poetic and gorgeously bittersweet way.”

Her words also further incentivized us to finish. Lucy was responsible for gathering the bulk of the family photos that helped imbue the lyrics video with the personalized look her family’s remarkable story deserves.  Finally, a big shout out to my daughter Alexa for her time and help editing the video.    

The song is available on Apple Music, Google Play & Youtube Music, Amazon, Pandora, Tidal, Napster, iHeart Radio, etc  Any proceeds from the song are going to help support Wyatt’s farm. You can also make a direct donation. 

Thanks for reading this far, but I am reminded that where words fail, music speaks.  I hope “The Ballad of Charlie and Grace” speaks to you.  Click here for a listen. 

“The Ballad of Charlie and Grace”

One mother, two cords, one shared space

Brother and sister, Charlie and Grace

Grace soon fell ill, her parents dismayed

But grew strong once Charlie’s sweet head was laid

Beside her own on the pillowcase  

The first time he started

amazing Grace

“The boy’s not right,” they said. “His mind’s addled.”

Grace took up armor, prepared for battle

Be not afraid, her flag unfurled

Then had a thought that could change the world

In Charlie, redemption she could see and taste

And he’d only begun  

amazing Grace

 (spoken) And she sang:

He showed me the roll in the hills, a bird on the wing

A little bit of beauty in everything

The life in the day, the call in the breeze

Lucy in the sky, the magic in believe

Far too young when their daddy was taken

Charlie sat and wailed, “Why have you forsaken me?”

Grace took up his battle cry

While Charlie paid attention to the open sky

And blessings from space

And he carried on

amazing Grace

 Charlie grew up to work the land

Planting seed written in the palm of his hands  

And Charlie taught Grace to sow some seeds of her own

How some will grow, some you just call a loan

To tend to your gardens where the land is laid waste  

And he never failed at

amazing Grace

He showed me the roll in the hills, a bird on the wing

A little bit of beauty in everything

The spirit in the sky, sorrow in the fountain

Smoke on the water, and fire on the mountain

Charlie grew frail, his head a crown of splendor

Grace held firm; a loss she thought might end her

But Charlie’s voice rose in song she could believe

How sweet the sound, her fears relieved

And even as the light fell from his face

He never once stopped

amazing Grace

He just might have saved her from going under

Charlie boy, the boy wonder

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.

Source material/references for “The Ballad of Charlie and Grace”:

“Amazing Grace,” John Newton

“For a Dancer,” Jackson Browne

“Fountain of Sorrow,” Jackson Browne

“Call it a Loan,” Jackson Browne

“Grace,” U2

“Fire on the Mountain,” The Grateful Dead

“Spirit in the Sky,” Norman Greenbaum

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” The Beatles

“A Day in the Life,” The Beatles

“Call Me the Breeze,” Lynard Skynard

“Do You Believe in Magic?” The Lovin’ Spoonful

“A Man Who Was Gonna Die Young,” Eric Church

“Me and Charlie Talking,” Miranda Lambert

“Away in a Manger” Charles Gabriel

Psalm 40/U2’s “40” “He set my feet upon a rock, and held my footsteps firm.”

Isaiah 41:10 “Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will hold you with my righteous right hand.”

Matthew 27:46 “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Ephesians 6:13 “Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.”

Proverbs 16:31 Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness

Isaiah 49:16 ”See,  I have written your name in the palm of my hands.”

Psalm 34:8 “Taste and see the Lord is good, blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.

Ezekial 36:35 “They will say ‘This land that was laid waste has become like the garden of Eden; the cities that were lying in ruins, desolate and destroyed, are now fortified and inhabited.”

[jellidile]

You’re here. (Aizawa x reader!)

Finally finished this! Just some notes Y/N= your name, F/N = First name, L/N = last name, and lastly, H/N = Hero name!

Ok, Enjoy!

His heart stopped when he saw you. Beaten and bloody. The villain looming over, proud or their work. There was some sort of strangled cry as Aizawa rushed forward brutally and efficiently taking down your attacker. The memory of the police was a haze, as were the frantic moments of him getting you to a hospital. Now Aizawa sat. Alone in the garish light of the waiting room. Waiting for any sign that you would be alright. Usually, when he was alone it was silent. A wonderful break from all the pointless noise around him. But now the low hum of electricity started to ring in his ears. He clenched his jaw, feeling the pressure between his teeth. Eyes cold and dead set on the wall.

He’d texted Hizashi when he got to the hospital. Or did he just do that? It didn’t matter. He needed someone to talk to him. Even if it was about what one of the students said, or about some stupid new song. Anything to fill the void rocking his skull. Closing his eyes he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.

“Aizawa! Please wait for me!” You waved as he turned his head to glance at you. Even though he didn’t smile or show any happiness to see you. There was something in your voice, and the way you looked at him, that told Aizawa you knew how happy you made him. Huffing he continued his walk home from school. Hizashi too busy with another school club to bother walking with him. You weren’t in the same class as him, but you were friends nonetheless. Sidling up to him your pace matched with his,

“Sorry, for making you wait. Yamada was trying to get me to join the drama club again.” Aizawa huffed,

“You should. You’d be good at it.” You feigned disgust. Lifting your hands to your face Aizawa snapped his head to you, eyes glowing,

“Don’t even think about it.” You sighed raising your hands in surrender. Aizawa looked back to the road ahead. From the corner of his eyesight  he saw a lotus bloom from your hand. It was your quirk. Flowers bloomed from you. They had surprising combat usefulness, with thick petals for shields or, thin sharp petals as blades. Aizawa had taken down to writing down all the details of your quirk. He internally sighed to himself. Feeling a little self conscious about his collection of notebooks. Each filled to the brim with tactical data. You seemed to notice his inwardness and brought him out of his mind by shoving a black lotus into his face. He cautiously took the flower looking back at you. Having to hold in a laugh as you walked with a tall lotus bloom sticking out of the top of your head. You smiled laughed hearing Aizawa’s small huff of amusement. Picking the flower and letting fall into petals between your fingers,

“You really should get out of your head more often Aizawa. I bet your laugh is like a choir of angels!” He gently shoved you aside,

“You’re starting to sound like Hizashi.” Aizawa smiled behind his hair. Admiring the flower you gave him. He’d definitely save this.

Aizawa woke to someone shaking his shoulder roughly. With a start he grabbed the arm on his shoulder glaring directly at whoever disturbed him. Worried green eyes stared back at him. Hizashi. Sighing Aizawa let go mumbling something close to an apology. Hizashi sat down beside him grabbing his shoulder,

“Are you okay Shouta? I heard about what happened on the news.” Aizawa shook. Curling into himself. Heels just barely staying on the seat of the chair,

“Just drown out the noise Hizashi.” They was no need for the request to be repeated. Aizawa had asked the same thing of Hizashi many times before. Aizawa didn’t even listen to him. He kept his head tucked into his knees hearing his friends voice, but nothing discernible enough to form words. Listening to Hizashi had been more calming than Aizawa had expected. He closed his eyes again.

You smiled happily as Aizawa handed a small gift to you. It was your birthday. Even though the both of you hated taking time away from hero work, birthday’s were one of the few exceptions. Carefully unwrapping his present Aizawa couldn’t help but smile when he saw you light up. From the box you pulled out the gorgeous bracelet he’d gotten you. Lotus motifs and charms going all around the silver ring. You slipped it on immediately, your face subtly flushing pink. Aizawa huffed and slipped a note over to you,

“Think of this as your card.” In it, was the handwritten confession of love he’d written for you. More often than not he tripped over his words. Unable to convey much with his monotone voice and attitude. Your face went red as you read the letter. Aizawa feeling more embarrassed as time went on. He had a feeling you didn’t even like him. He shifted in his seat. Silently you got up and Aizawa felt his anxiety skyrocket. You shuffled over to him and quickly pecked his cheek. Quickly sitting down you placed your head in your hands,

“I like you too, Aizawa.” He was too shocked to speak for a moment. But the shock induced silence faded as Aizawa took one of your hands in his. A grin playing at his already tired features,

“Just call me Shouta.”

Memories whirled past before he could register them. Short kisses, long kisses. Times where neither one of you would talk and instead just enjoy the other’s presence. Cuddling. Shouta nearly fell out of the chair when he opened his eyes again. Hizashi interrupted mid-sentence. Gently Aizawa felt a hand rest on his back. A quiet plea followed,

“Go home Shouta. You’re an utter wreck right now. You need sleep. You need to relax. I’ve never seen you this tense before.” Aizawa sighed shaking his head,

“No.” Hizashi paused before giving in with a defeated sigh,

“At least tell me what keeps scaring you.” Aizawa took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk. He could feel his composure chip away with every word he wanted to say,

“Her.” Hizashi nodded and didn’t ask for anything other than that. He knew Aizawa well enough to know one word answers were meant as a warning to leave him alone. Hizashi brought out his phone. Curiosity piqued, Aizawa leaned in to see what he was looking at. Aizawa mentally praised his best friend looking at all the cat pictures on the small screen. Hizashi picked out an especially cute grey kitten from the bunch and pointed to it as he nudged Aizawa, whose head now rested on his shoulder,

“Isn’t that one cute?” There was a content sigh as Aizawa nodded,

“Mmhmm. Cute nose.” The pair continued like that until a doctor peeked into the waiting room,

“Are you two waiting to see (L/N) (F/N)?” Aizawa shot up. Nodding. The doctor took a moment to look over some papers before looking at him,

“I see. Well, it’s a miracle her injuries aren’t worse…” The doctor continued spouting words Aizawa didn’t care for,

“Is she okay?” Looking up from his notes the doctor nodded. A knowing grin on his features,

“Yes. Ms.(L/N) will be perfectly fine. She’s asleep right now, but would you like to see her?” Aizawa quickly walked over to the doctor,

“Please.” Hizashi chuckled behind Aizawa. He followed along a lot slower. Where as Aizawa was at the doctors heels.

When they got to your door Aizawa immediately went inside. His heart broke when he saw you. There was a bandage around your forehead, and one on your cheek. You looked nowhere near peaceful. Pulling up a chair Aizawa sat beside you, resting his head and hand on the bed, he would stay here until you woke. Hizashi sighed from behind him,

“Jeez. She must’ve been beat pretty bad to be this out of it. Do you know what happened Shouta?” Aizawa tensed remembering the text.

Help,

Villain

Not strong enou

The news blared as he stared blankly at your text,

“We’re here, at the scene of the latest villain attack. As you can see, (H/N) is fighting with everything she has. Hopefully support will come soon. This is a challenge even for her.” Aizawa didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Or even when he’d put on his costume. But that same scene of your attacker looming over you. Ready to kill you. It was burned into Aizawa’s mind.

He couldn’t see your legs or torso, but he knew they were covered in bandages. Even as he held your hand now, he shuddered looking at your bandage covered arm. It killed him to think of just how hurt you were. It killed him that he’d let it happen.

The door quietly slid open. Aizawa didn’t move. A familiar voice called,

“Ah, you both are still here. I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave. Ms.(L/N) needs all the rest she can get.” Aizawa made a low growl,

“I’m not leaving.” There was some whispering between Hizashi and the doctor before a defeated sigh broke the secretive conversation,

“Alright, only one of you can stay.” Aizawa tiredly looked to his friend. Silent pleading in his eyes. Hizashi smiled,

“I like getting sleep Shouta. You can stay here all you want. Do you want me to bring you food later?” Aizawa gave an airy chuckle,

“I’d like that.” With a wave Hizashi left the room with the doctor. Leaving Aizawa alone in silence.

Aizawa thought he could withstand torture, but now, sitting in the not at all empty room in total silence. Aizawa realized this was torture he never had a shot to resist. You were right there, he could reach out and touch you, if he was careful, even lie beside you. But the silence grated on his ears, and his own guilt kept him beside you. Finally after listening to his own breathing for a good hour Aizawa drifted off into sleep.

Dark figures wavered in front of him. He stood up as they began moving. One becoming very large, hulking over another that had lied down. Your voice filled his ears,

“Why? Why didn’t you help me? I’m not going to remember you. It hurts so much Aizawa! Help me!” Aizawa stepped away from the figures and into another one. This one was about the same height as him, but with Hizashi’s voice,

“Aizawa, she’s gone. Asleep forever. You didn’t help her. I mean, get it together. What a wreck.” Aizawa hissed covering his ears. But the voices only echoed hollowly in his skull. The figure’s began to surround him. Looming over his shrunken frame as he hugged his knees. There was a distinct realness to one of the voices. It spoke apart from the others,

“S…...a! Wa….u….Sho….!” Aizawa breathed deeply focussing on the voice. Very suddenly he was pulled from his nightmare,

“Shouta! Wake up!” Aizawa’s eyes popped open. The voice was merely above a whisper now. A gentle hand shaking his head. The room was much brighter as early morning light gushed through the nearby window. Looking up, Aizawa didn’t expect to see you. Smiling and awake. It was most definitely out of character for him, but Aizawa couldn’t stop the tears that flowed from his eyes. He couldn’t find anything in his throat that resembled a sob. All he had was a whisper,

“Don’t ever do that again.” You smiled wiping away some of his tears, as your own slid down your cheeks,

“I’m sorry Shouta. I’m here. I’m here now.” When Aizawa heard his name he couldn’t take it anymore. He shot forward, holding you in a tight hug.

Silence hung in the air. But it embraced Aizawa as he held you. The door slid open and another voice very familiar barked out a laugh,

“(Y/N)! Glad to see you awake! You wouldn’t believe how moody Shouta was last night! Does he get all panicky when you stub your toe too?” You giggled as Aizawa growled loudly.

At least you were there. That stopped Aizawa from choking Hizashi.

[iamebonybones]

Huge Delight Speaking With The Guardian’s 

Brilliant Nadja Sayej About The Upcoming New 

Album

Written by - Nadja Sayej

With a blonde afro and a London accent, Ebony Bones is a visionary artist who works across genres and disparate sounds. What sets her apart is that she writes, composes, produces and releases her own punk-inflected, alternative soundtracks, many of which are graced with dark pop undertones. Studying alongside Amy Winehouse Bones has been enlisted by Yves Saint Laurent and Alexander Wang to score campaigns and runway shows, and is also noted for her collaborations with Yoko Ono. With a forthcoming third album featuringThe Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra, Bones is a self-produced artist and one of a few women in the male-dominated production world. Making her one of the most prominent female producers and redefining voices in the music industry today.

Bones was born to an immigrant father from the Caribbean who ran a vinyl stall in Brixton Market in London, and her mother, a fashion agent for top fashion designers, including Moschino. She studied at London’s Sylvia Young Theatre School alongside classmate and friend Amy Winehouse. At 12-years-old, Bones was discovered by Oscar-winning actor Sir Mark Rylance, then the artistic director of the Shakespeare Globe Theatre, and enlisted for his production of Macbeth as the First Witch.

At 15-years-old, she starred as a rebellious teenager in the British TV show Family Affairs. Starring alongside Idris Elba, she stole the spotlight as the feisty young character - Yasmin Green. She garnered nominations for British Soap Awards as one of the longest-running actors on the show, which was syndicated globally, staring from 1998 to 2005.

Becoming friends with punk legend and drummer Rat Scabies, from 70s punk band The Damned, Bones began writing songs alongside Scabies in 2005, who gave the artist her eponymous stage name and taught her a DIY punk ethic and “trial and error” approach to making music. “It’s perfection comes from its imperfection,” said Bones. “In an age where human flaws are erased from music, the imperfect can be very striking.”

In 2008, Bones uploaded an anonymous demo to MySpace. The Orwellian-themed anthem “We Know All About U,” was premiered by BBC Radio 1 Dj Zane Lowe, as ‘Hottest Record in The World,’  garnering millions of radio plays and raving reviews, becoming the BBC’s most played record by an unsigned artist.

In 2009, Bones released her debut album Bone of My Bones to critical acclaim. With tracks like ‘W.A.R.R.I.O.R’, ‘Guess We’ll Always Have NY’ and ‘The Muzik’, the album was used for runway shows and campaigns by Yves Saint Laurent, EA Sports FIFA and various Citroën car commercials including the controversial commercial featuring John Lennon.

Photographed by legendary photographer Jean Baptiste Mondino for New York Times T Magazine, her concerts were heralded by the publication as a “riotous jungle-punk stage act”. Bones goes above and beyond with a high-watt stage presence, bringing a whirl of energy to the stage with her fashion antics. Known for her multiple costume changes, she can often be spotted donning designer pieces by Iris van Herpen and Manish Arora

Her music, however, isn’t the traditional punk trio. Pushing boundaries as one of the first and few female music producers to work alongside orchestras, there is a real cinematic feel to her work. Traveling the world collaborating with symphony orchestras from India and China she asks classical musicians to step outside their comfort zone to perform her unconventional compositions.

“It’s about changing people’s perspectives. By breaking down existing genre boundaries, my approach to music including collaborations with The Mumbai Symphony and The Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra, reimagines orchestral music while challenging the prevailing mainstream mentality, that classical music is an art form that can only be performed by, for and about white males such as Beethoven” said Bones.

“I’m always pushing myself into unknown territory, I enjoy the challenge of stepping outside my circumference and learning from other cultures. There’s always a huge risk of recording alongside musicians you’ve never met, and don’t even speak the same language. Will it work? will you be able to communicate? In many ways it could be a recipe for disaster but these are all the elements that drive me as a creator. Music is the galvanizing force that brings people together.”

In 2013, her sophomore album “Behold, A Pale Horse” was released on her label 1984 Records. Premiered by NPR, who described Bones as “a major player for years to come,” the apocalyptic inspired album was recorded in India at YRF Studios aswell as Miloco Studios, London and featured tracks alongside The Mumbai Symphony Orchestra, and The New London Children’s Choir on a playful cover of The Smiths' ‘What Difference Does It Make’.

With its stringed percussion and harmonious chants, Behold, A Pale Horse is said to have “jagging guitars, jungle-inspired drums, and fierce vocals that seem to taunt as they go,” according to SPIN Magazine. The Independent praised the album as “a beguiling blend of chants, afrobeat, and the darker end of post-punk,” the self produced album also featured contributions from Liquid Liquid’s Sal P for the remix of ‘Bread & Circus’. The video, directed by Al Pacino’s daughter Julie Pacino and Jennifer DeLia, was premiered by Jay-Z via his lifestyle website Life & Times, heralding Bones as a “producer with a wide variety of influences, inspiring others through that journey."

In 2015 Bones released Milk & Honey, Pt. 1, her debut EP, which included the catchy disco-punk track ‘Oh Promised Land’. The song was used by Ray-Ban for their summer campaign which also featured Bones. She then headlined ‘Pop-Kultur’ festival to a sold out audience at Berlin’s legendary Berghain venue, that same year. Speaking to The New York Times about music production, Bones explained “It was an ambitious thing; I saw a deficit of female producers, and it’s still that way,” she said, noting that every non-classical Grammy Award for Producer of the Year had gone to a man.

Catching the attention of Yoko Ono with her avant-garde approach, Bones was enlisted by the art legend to re-work her song ‘No Bed For Beatle John’, for Ono’s ‘Yes, I’m A Witch Too’, her first album in nine years. Released in February 2016, it was heralded by The Guardian as “a brilliant track produced by Ebony Bones that pairs Ono’s eerie falsetto with majestic horns.” Featuring artwork by designer Karl Lagerfeld, the song was originally recorded by John Lennon in 1969. 

                                             *   *   *

As a self-produced artist, Bones is one of a few women in the male-dominated production world, making her one of the most prominent female producers in a burgeoning feminist movement within the music industry today. Given that less than 5% of solo music producers are women, Bones alongside Grimes, Linda Perry and Tokimonsta were the few producers featured by HBO/VICE for their 2017 special. Her production is as important as the music itself, and her skills are informed by self-produced musicians like Kate Bush, Missy Elliott, Linda Perry and Lauryn Hill. “Gender and ethnic diversity are markers for many of the key things that make music and art vital and resilient,” says Bones. “However, with the frighteningly low proportion of female music producers, there is currently only one dominant voice that determines what we all hear, and what music gets made.”

Her highly anticipated forthcoming album Nephilim, released July 20th sees Bones continue to push her musical ingenuity. She makes her directorial debut with the breathtaking new video of ‘Nephilim’ released May 4th, which may possibly be her most stunning visual yet. Featuring collaborations with The Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra, Bones took time away from touring to write and produce the new album, recorded in Beijing, New York and London. Collaborating alongside the orchestra at Beijing’s Tweak Tone Labs Studio, the album explores several themes including censorship; the conspicuous kind in China vs the more insidious kind in the west; as well as the emergence of nationalism in the world, post-Brexit and post-Trump.  

Unafraid to break down existing genre boundaries, the songs on Nephilim have an otherworldly, futuristic sound. She demonstrates an electronic avant-garde prowess, with experimental jazz, a sophisticated symphonic sense, teamed alongside afrofuturist overtones. There is a real cinematic feel to Bones' productions, displayed on orchestral tracks like 'Nephilim' and instrumental passages like 'Truth or Treason' that serve almost as a soundtrack for a film.

Bones reached out to the orchestra following her collaborations with Yoko Ono and The Mumbai Symphony Orchestra on Behold A Pale Horse. “China boasts some of the worlds best classical musicians and it was an honor to collaborate with them. I sent the Beijing Philharmonic the scores I had composed, and they were excited for the collaboration,” said Bones, who was invited to perform at the World Exposition in Shanghai 2010, which saw over 73 million visitors.

“Many people asked about recordings in Beijing and censorship in China, and while I didn’t directly experience any, it got me thinking about all the ways in which censorship manifests itself in our culture,” says the artist. “It takes on covert forms, like who gets to speak and who doesn't get to speak, and all the ways we silence the voices of people we don't want to hear” said Bones. “Beginning with the theme of religious censorship, I made ‘Nephilim’ conscious of the fact that these were not subjects females usually write about.”

The manifesto-like lyrics in the punk-inflected track ‘No Black In The Union Jack’ begins with an audio clip of British Member of Parliament Enoch Powell’s notorious ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech attacking immigration in 1968. “This hate speech was so vile, it has never been broadcast in full,” said Bones. “It is one of the most incendiary racist speeches of modern Britain and this year marks it’s 50th anniversary.”

The new album also explores the emergence of nationalism in the world post-Brexit and Trump. “Xenophobia aswell as fear of immigrants and foreigners was strongly associated with support for leaving the EU; post-Trump and Brexit have created a hostile environment for immigrants, fanned by nationalist bile and scapegoating as displayed throughout these songs.”  

Bones expanded on the larger issue of censorship “While writing the album, I began thinking about how women have been erased historically and all the ways we silence the voices of people we don't want to hear,” she said. “While I have accomplished a level of success in my art, I am not ignorant to the fact that for the majority of women, and especially women of colour, invisibility, not being seen or heard is a through-line for most of our careers.”

The album was engineered by Grammy Award-winning masterer, Mandy Parnell of Black Saloon who also engineered Behold A Pale Horse. Bones enlisted a host of musicians for the album, including a horn section featuring saxophone legend, Jimi Hendrix and James Brown collaborator - Lonnie Youngblood. Among the new 11 tracks on the album, there is a stunning cover, of the Junior Murvin/The Clash classic ‘Police & Thieves,’ which is performed by The Bones Youth Choir.

Speaking truth to power, the afrofuturistic anthem ‘Kids of Coltan’ touches upon the subjects of neo-colonialism and human rights violations. “The song is about the culture of complicity, as I began thinking of the young child laborers who make our smartphones and electronic devices,” said Bones. “Modern day communication is built on coltan mining, by young children in the Democratic Republic of Congo. From picking cotton to picking coltan, I realised this is today’s modern slave trade, of which we are all complicit.”

From ‘Kids Of Coltan’ and ‘Police & Thieves’ to ‘I See, I Say’ and ‘What Difference Does It Make’, children are a constant theme in Bones’ work. “A child's innocence allows for greater perception. Kids tend to be good at expressing their creativity, but then as adults people tend to lose this as they grow older, it’s something we have to protect and nurture.”

The giant themes and futuristic sounds of Nephilim are a reference to Bones’ own avant-garde approach, and as science fiction author Philip K. Dick once said, “Artists have the capacity to accidentally predict the future, it’s in their essence as creators.” Bones proves to be a step ahead.

New single ‘Nephilim’ featuring The Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra is out digitally May 4th

Written by Nadja Sayej

Photo Credits:

Photo by: Antonello Trio

Hair: Ernesto Montenovo

Styling: Ramona Tabita

Make-up:  Elena Pivetta

[old1ddude]

Living With Pink

Since @seasurfacefullofclouds did a lovely review on ‘Harry Styles’ (post) after living with it for more than a year - I felt inspired to write up my own observations and opinions.  

For the sake of brevity and the fact that it seems to irritate certain haters - I will refer to Harry’s album as “PINK” throughout.

Melody!  There are ten good, fully developed melodies in an era where a four note hook combined with a bass loop is thought to constitute a song.  Really, there are more than ten, Sign of the Times has three distinct melodies, seamlessly woven together.  (On an intellectual level, I understand that some people don’t think melody is the most important element of music.  On a gut level, I just don’t get it.  Melody is it for me.)  I’ve listened to PINK straight through hundreds of times.  The  beauty and quality present in every song, nearly every moment never fails to impress.  I’ve never really been an album guy, because, even among my favorite artists, at least half of the songs seem there just to take up space.  (I used to make mix tapes, back in the day.)  With PINK, I feel that every song has real merit and is fully worthy of it’s place.    Harry’s voice (which I have always really loved - even X-Factor era) and vocal technique have reached a superlative level.  I think Harry is at absolutely peak performance, and it’s a beautiful thing to behold.  The instrumentation and arrangements are breathtaking.  Even the angry Kiwi has deep beauty and avoids shrill, unpleasant sounds, often found in hard rock.  For those who are willing to look below the surface, PINK’s honesty, vulnerability and frankness are noteworthy.  I feel that Harry is speaking directly to me and the album is providing a window into his soul - into his humanity.  PINK grapples with internal conflicts omnipresent in the human condition, good and evil, love and hate, selfishness and sacrifice.  I am very confident that PINK will sound just as good 20, or 30 years from now - it won’t ever become stale, or sound dated.  Some wished for a more cohesive album, but for me, the variety makes it really hard to grow bored of PINK.  I was infatuated with the album from the start.  As time goes on, my love for it only deepens.

This ended up getting pretty long - track by track under the cut.

Meet Me in the Hallway was a bit dreary to me at first.  Now I find myself absorbed in it.  The aching and longing, the vulnerability, the pain - it all feels so close, honest and real.  The repetition of  “gotta get better” is slightly irritating to my ear - for that reason, I will occasionally skip the track.  I do wonder, however, if that irritation was intentional - meant to provoke some unease in the listener.  The guitar part on this song is achingly beautiful, as is Harry’s voice.

Sign of the Times is a masterpiece by any measure.  Sea pointed out how difficult it is to sing this song in a way to do it any justice.  Precious few artists could pull it off.  Every time I hear it, the song transports me - it lifts me out of myself.  The rich, full sound and deft combination of three distinct melodies is no small feat.  Guitar slides, strings, gospel choirs - it could so easily be overblown, or too grandiose, but it strike the perfect balance.  The song moves at a stately sixty beats per minute.  I would imagine this is very close to Harry’s resting heart rate.  There is nothing rushed - every moment is given it’s full due.  Also, I am of the old fashioned belief that art should be beautiful.  Every second of SotT is achingly beautiful and I love it.

Carolina is great fun and incredibly clever.  May artists try to be “edgy,” or “cool” by referencing drugs.  Carolina recreates in music what I imagine it would feel like to be high on coke.  (I’ve been around people who were jacked up before.)  The manic “la la la la la la la la’s,” the fuzzy sensation, “she feels so good!”  If you listen carefully, Harry sings it as if he is in a slight haze - king of nuance, as always.  The metaphor is nothing short of brilliant - “get’s into parties without invitation” -  “she feels so good.”  Layers of sound, particularly on the second verse, are extraordinary.  This song gives you the same kind of sugar rush a hit pop song can deliver, but backs it up with plenty of vitamins and protein, so you don’t get that “sugar low” and grow tired of it.  

Two Ghosts has some of the most compelling word images - “Fridge light washes this room white,” for one.  It’s a deceptively simple, easy to sing song, but a lot of artist would turn out a boring rendition.  The album version is lovely, but the performance he did, just Harry and his guitar, was breathtaking.  Once again, we have deep vulnerability and profound honesty.  I do wish he had done the vocal “ooo’s” on the album version.  We’ve all seen how hyper aware Harry is of his surroundings.  He stared right at the camera trying to snag a sneaky snap.  He spots people, way up in the nosebleed seats, trying to leave early and gently chastises them.  He’s too finely tuned of an instrument to handle fireworks easily.  I believe he is much more aware of all his senses than the average person.  Touch, taste, sight, sound - he sculpts and paints with his music.

Sweet Creature is a song I will often skip back and repeat as once through just isn’t enough.  It’s not a sugary, or fairy tale version of love, but honest, vulnerable, real.  “Runnin through the garden, oh when nothing bothered us,” paints such a beautiful picture.  “Sweet Creature” is such and odd phrase and yet conveys such warmth and deep connection for Louis another person.  Harry’s voice brings an incredible warmth to this song - a warmth utterly unique to his quite distinctive voice.  Again, it takes great artistry to impart such feeling on a relatively simple song, like this.  The guitar part is certainly inspired by the Beatles’ Blackbird, but any similarity ends there, in my opinion.  For my ear, Sweet Creature is a better song - it moves me in a way Blackbird never could.

Only Angel sets up a beautiful dichotomy.  The angelic, SotT inspired, into and outro envelop the hard rock interior.  The contrast intentionally reinforces the song’s story.  Harry’s voice doesn’t quite have the anger, or hardness one might expect at on a first listen - the warmth in his voice was very intentional.  The angel (which is Harry himself) is also a devil between the sheets.  Mother (authority figure) doesn’t approve of how the angel presents “herself.”  Harry loves attention and the stage, but hates fame.  He’s good and kind, but also has a dirty side.  (I could go on and on, but I’ve  written on my OA interpretation extensively, ages ago.)  A plus for using a flawed angel as a metaphor for himself - brilliant.  The melody is catchy as hell - it’s a “bop” and great fun to hear, but there’s so much meat it’s almost ridiculous.  The sound is rich and beautiful throughout and I love that he brings back the angelic sound to close it out.

Kiwi has so little movement in the melody, yet it works beautifully - somehow, it’s still a great melody and hard to get out of your head.  The instrumentation is angry and hard, yet rich, full and pleasant to the ear.  Harry’s voice has just the right amount of anger and derision.  “She” is Simon Cowell.  She tempts the boys with fame and fortune, but she’s hollow inside.  It’s an angry song, but it feels so good, joyful even, to hear it.  Harry’s stage performance reveals how cathartic it is to finally tell Simon what he thinks of him - in front of a massive audience.  I love Kiwi so much, I’ve made the most raucous chorus into a ringtone on my phone.  “Oh I think she said, “I’m having your baby” [heyyyy] “it’s none of your business” [hoooo......]  Harry has such a great, raspy rock voice - it really isn’t fair.

Ever Since New York sounds like some combination of Bruce Springsteen and the Statler Brothers.  The accompaniment is beautiful and rich with a really great, solid melody.  Harry’s vocalization suggests someone who is TIRED and DONE with the situation.  “Tell me something, tell me something new.  Don’t know nothing, just pretend you do...” is sung as a plea - a plea devoid of any hope of being answered.  Harry is vulnerable, broken and through putting up a front, or playing games.

Woman has been compared to Elton John’s Bennie and the Jets a lot - way too much, in my opinion.  There are similarities in the structure of the song, but Woman has a completely different sound.  I like a lot of John’s music, but when he sings “B-B-B-Bennie” he squeaks like a rusty hinge.  Harry sings “W-W-W-Woman” in a different key and melody (and with a deep, pleasant vocal.)  “Selfish I know...”  It’s one of the best jealousy songs I’ve ever heard.  He knows he’s selfish - knows it’s wrong, but can’t help his feelings.  I love Harry’s unflinching look at the darker side of human nature and wholly realistic view of his own failings.  Woman has a very good melody and those little “la-la la-la la-la la-la’s” give it just the zest in needs.

From the Dining Table might just be too honest.  While the artistry was immediately apparent, I was a little slow to warm up to this song, because it’s a bit depressing.  He sings about masturbating as a distraction to his pain and loneliness (and some said the album wasn’t honest enough!)  This song is pure vulnerability.  It’s arranged with such simplicity and great restraint.  (Harry understands the beauty of restraint, you can hear it in If I Could Fly.)  This is another song which must be sung with great artistry, to prevent it being dull.  The addition of strings and lovely female harmonies (”maybe one day you’ll call me...”) is a master stroke.  I am perplexed as to why he didn’t have Sarah and Clair sing the harmonies on tour.  Beautiful, beautiful song, but it is still a bit depressing - as it was meant to be.  Harry loves angst and drama.

Speaking of restraint, Harry has a habit of doing just enough, but never too much (nuance again.)  He changes vocal inflection and flavor with ease, but never adds gratuitous vocal embellishment.  Harry is quite capable of singing runs and all sorts of vocal gymnastics, but chooses a simple, restrained beauty.  (Sometimes, less is more.)  He maintains this restrained discipline in the accompaniment, as well.  PINK is a rock album, but also so much more.  In ten, or twenty years it will still sound fresh - and I think more people will realize what a masterpiece it truly is.

[writingdeskstories]

The Ballad of Fern Faster

Setting - Organ

Tone: Surreal

Place: Town

Population: Hostile

In a remote town, Organ despises noise. It's not fixated on silence and can enjoy a harmonious melody. But discordant notes and disruption to the rhythm infuriate it. The people of the town have long since learned to fall in line with what Organ enforces, and they abhor outsiders especially when they resist adapting to Organ's needs. Outsiders are often confused because though the town is severe, its response to disruption is long and slow. Unable to move swiftly, it warps the world over time, upending reality itself bit by bit for everyone around.

Establishing Shot

The streets of Organ's town are not quiet, but rhythmic. People going about their routines step in time with each other, making the streets hum with the beat as it echoes all around, ingrained in people's heads.

Though everyone is carrying out all their separate daily routines, every single one of them matches the timings together as the step, stand, wave, turn, laugh, cry or breathe.

It all goes.

1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3

Antagonist - Choreographer Flik - Power 3

Flaw: Overzealous

Strength: Agile

Type: Weapon

Choreographer Flik has been conducting Organ's dance for a long time. Early on she recognised that it was far easier and safer to give into the harmony and believe in it. There WAS a pleasure to falling in line with the rhythm, and she makes sure everyone understands that lest some dissident undermines life for the rest with careless action. After all, she wants the people of the town kept safe from the outbursts of Organ itself. And she's well practiced in teaching people the movements they need to fall in line.

Antagonist Operating

Most people in town follow the rhythm, but Flik leads it. Everyone knows that Organ itself dictates what the rhythm is, but that doesn't stop Choreographer Flik being the leader that pulls ahead of them all, setting the example and ensuring everyone stays in line. Everyone in town can hear her coming at any point because her movements are so perfectly tuned in that they stand out amongst the chorus. Even her echoes match the rhythm.

On a small street just a few people are moving about their business, however one man named Pete moves awkwardly with a cane he's not used to. Pete had resisted accepting one for years but it became untenable, and adjusting is proving even harder than he expected as he stumbles along, stepping outside the proper rhythm. No-one else in the street will make eye contact with Pete, but then they hear the click of Flik's shoes approaching, and they strain even harder to divert their attention away.

Flik walks down the street, adjusting the arm movements, posture and gait of people she passes without a second thought. She can clearly see Pete struggling and strides right up to him.

"Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete," each word hits a beat and is punctuated by it as she also shakes her head in long slow rhythmic timing, "Ask for some help, if you need it. We will provide."

Flik smiles, taking his cane and sliding in under his arm as she lets him rest his weight on her. Pete holds his tongue, too nervous to speak to the beat, and nods his head as they start to walk briskly. He fails to hide his winces as they move, and Flik quickly notices.

"Sorry Petey. We just have to. Keep up keep up. You know the way. Try wince in time. Wince two three four, wince two three four," She says with sincere intent to encourage him as they head down the street.

Hero - Fern Faster - Power 3

Flaw: Lazy

Motivation: Justice

Strength: Intuition

Preferring to go with the flow and take it easy, Fern goes on gut feeling rather than thinking through their actions and following the context they're in. This is largely due to laziness, but they do have an undeniably good instinct for knowing what's best even in ways they themself don't even recognise until much later. What truly gets Fern to take action is when people are being marginalised or unfairly restricted. They cannot abide oppressive rules and love to shatter them for all.

Introduction: Socialising

Fern lies stretched out in an uncomfortable trailer, looking up at the sky above. Their foot bobs slowly to a rhythm that can't be followed. But it gets interrupted as the trailer starts vibrating because the tractor it's attached to starts up, spluttering.

The old farmer in the tractor looks back at Fern and laughs, "You really waited, huh? I told ya I'd be gone for hours."

Fern does a slight shrug, "I'm in no rush Judith."

Judith looks back at her odd new friend, "You'd rather wait than be there by now?"

"I'd rather wait than walk," Fern replies, still lying out flat as the trailer jostles them.

"Suit yerself, no skin off my back," Judith beams as she turns to focus on the road ahead.

It's 30 minutes later before Fern speaks up, "Have you been to Organ yourself?" they ask, lifting themself up to sit and face her.

Judith just shakes her head, "I'm too slow for that place. Can't keep up with it. I don't think the place would suit me."

"I don't like that," Fern says frowning, "Everyone should be allowed come and go as they please."

Judith cocks a grin, "Well we're getting pretty close if you want to take that up with the town."

Fern just nods silently as they rumble along the road.

Quest

Objective: Defeat [person/creature]

Quest Giver: Prophet

Potential doom: Death

The Prophet Owenly Drummond has sent Fern to defeat Organ itself, lest the people of the town be slowly crushed under the weight if its stubborn rule. Though the people are not likely to be directly murdered, their lives are slowly eaten by the arbitrary harmony they cannot escape.

Quest Given: Advice

Owenly Drummond sits smiling at his marble desk as Fern looks back sceptical and quiet. Owenly is content because he already knows that Fern will go on the quest he set for them.

Fern clears their throat, "And why me?"

Owenly nods, accepting the question as valid, "Because I don't know what needs to be done, but I can tell you'll know. Follow your instincts Fern, and those will lead to freeing the people of Organ. I don't know what that means, I expect you don't either yet. But you will learn."

Fern sighs, knowing when their buttons are being pushed, "Well I don't want to leave a town full of people trapped."

Owenly stands up from their marble desk and walks over to the huge windows, edged with stained glass embellishments, looking out on the bustle of people going to and fro, to prayers, field work and to the music halls.

"The Chorus thanks you Fern, we can also reward you of course."

"I don't need much," they reply shrugging.

"We know," says Owenly as he reaches out to shake Fern's limp hand, "But we can supply what you want."

Fern stands up as they shake hands, and pauses before leaving, "I don't have any time limit, do I?"

Training

HEADS

HEADS

HEADS

HEADS

TAILS

TAILS

Training: Cause

Fern lay still and close their eyes. Focusing would be the wrong word for what they're doing, because it's a lot more natural and uninvolved. But Fern's thoughts are wholly subsumed into the environment around them.

They'd been staying so long with the Chorus in their home that Fern had actually become comfortable and familiar with it. Before that, Fern constantly moved and they could feel the subtle changes in each place she went even when it was just a dirt road.

Bumping along in the truck, Fern mentally stretches themself out, touching the ground, the sky and the horizon. It feels good, they forgot how much it did. And it's a lot easier to get back into it using a calm and empty road like this.

However, something new starts creeping in when approaching Organ. It's not something they can get a clear read on, but Fern's sure it's the entity of Organ itself. Sprawled out across the land, worming itself everywhere in reach.

Fern sits up slowly and calmly, cracking their back. Getting that early peek at Organ helped but a scope on what they're coming to face, and it won't be hard at all.

Preparation Choice

Ally - Memento of Victor - Power 1

Strength: Unyielding

Type: Instrument

Source: Lover

A violin Fern was given by a man they loved long ago, it's all they have to remember him by. It bellows out notes as Fern plays it. Technically it isn't actually loud, it merely undermines other sound to attract all attention to itself. And despite years of rough travel and bouncing from place to place, it remains pristine and potent as ever.

Recruit Ally: Quest Relationship

Fern picks up the cloth bag next to them, and looks at the beautiful violin and bow sitting inside. They hadn't had much cause to use the violin while with the Choir, so they'd just left it to the side. It was a lot easier not having to think about it too.

However, before leaving to travel here, something pulled at Fern and compelled them to bring it. They were never one to ignore their instincts, even when they pushed Fern to do something they didn't want to. So along the violin came.

Now Fern takes it out of the bag and runs the bow along its strings, which let out a low hum. Evoking memories both good and regrettable, they put the violin back away again. Whatever Fern needs to bring it for, they can use it then and not dwell on the violin itself too much.

Antagonist Planning: Retribution

Flik arrives at Peter's office, with him breathing hard and leaning against her. As she stops short at the top of the steps.

"There we are now," she smiles at him, "Right on time too. Ready for work? I'm sure you are."

Pete only manages a strained nod as he slides off her shoulder to try stand on his own weight with the cane again.

"I understand. This must be tough," she nods along with her words, "So it's ok. But get in line," her voice never strays from pleasant, but Pete can feel the weight behind her words, "Just one chance each. That's all we get. Harsh but needed. No expections. You understand."

She pats his shoulder with each syllable of understand, and turns to leave without waiting on a response.

Training

TAILS

TAILS

TAILS

Opponent New Power: Source

Pete stumbles away as Flik leaves. Even less sure on his feet, Pete does force himself to match his feet to the rhythm as he trips on himself and falls to the ground perfectly in time. He carefully lifts himself in discrete careful motions so he can move slowly but still at Organ's pace. As he gets to his feet, his co worker Karen is already there handing him his cane.

He looks up to thank her, but he can see her attention is focused instead on the disappearing Choreographer. Karen scowls at her back, comfortable in the knowledge that Flik won't turn and see. Pete cannot blame her, so many of them share this hidden distaste for Flik, even if what she does truly is "necessary".

Karen remembers herself and turns her attention back to Pete, helping him in and trying their best to follow the rhythm inside.

Quest Departure: Leaving home

No-one saw Fern off from the temple, they hadn't made close friends or strong connections there. But they did feel something, stepping out through the Stave Arches that marked the edge of their home.

Fern had settled in so gradually, they only realised it was home when they were leaving it. It was oddly comforting to remind themself that they were coming back.

They hitched up their lightly packed bag and started their slow walk north. Their thoughts often drifted back. To the view from the Re Tower, the way the sun warmed the grass in the garden, and the booming song that burst out of the assemblies that Fern never attended but always heard.

Fern remembers all of this as they regard the gates of Organ. Perfectly fine gates. They step through. But certainly not the arches of their home.

Obstacle - Overture Oswald - Power 1

Cause: Need

Strength: Elemental

Type: Mage

Guarding the gates into Organ as an Overture, Oswald stops people as they enter to ensure that they understand the rules of the town, for the safety of them and the townspeople. It's normally a peaceful affair, and most are intimidated by his magical uniform. A sharp tailored suit that catches the rhythm of Organ and sparkles with it. And when it comes down to violence, Oswald has the earth magic to back up his demeanor.

Opponent Conversation: Understanding Motivations

Oswald sees Fern sauntering through the gate and immediately he can they'll be trouble. He still tries to catch their attention politely first.

"A-hem, hello. Your first time miss?" he forces a polite smile on his face.

Fern looks nonplussed and let's the moment hang for a while, "Ah, yes."

The incomplete rhythm eats at Oswald and he replies almost to demonstrate, "Ah yes ah yes. Well miss-"

"Not miss," they shake their head, "Call me Fern. Or Faster. 'You' can work too but I won't respond to miss next time you say it," Fern steps forward, satisfied they're done talking.

"Now just hold ON," Oswald grabs their arm, "I am Oswald, the Overture. I guard this town, relay the rules and halt trouble," he growls, "Everyone here, we match a rhythm. 1234. Harmonious. Perfect tempo. All in concert. It keeps us safe, pleases the town. Prevents trouble."

Fern looks back at his serious eyes, "Yeah. I know. That's bullshit. I'm here to free you all, so you're not locked into this cycle just to appease some powerful thing."

Oswald's eyes widen and Fern jerks themself free, "So good day Oswald."

Conflict between Fern Faster and Overture Oswald

Fern

TAILS

TAILS

HEADS

HEADS

Oswald

HEADS

Fern Faster won!

Overture Oswald loses power and has been retired!

+1 coins: For winning a conflict encounter with an Obstacle.

+2 coins: For retiring an Obstacle.

Reluctant Participation

Stamp stamp clap click. Oswald reacts quickly, realising that Fern isn't messing around. With the click of his fingers the spell completes, and ice builds up from the ground around Fern's legs hold them in place.

"Look right here, Fern," he steps forward, confident for exactly one moment before he sees Fern start to sag on the spot and he rushes forward to catch them, "Woah woah, are you ok?"

He crouches to read her face, tilted to the ground, and he can see they're completely conscious and responsive. If anything they just look bored.

"You wanted me to stop, so I did."

Oswald hesitates, letting go of Fern and stepping back, "So uh, could you stand up?"

"I mean, I could yeah. No reason I couldn't, but it wouldn't make much difference would it?"

Oswald frowns, "Uhm," and he doesn't know where to go from there as he stares blankly.

However Fern does raise their head to look now, "Aren't you meant to be matching a rhythm? I thought it was extremely important?"

Oswald almost yelps with the realisation, he'd been out of lockstep for so many beats at this point. He concentrates and starts stamping and humming to find the rhythm, and get himself back into it.

Fern slips her feet free from the melting ice, losing its strength as Oswald becomes unfocused. They wriggle their toes to get feeling back and walk on ahead, amused as the Overture tries too hard to find his natural flow.

Find Ally: Missing Skill

Fern strolls into town, seeing the quiet empty streets that twist and turn all around them. Surprisingly few people seem to be present, which feels like a good thing at first as they wander through alone.

But the streets become oppressive, threatening. They lean forward over Fern and the hard pavement shifts underfoot like sand.

Partly because they're distracted, it's a while before Fern notices they're walking the same road they were already on. But going the wrong way this time, somehow. They rub their temples. This whole place gives Fern a headache, and just following their feet usually works fine. But apparently not today. They need someone or something that can help them get around.

Ally - The Way Forward - Power 1

Type: Map

Strength: Subtle

Source: From family

Weakness: Soft

An old family heirloom, all that Fern ever got from their parents. It's like a compass but always points in 3 directions. Where you want to go, where you need to go and where someone else is trying to send you, sometimes they overlap and sometimes they're pointing in opposite directions. The distinction between the arms is unclear to others, but Fern can read the slight differences between each and know what each one means. It is unfortunately sensitive to disturbances in the environment that can entirely break its magic.

Recruit Ally: Drafted

Fern takes out a battered device, flat and round. They pop it open to see the three arms of the Way Forward. It was rare to see all three point the same direction, and it always made them suspicious but Fern nodded and put the Way back in their pocket.

The Way Forward had never steered them wrong, they'd had it as long as they could remember and always trusted it. Besides the direct way to go, it taught them how to approach life on the road. There's always multiple ways to go, you can feel it in your gut. Just pick the best one and head onwards.

Fern always assumed that's what their family would've thought too, had they ever been around. The Way was the only reminder of their family they had, so it was all they could do to extrapolate.

Antagonist Encounter

Flik bounds through the streets. Her beatkeepers were just now realising that something was upsetting Organ, but she could feel it becoming uneasy underfoot. Things started small, some colours shifting, the texture of some materials would feel off or the air would be oddly lighter.

But she knew they'd swell soon if the problem wasn't dealt with. The Choreographer prided herself on the limited number of incidents, but of course they weren't perfect. A whole town staying in rhythm required constantly vigilance. Especially when it had been so long since there'd been a public demonstration of the consequences.

She frowns as she jogs with a large stride. You can't run in Organ, it messes with the rhythm. But if you're practiced, you can make leaping strides in perfect time and move just as fast.

Flik frowns because even though the effects are slow, they had been escalating fast this morning. Too fast for someone being careless, could someone really be intentionally rebelling? Her head swings side to side at the thought. She can feel Organ pulling her to the problem, so she'll soon see who the trouble maker is.

Surprise Meeting

Fern strolls down the road, regularly looking down at the Way Forward to check that they're still on the path. They suddenly notice one arm wildly swing to point the opposite way to the rest of them. Fern stares at it.

"Hmm, someone REALLY wants me to go the other way, h-"

It happens in a flash, as Fern turns a corner without looking. Flik almost bounds right into them, but Flik has spent a long time moving quick and precisely. Midair, she pushes herself at an angle to step right around Fern. But she immediately stops and pivots back to face her. Even in a single moment, Flik can easily identify that this is the source of the disturbance.

Fern is still catching up to what happened, looking up and turning to face an animated Flik.

"You, it's all you." each word was spat out with force, "You're doing this. Hurting our town. Hurting Organ. And knowingly," Flik's eyes narrow, certain that no-one could get into town without being informed. And Fern's demeanour remains completely nonplussed.

"Yeah," Fern replies, leaving an agonising pause for Flik, "Honestly lady this place is kinda fucked up."

Conflict between Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik

Fern

TAILS

HEADS

TAILS

HEADS

Flik

HEADS

HEADS

HEADS

Fern Faster lost!

Fern Faster loses power.

-2 coins: For losing a conflict encounter with the Antagonist.

Trying to Flee: Desperate

"So I just wanna do what I need to and leave," is what Fern intended to finish with, but Flik was on top of them fast. Flik wouldn't really be described as strong, but she was fast and she was forceful.

She stepped right in close and grabbed Fern's shoulders, digging her nails in tight and she swung Fern around. She was controlling Fern's movement, forcibly matching the rhythm that Fern had been flaunting up until now.

And it worked.

Fern tried to twist free, but Flik's hands always shot out to catch them and redirect their movements, puppeteering them.

"Let me go-ooo!" Fern tried to say, but Flik squeezed their chest like a vice, forcing an extra syllable out of them. Fern stopped resisting briefly, trying to centre themself on how to move forward.

Conflict between Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik

Fern

HEADS

TAILS

TAILS

Flik

HEADS

HEADS

HEADS

Fern Faster lost!

Fern Faster loses power.

-2 coins: For losing a conflict encounter with the Antagonist.

Reluctant Participation

Realising this won't just go away, Fern sighs and starts to lean away to begin dodging. But Flik shows surprising speed, jabbing at Fern's stomach to wind them. She follows it up by sweeping Fern's leg out from under them and pushing them to the ground, immobilised.

It all happens in moments, before Fern can really make their first move. Lying on the ground, they're held in place by Flik as she presses her weight down and then lifts Fern's arm to force it to move to Organ's rhythm.

"Why so stubborn?" she grunts rhythmically, "We follow it, all of us do. Can't you join too?"

As angry as she is at this disruptor, Flik still wants to convert them to be a welcome visitor or even resident perhaps. All Flik needs is to see their guest fall in line.

Recovery: Stranger's Assistance

There's a regular thumping sound, but it's the movement that wakes Fern. They're strapped down onto a table, completely immobilised. However the table itself continues jostling Fern in order to satisfy Organ's need for rhythm. The movement is slight, like being shaken politely. But the regularity and insistence is what makes it so grating.

There's a knock on the wall. Fern can't turn and look or even call out because their whole head is strapped in place on the table. Nevertheless, there's a scraping sound that must be the cell door opening and footsteps of someone approaching. Each step lines up with the jostling Fern is getting, making it even more unpleasant.

"Good, you're awake," the figure approaches and leans over Fern. He's scrawny and disheveled, with a loose jumper hanging down and a face that looks permanently apologetic. He's also trying his hardest to smile reassuringly, "Sorry for this."

Fern looks back blankly. There's not much more they could do, but they still opt for this inactive protest.

"Miss Flik's orders, please could you stop? Deviations. Just bring trouble," he sighs, "Worry not though. I brought some food. You seem hungry. When did you eat?"

He busies himself with one sided conversation as he mills about with a tray of food, placing it by Fern, who can't even turn to look at it.

"I'll loosen it, the head restraint. So you can eat. Is that ok?" he asks as Fern gives another blank stare and he frees their jaw. Fern, though able to talk, stays quiet as the awkward man continues making idle chat, and feeding Fern some bread to chew on.

Fern had enough, and now was time for real action.

Obstacle - The Humming Room - Power 1

Cause: Sent by antagonist

Type: Magical event

Strength: Elemental

A special cell Choreographer Flik made for Organ's needs. It magically seals in people and the earth forces their movements to match the beat that soothes Organ. This prevents troublemakers from doing damage after imprisonment.

Tackling Obstacle: Targeting a Weakness

Fern is left alone as the room continues to hum. Slipping out of their bonds, they stand up and stretch. As they move out of rhythm, the room shunts violently. Fern is immediately floored, but grins as they form a plan.

The room was made to react to arrhythmic motion. To try and course correct for someone stepping out of line. But Fern can use that. They get back to their feet and brace themselves, before jogging rapidly on the spot. The room lurches up and down to try keep up. It's been a while since they've moved so much but Fern keeps taking deep breaths as they go faster and faster.

The room strains with the motion becoming untethered as it shakes more and more.

Conflict between Fern Faster and The Humming Room

Fern

HEADS

HEADS

TAILS

The Humming Room

HEADS

Fern Faster won!

The Humming Room loses power and has been retired!

+1 coins: For winning a conflict encounter with an Obstacle.

+2 coins: For retiring an Obstacle.

Overcome Obstacle: Broken

The walls crumble, breaking apart into chunks as they can't maintain their speed. Fern keeps pace with their rapid jogging until an opening appears that they can leap through into the next room.

A pile of rubble is left behind, still with a slight hum as it tries to maintain the rhythm. Fern dusts themself off looking around the sparse jail they seem to be in. It seems dusty even, not often used. They stretch out their limbs, not having been so active in a while. But it seems like that's what they'll need to get through this. Fern pops out the Way Forward and heads out the door to the street.

Find Ally: Missing Skill

Fern hurries out of the jail and can feel the chaos. Organ itself isn't happy. As Fern moves, they feel the concrete pavement give and snap back. Like it's turning into porridge and suddenly remembers what shape it should be.

"It feels like throbbing," Fern thinks, immediately shuddering at the thought as they climb out the back window of the jail to hide in a dark alley and plan the next move. They don't know this town, and that just makes trying to get around undetected fraught. They're right in the centre, but everyone's rushing right to this spot. They need something to help avoid standing out.

Ally - Dr. Herbert Golem - Power 1

Type: Construct

Strength: Restoration

Source: Recently acquired

A young medical golem, Herbert was made in Organ and has never known a life outside of the rhythm. He's fascinated by Fern's offbeat movements and finds himself drawn to them, and wrapped up in the idea that everyone could live like this.

Recruit Ally: Drafted

Herbert watches Fern's movements on the streets in awe. They're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and maybe would ever see? This second thought grabbed hold of Herbert, and he immediately wanted to ensure it wouldn't become true.

"Uhm, excuse me," he whisper yells to Fern, trying to slip along the alley undetected, "I know the way." he says trying to smile at them. His stiff stone face creaks but Fern can see the genuine smile there, and nods.

"Show me the way then...?" they approach the stone man.

"My name's Herbert, I'm a doctor," he explains but Fern interrupts as they slip down alleyways.

"Forget that silly rhythm talk kid, just let the words flow."

Herbert is taken aback, pausing to think before answering, "It's nice to meet... you." he finishes apprehensiveluly.

"Nice to meet you too Dr. Herbert," they laugh, "Today you'll be my guide instead of a doctor. Take me to the heart of Organ."

Swaying Hero: Lies

Herbert leads Fern on a twisting winding route, showing them the way into the erratic underground tunnels of the town. The walls are damp and sticky, and as they both continue they can feel the walls quietly throbbing around them. Fern shudders. As if that weren't bad enough, the ground itself undulates as they approach the heart.

"Organ's uncomfortable," says Herbert, seeing Fern's face.

"No, Organ pains. Dieing maybe?" the voice of Flik booms down the hall from ahead of them, "You stab it's heart."

"Well not quite yet," shrugs Fern. Herbert shrinks back a little, nervous as he gets called out.

"How dare you both," Flik seethes, "Organ provides. Sustains this town. It only exists, due to Organ. And it's support."

Fern keeps walking as they talk, finally turning a corner to see Flik blocking their way into the heart chamber.

Fern narrows their eyes, "Ahuh, it provides? What does it provide exactly? Far as I can tell it's just a leech that likes playing with people as it feeds off their energy."

Flik doesn't wait a beat longer before charging.

Showdown Start

Flik bounds directly towards Fern, but this time they move faster. Sidestepping deftly by as Flik misses, spinning around on the spot to try sweep Fern's legs from under them. But as she turns, Fern is not where she expected.

Instead they slipped around to her other side to tap her shoulder and jab her swiftly in the ribs before backing off as she reels briefly.

"I was trying to pay you back for winding me, but I guess I need to work on my aim."

Conflict between Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik

Fern

HEADS

HEADS

TAILS

Flik

HEADS

HEADS

TAILS

Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik tied! 

Fern Faster loses power.

Choreographer Flik loses power.

Fencing: Harmless Contest

Flik steps back from the punch, caught off guard, "Alright, well then. Guess you are good. More skill than I estimated," she says, sizing Fern up again.

Fern shrugs, "More just, I wasn't trying all that hard last time. I didn't want to hurt you."

Choreographer Flik winces at the offbeat talking, "That is too bad, you still hurt me," she lunges forward to grab at Fern, who slips out of reach, "Arrhythmic speech, erratic moves, offbeat actions," she continues swinging for Fern and they deflect most blows. But there are too many fists coming and some start to connect to Fern, "It all hurts me, and hurts Organ."

Fern sighs, "Well alright, guess I gotta hurt you regardless then, huh?" they smile, straightening up and readying themself.

Conflict between Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik

Fern

TAILS

HEADS

Flik

HEADS

HEADS

Fern Faster lost!

Fern Faster loses power.

Personal Connection

The two of them wheel around the room, dodging, swinging legs and fists but always shifting out of each other's way before a blow can connect.

"I know what it's like, I used to live like all of you," Fern says sizing up a silent focusing Flik, "Follow the patterns, slot into place and then be happy and comfortable. Right?"

A hit connects, as Fern sweeps Flik's legs out from under her and drops her to the ground, "Except I realised that I was trying so hard to make other people happy, and it was doing nothing for me. So I stopped."

Fern stands over Flik as she looks up with pity in her eyes, "Oh honey, no. It was too hard? Couldn't manage? Apply yourself, you'll see it works. Worked for me."

Flik smiles and Fern hears Victor's voice saying the same thing. They get stuck in a memory of that moment, the huge fight, the break up, the fall out.

Flik seizes her moment and launches into Fern, tackling them to the ground.

"It's ok, we'll help. There are supports, systems in place."

Showdown Start

Fern looks up at Flik and narrows their eyes, headbutting Flik on top of them. They slip out of her grip and up to their feet, breathing hard.

"I've escaped from a place like this once already," they grab their bag discarded on the floor and fish out Victor's violin, "I'm not about to trade it in for a new prison."

The violin is miraculously unharmed by being dropped on the floor and skidding around, Fern lifts it up high.

Flik looks at it cautiously amused, "Huh, just a violin? What'll that do?"

Fern just grins in response.

Conflict between Fern Faster and Choreographer Flik With Memento of Victor assisting.

Fern

TAILS

[Memento of Victor] HEADS

Flik

TAILS

TAILS

Fern Faster won!

Choreographer Flik loses power.

Memento of Victor loses power and has been retired!

+2 coins: For winning a showdown conflict against the Antagonist.

-1 coins: For having an Ally retired.

Losing Ally: Satisfied

Flik eyes the violin and smirks, "What, to soothe me? Break the rhythm? Neither helps you."

As Fern shakes their head, Flik dashes forward. Right into the violin that Fern swings down on her head with a splintering crack as Flik drops. The violin holds together surprisingly well, but has huge cracks running through it.

"Fuuuck me, what was-," Flik stops herself.

"A dear old friend gave me this. An ex, actually," as Flik tries to get up Fern smashes the violin on the ground by her head and she freezes, "Try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I hoped that it would just fall apart from my travels, I'm not exactly careful."

Fern lifts up the violin to examine the once perfect wood. Flik very slowly starts getting up, and Fern doesn't stop her.

"I guess sometimes you have to actually break things," Fern sighs. They can see Flik lining up for a desperate attack. So they turn away for a moment only to swing back with their full force, shattering the violin against Flik's side, mid dash as she crumples to the ground.

Fern drops the remains of the Violin still in their grip.

Now to determine if Fern Faster can complete their goal...

Coin Pool Modifiers:

+1 coins: Starting pool equal to Fern Faster's Power.

+1 coins: For winning a conflict encounter with an Obstacle.

+2 coins: For retiring an Obstacle.

-2 coins: For losing a conflict encounter with the Antagonist.

-2 coins: For losing a conflict encounter with the Antagonist.

+1 coins: For winning a conflict encounter with an Obstacle.

+2 coins: For retiring an Obstacle.

+2 coins: For winning a showdown conflict against the Antagonist.

-1 coins: For having an Ally retired.

Resolution Flips

HEADS

HEADS

TAILS

TAILS

Fern Faster has accomplished their goal, though it almost went poorly.

Quest Complete

Fern steps past Flik, lying on the floor breathing hard. Herbert hurries forward to help her as Fern enters the chamber of Organ's heart.

The beat pulses erratically through the air as they enter. It seems panicked to Fern, until they realise that it's responding to their movements. Fern's influence on the rhythm quickens as they approach. The ground rises and swells, light bends and the air steams. It's unclear to them whether this is a decision Organ has made in self defence or if its a mindless impulse of a vast unthinking system.

But Fern doesn't care either way as they approach the huge red pulsing stone in the centre of the circular room. Their footing slips and slides as they put a hand on the heart, surprised to find it cool to the touch.

"This can't go on," they say in a measured tone as their hand presses against the wall. They slide their hand around until part of the stone gives way under their touch and the hand slips inside the stone.

This is when Flik jumps at Fern, one last desperate move to stop them. She drags Fern away from the heart, and they fall to the ground tired, scratched and bruised. Flik lifts herself up as quick as she can manage, but already feels something wrong. The room has no pulse, and the ground settles.

Fern sits up holding a round red ruby the size of their palm. The heart in the centre of the room is still, as Fern inspects the ruby heart of Organ.

"What did you do? It is dead now, the town will too!" Flik says exasperated and exhausted as she looks horrified.

Fern feels a slight rhythmic vibration in their palm as they shake their head and put the ruby away, "Maybe the town will but the people will live. Give it time, maybe you'll feel better about it."

Herbert helps Fern to their feet, and offers his hand to Flik but she slaps his hand away watching them leave. As Herbert walks, Flik sees Fern nudge him and then he walks with a jaunty pace.

It sickens her.

Conclusion: The future of the setting

It's only when they reach the surface and shield their eyes that Fern realises how dark the tunnels had been. Herbert mutters to himself quietly, and Fern's eyes adjust to see the people of the town standing around with subdued nervous energy. People make very slow deliberate movements, feeling the old restriction lifted.

Whispers ripple through them as all attention turns to Fern, who coughs awkwardly, "What're you looking at me for? My part's done."

"What do we do... now?" one person calls out nervously, feeling out the timing of their question.

Fern shrugs, then deciding that's not a full answer adds, "Live? It's up to you folk. I was just here to stop the beast, and now I'm off home," only later would Fern realise they called it home so casually.

"Do we, go with you?" asked a lost looking young man.

"There's... Room if you want I guess. But I reckon this is your town and you'll still want to keep it that way. I don't know what Organ actually did for you, but I'm sure you won't have trouble making up for it yourselves."

A lot of separate, anxious conversations spark out of this, but Fern's done. They move to head out towards the gates again. Down the road, they hear heavy footprints behind.

"Herbert," Fern says without stopping, "Sure you can come with-"

"Oh sorry no, it's not that," Herbert says, getting Fern to stop and turn, "I just wanted to say thank you. Um, thank you. It means a lot, and uh, what is your full name?"

Fern grins sidelong at him, "Fern Faster, why?"

Herbert grinds his fingers against one another under their gaze, "Well I like music and I might try writing something about what you did, so..." if golems could blush he'd be all red.

Fern just laughs and turns to go, calling back, "I'll be sure to visit and hear how it comes out."

The End

Epilogue for Quest

Owenly Drummond smiled to himself, penning a report on the strange tale of Organ. An odd situation with an unusual solution. Owenly knew Fern could handle it, so it was vindicating to be proven wholly correct. They'd returned with the very essence of Organ, and despite Owenly's expectation, Fern was pleased with the job they'd done.

Owenly signs the report and rolls it up. He looks once more at the ruby orb curiously before placing them both in a plain wooden box and moving on to more paperwork.

Epilogue for Setting: Organ

The town around Organ wavered afterwards, but the people there were determined to keep their community going. After all, they had wanted to stay home even under the oppressive rule of Organ. It made no sense to give up now.

People found their own footing again and adjusted to a more chaotic way of life. It brought more challenges than people expected, but the town lives on and grows under its new name of Orchestra.

Epilogue for Antagonist: Choreographer Flik

Flik lost all power. None would listen. They adapted. But she did not. So then she went. No-one knows where.

There are stories. Of far off lands, other "Organ"s for her to serve. Though some stories go differently. Say she learned eventually. And understood what Fern had done and why she had to.

All just stories. Who knows the truth?

Epilogue for Hero: Fern Faster 

Organ was calm, bumping along. Right to the beat we sang its song. But then one day, They walk right on in.

Ferrrrrrn Faster. They move How they want When they want Where they want.

Ferrrrrrn Faster. Folloooowiing wherever they will. At what-e-ver pace they want.

Stroll past the guard Then they bump into Flik. Choreograph -er Flik, that's right. She beat Fern down. She lock'd em up. And forced the beat Right into them.

Ferrrrrrn Faster. They move How they want When they want Where they want. Ferrrrrrn Faster. Folloooowiing wherever they will.

At what-e-ver pace they want. Fern bust right out And moved on down. Deep under town To Organ's heart. Now Flik was there, She tried her best, She threw her punches And pleaded too. But there ain't no stopping Fern from what they wanna do.

Ferrrrrrn Faster. They move How they want When they want Where they want. Ferrrrrrn Faster. Folloooowiing wherever they will. At what-e-ver pace they want.

Fern took down Organ and now we flourish. But they moved on all in a hurry. And still they roam, as free as they care. Making sure others can live the same. If you're feeling trapped and need room to breathe, Well it's only a matter of time, Before they come to you.

Ferrrrrrn Faster. Ferrrrrrn Faster. Folloooowiing wherever they will.

At

whaaaaat

eeeeee

ver

pace-they-want.

[50shadesofmittens]

ANOTHER massive thing I cut because it’s 50% OOC and doesn’t contribute anything to the story.

/////

Magnus of Prospero first met me ten thousand years ago, when I was a thousand years old and roughly five times his age. He knew nothing of me until that day, and in the grand scheme of things our first meeting was utterly unimportant. It lasted no more than five minutes, and frankly any other Custodian could have been given the assignment that led our paths to cross.

Of course I’d known of Magnus long before he knew of me. The first time I saw him I was sixteen times his age, and that was no more than a glimpse caught from afar during the festivities thrown to welcome him as the newest found Primarch of the Imperium, fifty-six years old and the ninth lost son of the Emperor to be found.

At that time, I had dedicated my life to fighting, training, studying, and serving my Lord as one of his Custodians. Magnus had done the former three throughout the first fifty years of his life, but he also found the time to perform research in his field of study, lead a war against an army of telepathic parasites, and become the primary ruler over a city of a million or so inhabitants. He spent his days after rediscovery commanding armies and helping rule planets conquered for the Emperor, while I continued to serve our Lord as I had all my life.

But all of these events were over ten thousand years ago. Less than a century after our uneventful meeting, Magnus betrayed the Imperium, his brother Horus almost slew the Emperor, the galaxy was split in half, and the Imperium slowly deteriorated into an era of religious obsession and slow decay.

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries The Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology, and anyone with even cursory knowledge of the galaxy at large would know this already.

Space marines, Imperial Guard, tech priests, in the grim dark future there is only war. I lived in that world for ten millennia. I witnessed the slow decay of the galaxy, watched helplessly as the light of the Imperium was slowly snuffed out by heretics, aliens, mutants, and madness.

Then I discovered ancient technology known only as a ‘text to speech device’ and had it installed into the Emperor’s glorious golden throne. For the first time in ages, the Emperor can command his forces once again. Perhaps now there is hope for humanity. Perhaps now mankind has a future that is more than meaningless death and suffering. Already, the Emperor has begun to re-shape the Imperium, and for the first time in ages change is stirring throughout the galaxy.

Now I serve the Emperor directly, relaying his orders and carrying out his commands. Amongst these, I was the one who told the Emperor’s Most Glorious Space Marines- the Allmighty Ultramarines™)- to find and retrieve Magnus the Red. I had my own guesses as to why the Emperor wanted his wayward son back under his command, but what happened to Magnus wasn’t a major concern of mine. At least until he started following me through the halls of the palace.

He wasn’t really trying to hide his approach, or at least not trying very hard. Magnus wasn’t leaving the sort of loud booming footsteps one would normally expect for a giant in armor, but he wasn’t entirely silent either. And using your reflective surroundings to maximize your area of awareness was one of the most basic skills for an agent who works solo missions. In a palace of gold, every moderately clean surface was a mirror.

I kept walking for a few paces after I first noticed him. I’d assumed there was something of his interest in the area that I happened to pass by, but when I kept moving he kept pace with me.

When I stopped, so did Magnus. Reflections in a nearby archway showed me that after a few seconds Magnus vanished in a swirl of purple. I wasn’t sure if he had actually left or simply moved out of my sight, but as there was little I could do about it I resumed my journey. Some time later I heard a sound like loud wind behind me, and to my consternation I found Magnus had returned. Again, within a few minutes he teleported away.

Well, though his social lesser I might be, I wasn’t one to let him stalk me. Especially given that he was a daemon whose intentions might be considerably less than honorable. I veered off course to take a circular loop through the palace. I stopping whenever Magnus showed up, and after a few trials of this I noticed that doing so provoked anger in him. On the plus side this shortened his visits to just a few seconds. Eventually, I hit a checkpoint where the guards knew me by name and I stopped to give them my greetings. I stayed a bit longer than usual, hoping that Magnus would show up so I could see if social pressure might scare him off.

Alright, to be fair, with the powerful charismatic aura Magnus held I didn’t really expect the guards to stop him. And he was faster than I could ever be, and (allegedly) a shapeshifter to boot. As I was looping back to the place we’d started at I found myself catching glimpses of his reflection more often than I needed to, and thought to myself, ‘It’s so exciting to hold the attention of someone so large.’

Then I thought, ‘Okay. That’s quite enough of that. Stop romanticizing the daemon who broke the Golden Throne and start dealing with your potentially world-breaking stalker.’

Primarch charisma is extremely potent, but that’s certainly no excuse for my behavior.

I kept up a fast pace as we reached our starting point, so that when I stopped Magnus would keep moving and bridge the gap between us a little. It didn’t work as well as I hoped, as I turned about to face him there was still a few meters between us.

“Is there something you needed?” I asked him. Magnus’ eye widened for a moment, before he huffed, leaned against a nearby pedestal[1]and waved a hand flippantly at me.

           ////To put SOMEWHERE in the rewritten version:

“You!” Magnus said. “Custodian!”

I was the only Custodian in the area, and I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember my name. “Yes?” I said.

“Don’t mind me. Just getting re-acquainted with this place.” The pedestal next to him cracked loudly, and he pulled back. “It sure has been a while.”

“…Right.” I said, unwilling to start a fight when I already had too much work to do. “Well, is there anything you needed from me, or can I go?”

“Am I interrupting you?” Magnus said, “Don’t mind me. Just, go about doing whatever task it is you need to do.”

I opened my mouth to point out that he was following me, but stopped myself. Dishonored traitor or not, Magnus was a Primarch, and as such held a level of prestige far above me. Instead I turned back around and continued on my way.

Three minutes later he appeared directly in front of me. “Has the message to the Ultramarines been sent yet?” He said, oblivious to my panic.

As I de-activated my spear I replied, “Um, no, no I was just on my way to do that.” As soon as I finished speaking he was gone again. My first concern was that the he might have plans to intercept the message, or to send a fake before I arrived. I began to hurry, though given the scale of the palace admittedly that would still give Magnus a good deal of time to fulfil whatever plan he had in mind.

I didn’t see Magnus again for an hour or so after that. I was ready to chalk the whole thing up to boredom, but he came back scowling and muttering to himself. It wasn’t until I got within seeing distance of the City of Sight that I heard him groan ”Finally!” And once again Magnus vanished through the warp.

I passed through the gates before it hit me, ‘Did he not know where this place was?’ For any other Primarch I might’ve understood, as it had been several millennia. Magnus was THE strongest psyker alive bar the Emperor, surely he would be able to sense the presence of several hundred other psykers a few miles away. Honestly sabotage still seemed more likely.

But I still had a mission to complete, so brushing it off, I made my way to the Obsidian Keep. The Astropathic Choir on Terra is one of the more important orders, but bureaucracy is bureaucracy and there’s always going to be a check-in desk. And a waiting line.

[1]The pedestal used to house a fully accurate solid gold model to scale of an Imperator class battleship. Said model had been knocked over one too many times and was now awaiting repairs alongside all the other priceless treasures formerly on display. Nobody bothered to move the pedestal because it still served as a good speed bump for anyone racing through the palace halls.

[pamphletstoinspire]

A Padre Pio Inspirational Story __________

“Let us always keep before our eyes the fact that here on earth we are on a battlefield and that in paradise we shall receive the crown of victory; that this is a testing-ground and the prize will be awarded up above; that we are now in a land of exile while our true homeland is Heaven to which we must continually aspire.” – St. Pio of Pietrelcina __________

Memories of Padre Pio

Joe Peluso was an American soldier who was stationed in Italy during World War II. One day he received a letter from his mother and she told him that there was a holy priest named Padre Pio living in Italy. She did not know what part of Italy he lived in but she wanted Joe to find out and to visit him. Joe asked the military chaplain on the base if he knew anything about Padre Pio. The military chaplain started laughing and pointed to the mountain that was directly in front of them. “Padre Pio lives right on that mountain,” he said to Joe. Curiosity got the better of him and Joe decided to make the short trip to see him. It was October 6, 1944.

Padre Pio loved the visits of the American soldiers and always greeted them cordially. His counsel to the soldiers was unique. He used simple and childlike words when talking to them and giving them advice. Sometimes he would pat them on the head in a paternal way and simply say, “Be a good boy.”

Over the next ten months, Joe was able to visit Padre Pio many times and they became very close. Often he was invited to eat with the Capuchins at the monastery. While everyone else enjoyed their food, Joe noticed that Padre Pio simply pushed his food around on the plate. His daily intake of food would only fill the cup of his hand. He once said, “I need very little of this world’s goods. I need just a little bit of food, a little sleep and few possessions.”

It was Padre Pio’s habit to give each visitor a religious medal when they came to the monastery. Because of the war, religious medals and rosaries became scarce and almost impossible to acquire. Padre Pio felt very bad that his supply of medals was exhausted and he had none to give his visitors. Mary Pyle and Joe talked about it and Joe wanted to help. He decided to take the 220-mile trip from his military base to Rome to try to obtain the medals. Padre Pio and Padre Pio’s brother Michael both gave him letters to deliver to their sister, Sister Pia. She was a nun of the Order of St. Bridget and lived in the Brigittine Convent in Rome.

When he arrived in Rome, something prompted him to follow a road leading up a hill. As he drove up the hill, he saw a large sign, Cloistered Motherhouse of the Benedictine Nuns. Joe remembered that the St. Benedict medals were a favorite of Padre Pio. Joe knocked on the door and the nuns were extremely happy to give him a large supply of medals for Padre Pio.

Once Padre Pio asked Joe to select a name for his guardian angel. “Pick a name for your guardian angel and call him by that name always,” Padre Pio said to Joe. “When you send him to me, he will come instantly.”

One day Joe asked Padre Pio if he would accept him as his spiritual child. Padre Pio readily agreed. Then he asked him if he would accept his wife as his spiritual child and he agreed as well. Realizing the wonderful opportunity, he then asked Padre Pio if he would accept his daughter. Joe’s aunts and uncles then came into his mind. Somehow, the way the conversation was going struck both of them as funny. Joe and Padre Pio began to laugh. They laughed so hard that tears were rolling down their faces.

Suddenly Padre Pio became very serious and said to Joe, “Joe, when the war is over and you return to the United States, tell the American people, that for those who would like me to be their spiritual father, my answer is yes. I accept all Americans as my spiritual children. I only have two requirements — that they lead very good Catholic lives and that they regularly receive the sacraments. And please, tell them never to embarrass me in front of Jesus and Mary. You must tell them, Joe.”

Joe felt that it was an impossible request. He lived in a very small town in Pennsylvania. He was not an important person. He did not know many people. How could he tell all of America what Padre Pio had asked him to? Nevertheless, when he returned to the U.S. he tried to do what was asked of him. He made a slide show presentation of Padre Pio’s life and over the years he showed it to thousands of people. Joe died in 1996, after having spent 50 years sharing the message of Padre Pio with more people than he could have ever imagined.

“Remember, I accompany you always and everywhere.” – St. Pio of Pietrelcina ______________________________

A Letter from Padre Pio to Padre Benedetto

Padre Pio wrote the following letter to his spiritual director, Padre Benedetto Nardella, concerning a vision he had regarding World War I. This divine visitation seemed to signal the approach of peace.

“In one of the visits I had from Jesus recently, I asked Him more insistently to have pity on the unfortunate nations so sorely tried by the misfortune of war and to let His justice give place at last to His mercy. Strange to say, He made no reply except a sign with His hand which meant, ‘Slowly, slowly’ . . . What on earth does this mean, dear Father? I myself cannot tell you. However, I can tell you this, that whenever I had spoken to the Lord previously about the war, He gave me no sign that I can recall, but always kept complete silence . . . Does it mean that He himself means to intervene to calm this worldwide upheaval? May He be pleased to do so without delay.” – Letters I, December 19, 1917 ______________________________

Maria Pompilio who was one of Padre Pio’s spiritual daughters, left this testimony.

“At the end of Padre Pio’s Mass one morning toward the end of 1919, a number of people gathered around Padre Pio. By my side was a man who looked fixedly at Padre Pio. He said breathlessly, “Oh God, it is him, truly him. I am not mistaken.” The man began crying and fell to his knees. He said, “Padre Pio, thank you for saving me from death! Thank you!” Padre Pio put his hands on the man’s head and said, “You must not thank me, my son. Thank our Lord and the Virgin of Graces.” They spoke together in an undertone for a few minutes. Padre Pio then went to the choir to pray.

Several men who were nearby questioned the man about the words that Padre Pio had spoken to him. I was also present and the man told us the following story: “I was a Captain in the infantry, and one day on the battlefield, during a terrible hour of fighting, a little distance away from me, I saw a delicate, pale friar with beautiful, expressive eyes. He was not dressed as a chaplain but as a simple friar and he hurriedly and gently called to me saying, “Captain, move away from that place. Come to me quickly.” I ran toward him and had not even reached him when, in the place where I had previously stood, a grenade exploded, opening up a pit. If I had been there, my body would have been blown into the air in shreds. I wanted to thank the little friar who had called me, but he was no longer there. He had disappeared without my realizing it and even though I looked around for him I never saw him again.

On the same day that my life was saved, another person told me that a beautiful monk had saved him from death as well. Other soldiers at the Italian base said they had seen a friar among them who looked toward Heaven and prayed. One of these soldiers said that the priest who had been on the battlefield was Padre Pio who lived in San Giovanni Rotondo. I wanted to come here and see if he was the friar who had saved me as his face remained imprinted in my mind. Now I know that it was him. You can imagine what gratitude I feel toward this holy priest. I am happy to have been able to thank him personally and to kiss his hand.” – Maria Pompilio ______________________________

My name is Jim Cunningham. I was born in 1924 and was in the military during World War II, stationed in Foggia, Italy. I was assigned to a photo reconnaissance squadron and I heard about Padre Pio from the townspeople in Foggia. One day I decided to visit him so I took two other G I’s with me and drove a military jeep up the mountain to the monastery. It was in 1945 and I was twenty-one years old. I attended his Mass and felt very fortunate as all of the soldiers that were present were invited to sit right up on the altar, very close to Padre Pio. I was able to clearly see the wounds on his hands. Seeing his devotion at Mass was a very moving experience. He celebrated Mass in such a way that I was able to comprehend the sacredness of the Mass. His whole being inspired me.

Padre Pio was a very humble man and at the same time he was open and friendly. I had learned that Padre Pio liked grapefruit juice, so on my second visit to San Giovanni Rotondo I brought some juice. I was able to go to San Giovanni three times to see Padre Pio.

Mary Pyle, Padre Pio’s secretary, invited me to lunch at her home. She told me that she had come to Italy from the U.S. just for a visit. Shortly after she met Padre Pio, she decided to stay permanently. Her esteem for him was such that she had a great desire to be near him. She stayed in San Giovanni Rotondo for the rest of her life. Mary’s life was one of complete dedication to Padre Pio. She helped him in so many ways.

Meeting Padre Pio and attending his Mass truly changed my life. It was a great blessing. I have never met anyone in my life who had such a great devotion to God. On a number of occasions I have been invited to church groups to speak about Padre Pio. Today I am 82 years old. Many years have gone by, but my wife and I still feel his presence with us. It is overwhelming. ______________________________

Father Joseph Pius Martin – who assisted Padre Pio for a number of years, received the following testimony from Kevin Patrick Fitzpatrick.

Kevin Patrick Fitzpatrick who worked in Manchester, England in 1947 became acquainted with a man who had been a soldier in the British Army during World War II. During their advance against the German Army, this soldier and the others in his company came to the area of San Giovanni Rotondo. For some days British artillery had been firing into the areas surrounding the friary, but to their amazement none of the shells were exploding. When British Intelligence officers questioned the local Italian people, they were told that this was not to be wondered at since a very holy priest, Padre Pio lived at the friary.

One of the British Army officers was staying at the friary. One night he heard a voice constantly calling out. He went to investigate to see where the sound was coming from. When he came to the door of Padre Pio’s cell, he heard Padre Pio praying the Glory Be to the Father. He repeated the prayer slowly, over and over again. The soldier was deeply edified. ______________________________

A Grace in Time of War

My brother was serving in the army and had been sent to Viet Nam. Every night our family prayed for his safe return. I carried Padre Pio’s photo with me and prayed to him often for my brother. I felt Padre Pio’s presence with me and shortly after that, my brother wrote to say he would be coming home. When he did come home, he was a different person. After that terrible war he became more quiet and serious. We never asked questions about his experiences and he never spoke much about it. He did mention one experience which seemed very peculiar to him. He said that one day his company was sent ahead of the others to check for the Viet Cong. They were looking through the bush with their guns, when suddenly all of the soldiers smelled the fragrance of roses. They kept saying “Where are the rose bushes? It sure smells good out here.” They never did find the rosebushes and were sent back to camp. Another company was sent out to inspect the same territory. How tragic to say that the company was ambushed and not one survived the attack. According to the calculations, the Viet Cong had been there lurking in the bush all along, when my brother and the others in his company were in that area. But for some strange reason, they were not attacked and they very easily could have been. I know it was Padre Pio who saved my brother’s life. – I. Ahmadzai ______________________________

A Letter from Padre Pio to Padre Agostino

“We are passing through a solemn hour. Up to the present we have not been involved in this grievous war which has now gone on for a year . . . We must all cooperate for the common good and make God’s mercy propitious to us in this difficult time, by humble and fervent prayer and by the amendment of our lives.

We must not be down-hearted, dear Father, or lack the filial confidence we owe to our God just because He appears to be angry with us. If it is to come to pass again today that he looked around at them with anger ( Mark 3:5) let us fully understand this. God still loves us, He is still merciful toward us. His looking around with anger, Father, is the language of His sorrowful love; this is the expression which comes from His sorrowing heart at the sight of our wickedness. These are the artifices to which His mercy resorts in order to stop us on our way to perdition. . . .” – Letters I, May 31, 1915

[fairymoved]

Okay, so I won’t be posting these in order, but here’s a small part of chapter one of “The Witch Report”, introducing one of my characters, Anna Joan Lewis.

Contains mentions of religion and sex.

word estimate: 1,872

“A touch hasty, but alright.” Anna pulled up her jeans, grabbed her wedges from beneath the bed and made her way out of them room. Miranda didn’t stand up from her bed to escort Anna out, let alone making sure the door ensuring the safety of her apartment was locked. This neighborhood seems dangerous, Anna thought as she walked down a metal staircase. She caught the attention of an older man taking his dog out to relieve itself who seemed surprised to see such a formally dressed woman in this part of town. Or maybe it was-Anna quickly looked behind her.

Good, it was just her outfit this time. Not that she blamed the man for staring, the only bra on her person was being gripped by the straps in her left hand alongside her shoes, leaving her small but perky breasts loose under her thin top and feet bare to the dirt of the outside.

The dog doesn’t care, continuing to idly shit under a bush with tongue hanging out of its mouth as Anna slipped into her car and drove off, feeling the man’s eyes on her as she turned out of the driveway and on to the street. A part of her was insisting she turn back and at least get the man’s name, but another part remembered his oily skin reacting to the harsh morning sunlight like vinegar in a frying pan and eyes that would always look tired no matter how many naps he took to pad a day of unemployment. She’d gladly pass.

Of course, it’s only now that she chose to have standards. She could have used standards when she fucked that guy with far too many chins possible for there to be a neck under it inside a fast food restroom and when she gave that lady at the crossing walk cunnilingus behind a tree so good that the children who passed by afterschool thought she had forgotten her adult diaper that day.

But that was years ago, back when Anna was still adjusting to the fragility of this small, fleshy, sweaty, hairy thing she and many others morphed themselves into. Anna reached the first red light leading out of the apartment complex, catching herself between a growing line of other cars in the process, and caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror.

When assuming her human form, she had to be highly selective over what bits and pieces she wanted and could do without. She’d think after years of observing humanity that she’d find a template she found worthy of her visage, and yet she had gone through multiple iterations in the past fifty years. This one (number eighty seven) was one she had stuck with for a little over a month and was getting more used to considering her true human persona.

This was the face of Anna Joan Lewis, a woman of lightly tanned skin and green eyes and closely cut hair that fell somewhere on the amber side of the red spectrum in good lighting.

Anna is small and thin, a type of figure that highly contrasts with the looming, gangly body that is her true form. Her true form was a lot of things, one of which being something that shouldn’t be revealed on a Monday morning in high humidity and bad traffic. Anna may be reckless, though her limits started to pile up at the mere mention of shredding open her car and shredding the fragile psyches of multiple humans with as much ease.

No, she’d seen it happen before. Couldn’t risk it just for the sake of feigning off her boredom.

Her car inched forward just enough to see a mere fragment of the road up ahead.

She gritted her teeth.

Even as a human, she can still feel the heat. And it’s not just the warmth of today’s climate touching her skin and baking the inside of her car-the sun’s rays could only hope to compare-but the constant roaring of fire starting from her back, coaxing her spine, and filling her lungs and chest. It was a kind of heat that didn’t hurt, more rested in the confides of her form as if politely asking her suddenly acquired rib cage and muscle tissue to move aside.

Anna straightened herself in such a way that her back was fully submerged into her seat, hoping to ignore her body’s instincts just long enough to keep driving forward. She was going to miss her wings, all six of them, though she supposed being able to see how nice her freshly manicured feet looked as they rested uneasily on the gas pedal. Actually, being able to see in general was a luxury she never thought she’d appreciate this much.

“Where were you?”

“Getting coffee,” Anna replied, placing down two carboard containers still hot with fresh lattes. “We all need fuel for the day, right?”

“I already had my coffee,” Samuel said, picking up one of the styrofoam cups from the table. “But if it’s on your dime…”

“They’re already selling drinks for the fall. Talk about eager.” Samuel nodded in between sips. “I’m always in the mood for pumpkin spice. You gonna have one or are you sticking to your almond milk?”

“You know I don’t do coffee,” Anna said. “Besides, I felt like treating the staff before they bite my head off for being late again.”

“Can’t you just grow it back if they did?”

“It’s a trick I haven’t tried yet.”

“And if you haven’t noticed…” Sam did a quick gesture around the room that Anna had only now processed as being empty, the acoustics of the three-story building enunciating his voice. “Everyone is a little busy at the moment. Well, accept for the receptionist. Hey, Delia! Want a drink?”

Anna took this as her cue to head to her office, escaping behind the door to slip her bra on and straighten out her hair on her desk mirror. Through the thin walls she can still overhear Sam talking with Delia over the coffee, their conversation soon being reduced to everyday chatter about their pets and plans for the rest of the day. Sam is cordial as ever, letting the elderly receptionist go on and on about her newest puppy rescued from the shelter.

Samuel Reiner had been working at Serendipity Counseling for about one and a half months now, his summer job of choice despite his abysmal testing scores in college level psychology. He and Anna hit it off immediately, having met each other on roughly his third day of work when they locked eyes in between the water fountain and display of self-help pamphlets.

Sam not so discretely ogled the friction between her thighs and skirt and Anna took a long look at the lean physique, dark hair, and big, dark eyes that made him radiant with a certain boyish charm she hadn’t had a taste of for a solid two weeks. They had only exchanged a few words until disappearing into the nearest storage closest and were friends ever since.

Sam had taken the news about Anna being an angel with a certain nonchalant acceptance. Granted, it was her own fault to leave the door to her office ajar while she killed a fly via pressing it into the wood of her desk with a thumb hot with burning embers, her halo partially visible in that way that looked like a blazing half circle against the late sunlight pouring through the window. No one at Serendipity, including both patients and employees, seemed to care an awful lot about Anna’s angelhood.

One of her clients, a recently divorced harpy woman, seemed to take solace in having an inhuman therapist. Another client, a human man fresh from rehab, was advised to get closer to God to truly complete his recovery and found Anna’s origins in heaven to be just the middle ground he was looking for.

“Better than just reading the damn thing, am I right?” He had said once, referring to a leather-bound bible his wife had thrown into his satchel before his appointment. It didn’t seem like much of humanity ever truly cared about Anna’s actual species, just a touch surprised that behind her clever disguise was a being far beyond their comprehension.

Oddities would always insist that the two of them were on common ground, many of them insisting Anna reveal her true self to them in privacy. Humans were quick to remind her about how long they’ve been Christians and/or Catholics, as if anticipating Anna to strike down on them for wasting her time.

The only reason Anna ever withheld information about being an angel was less to do with the threat of unveiling forbidden truths and more over the audacity of mortals to always redirect the conversations to Him. And talking about Him almost always became about them and their relationship with Him.

Talking about Him so casually went directly into the forbidden truths folder and Anna would often have to bite her tongue to keep His private life private. Anna was only ever allowed to say a handful of slogans that normally kept things in the green:

“Yes, He does love you.” “Yes, He does forgive you.” “Yes, He does hear all of your prayers.” “Yes, He doesn’t wear shoes.” “I don’t know why He did that, actually. Ask Him for me, okay?”

But of course, that always sparked an entirely different series of questions. Only then do they ask specially about her and what she does, or used to do. The thing was that going into detail about which angel did what required a lot of lengthy explanations of hierarchy’s and the nine choirs the presided in heaven.

And once the fact was in someone’s head that Anna was a significant part of that hierarchy and could provide a much more through Wikipedia page on the topic than anyone else they knew, they’d keep prying for more. Nothing against them, humans were always eager to know all they could about the world.

Knowledge was power on earth and those who had some sort of entail on the secrets of the universe got to live in confidence that they knew something someone else didn’t, eagerly awaiting the day that their once useless trivia would perhaps save a doomed planet.

These hero complexes weren’t too uncommon, while others seemed to assume victim roles instead. Many people became a touch eager at the presumption of having an angel speaking to them, immediately falling on the conclusion that He had sent an angel specifically for their protection for some incoming threat, or perhaps from themselves.

Others took it as a sign of danger, growing concerned at knowing a higher being was walking among the common folk in secret. Some people would snakingly ask if they were dead this whole time.

To this Anna was always taken aback before calmly explaining that the angels were here because they had to be here. Because heaven was broken and God has been stressed out lately and…

Anna recalled from the comfort of her empty office exactly why she had chosen to work here. Once the sessions started, no one expected her to do the talking.

[hetmusic]

Women in Music | HumanHuman

It’s time again to celebrate International Women’s Day with our annual review of what it means to identify as a woman within the music industry right now.

In 2015, we invited influentials within music to talk about their work, what changes they have seen in the industry regarding the attitudes of and towards women, and also addressed the issues yet to be solved that consider to hinder greater equality across the business. In 2016, we celebrated a year of activism and progression, a year that saw many mainstream musicians taking full ownership of their womanhood, but not without a reminder that giant leaps for some might only translate into small steps for others, especially when we consider the demographic of the top tiers. Here we find ourselves in 2017, and well, there’s a tendency to feel a tad dubious. We’ve entered into a new year where presidential candidates openly degrade women and yet still end up in office, where the only obstacle between an actor charged with sexual harassment and an Oscar is settlement fees, where there is still an unfair discrepancy between wages for men and women in the same or similar job roles.

As already conveyed, the potential undervaluation of human rights across the political and cultural spectrum is a real threat to everyone, especially women. In Ireland, there’s protests to repeal the ban on abortion; in Jakarta, women join together to raise key gender equality issues; around the world, people continue to march in a show of solidarity in the global phenomenon of Women’s Marches. 2017 has been a truly special year for feminism in action and the music world is an essential part of the movement. Let’s take the example of MILCK’s self-named one woman riot, the single “Quiet”, which was transformed into a defiant group anthem thanks to two choirs and surrounding individuals at the Women’s March on Washington D.C.. Speaking with Billboard, the 30-year-old songwriter Connie Lim passionately asserts that “once the [US presidential] election happened nobody could keep quiet. The words of violence towards women… We need to step up and protect people and make them feel safe and loved again.”

We’ve certainly seen the resurgence of protest music touting various social justice causes recently, and yet it’s a trend that goes beyond the marches. One artist synonymous with creating music with purpose is Sevdaliza, whose 2015 single “That Other Girl” tackled the ways that consumerist culture affects personal relationships. Later came “That Damaged Girl”, featuring A$AP Ferg, which displayed strength in womanhood and independent musicianship. Most recently, the songwriter spoke out against Trump’s immigration ban with “Bebin”. The legislation directly affected the Dutch-Iranian artist who no longer was able to enter the US, but this song was not to be taken as a personal affront. Sevdaliza released this statement: “In protest of the inhumane political climate, I could not rest my head in privilege. I wrote “Bebin” in Farsi, to solidify. I stand strong with love. In this case I choose to avoid mainstream media, because I have no interest in part taking in a victimized concept. As I will not be able to travel to the United States for indefinite duration, take this message without lights, camera, action. I am solely a messenger. In the act of love, there is no place for racism nor bigotry.” To further the impact beyond a listening experience, all sales of the song will be donated to victims of racial exclusion. Further examples of artists working outside of mainstream media come via the recommendation of Noisey and Paste Magazine music journalist Emily Reiley who passionately told us about two of her contemporary heroes - Grindmother and Saltland. Both of these Canadian musicians utilise their art to bring awareness to issues close to their hearts. For Grindmother, the 67-year-old grindcore singer decided that her extreme vocal talents would be used to call attention to the environmental and political discourse of her home country. Similarly, the classically-trained cellist and post-punk experimentalist Saltland, aka Rebecca Foon, “seeks to bring awareness to the fight against climate change with her moody, strings-driven album,” as Reily explains.

“I think that we're at a really exciting time in music where women have a platform to talk about more than what has traditionally been acceptable for us. It's important that we take that space now and use it to turn things around.”— Ayelle

Using music as a platform for change is something that singer-songwriter Ayelle also demonstrates with single “Machine”. Featured in our Best Music Video Debuts of 2016, the song is an exploration of “women's role as sex objects within the patriarchy and our institutionalised servitude to the male gaze.” Through writing the song, Ayelle realised traits in herself that subconsciously pandered to others desires and expectations. Left unaddressed, this cycle of approval-seeking behaviour is bound to continue, which is why it’s vital to keep “creating art that inspires those important conversations.” Now, simply because art and music strives to destroy societal misconceptions of women as sexual objects, it doesn’t mean that their bodies should be left outside of the discussion. As actress Emma Watson recently expressed in an reaction to the criticism of her Vanity Fair cover photo, “Feminism is about giving women choice. Feminism is not a stick with which to beat other women with. It’s about freedom, it’s about liberation, it’s about equality,” and so those who suggested that one “couldn’t be a feminist and have boobs” are ignoring basic biology. Voicing her opinion on the matter, Louise Pétrouchka (a producer, radio presenter and webzine curator) uses the example of the unfair criticism of artist Ariana Grande, arguing that “Being sexy, sexual even, is her choice, and because she's sexy in a video clip doesn't mean that she is an object and that you shouldn't treat her as a person who deserves respect.” One such artist whose forthcoming EP, The Body, fearlessly celebrates the female physicality is Starling. Her music, videos and even an online photo collection explore the relationship between outer beauty and inner darkness. In EP tracks “No Rest For The Wicked” and “Large It”, Starling is a woman of the city with all the human complexity, desires and physical awareness that historical propaganda of her home country Britain has wrongly painted as simply not existing in the female gender. When we questioned Starling about the expression of identity through her music, she responded that true ownership is “genderless,” because “Art is the thing not image.”

“I would love to encourage women to believe in their voice - metaphorical and literal - on their output of creation and to focus less on image.”— Starling

While for some countries, women have reached a level of equality, others are yet to see such a correction, and once again music proves to be an inexhaustible tool in raising awareness. What we’re talking about here is the viral sensation, Majed Alesa-directed “Hwages”. The incredible arabian-pop music video sees women wearing full niqab and subverting all societal expectations with colourful clothes, scooters, skateboards, basketball games, awesome dance routines and trips to the carnival. The video has gained huge popularity across the Middle East and beyond, with praise for the fun choreography and tongue-in-cheek lyrics that calls out the insanity of the deeply entrenched patriarchal legal and rights systems in Saudi Arabia. The use of skateboards and breaking stereotypes are themes we also see in the video for Wild Beasts’ Sasha Rainbow. Through this visual, the director pulls apart the song title to find out what ‘alpha female’ really means. Through her work, she emphasises the importance of women within the creative industries to make their own platform

“... to celebrate women boldly going against the grain through affirmative, inspiring action, by following their passions.”— Sasha Rainbow

The rising wave of conferences centered on women in the music industry is also a clear signifier of the inspiring action happening at all levels of the business, not purely as a final product in songs and music videos. At the end of last year, nonprofit organization Women in Music held their 31st annual party at New York’s famous Webster Hall, to celebrate success and host an all inclusive conversation surrounding women’s rights and the movement for greater equality. In January, the Association of Independent Music gathered in London’s City Hall to hear key figures discuss the next generation of women in music. At the end of this month, the inaugural Sound Industry event will be held in Bristol to showcase unique journeys of survival in the creative industries, questioning gender roles in music, examining mental resilience in the all too often cut-throat music world and wondering how much weight privilege carries these days. This year will also see the first International Conference on Women’s Work in Music over a weekend in September at Bangor University. This is merely a snapshot of the recognition that women in music quite rightly deserve, but of course, the future ideal is that we won’t need separate female-focussed conferences to celebrate women in music, because we should all be able to share that stage of credit where due, whatever a person’s gender may be. It’s a feeling perfectly summed up by previously introduced contributor Emily Reily:

“Women have been there for decades; it’s just that sometimes, they were behind the scenes, or simply not common enough to raise nationwide attention. It’s time to put that “girl” designation aside and focus strictly on the talent and creative goals of a band, regardless of their genders.”— Emily Reily

Awards nights provide one such arena where we’re able to praise achievements in music through a medium that’s directly in the public gaze. Recently, it’s become an optimum forum to set the record straight as to what being a woman in the music industry means today. Our contributor Starling singled out “Titled” songwriter Christine and the Queens for setting the example of “owning your weirdness regardless of gender or sexuality.” That’s the exact sentiment that Heloise Letissier was keen to share at this year’s NME Awards, where she took home four awards in total. In her first acceptance speech of the night, the French artist put forward this moving declaration: “All the females that are nominated with me are amazing and present a really strong way to exist as a woman in today’s world and my way is a bit twisted and a bit awkward.” Then there was the powerful challenge to the male dominated top tier from Head of Global Consumer Marketing at iTunes and Apple, Bozoma Saint John, who picked up the award for Executive of the Year at Billboard's Women in Music 2016, with this girl-power punch: “People might tell you that you have to wait your turn, but I'm here to tell you to say no. We're knocking these dudes out of the way to make room for you.” Another feature of that event was of course, Madonna, who candidly portrayed herself as a “bad feminist” for refusing to deny her sexuality, her age, her body, even at the chagrin of acclaimed feminist writer Camille Paglia. She also aligned herself to Ann Friedman’s Shine Theory, calling out the female viewers “to start appreciating our own worth and each other’s worth, seek out strong women to befriend, to align yourself with, to learn from, to be inspired by, to collaborate with, to support, to be enlightened by.” Reclaiming one’s identity and empowerment of women is also the driving force behind Zohra, Afghanistan’s first and only all-female orchestra and now winner of this year’s Freemuse Award in recognition of their determination to become the first women in their families, their community, their country to openly learn and play music in over thirty years.

We are all witnesses to to the increasing appraisal of women’s contributions and influence in music. In many areas, you could argue that equality has been found. Yet, there still exists many failings to truly represent women within the music world. Let’s look to a returning topic of our Women in Music articles - festival line-ups. In 2015, Crack in the Road editor Josh Dalton released an edited version of the Reading & Leeds Festival poster that revealed of the one hundred acts booked to play over weekend, there were only nine with at least one female member. Despite widespread criticism for the blatant gender bias, Republic boss Melvin Benn dismissed the need for change, telling The Guardian that “We put on bands that people want to buy tickets to watch,” and therefore implying that the public don’t want to see female musicians perform. Over the past two years, this ridiculous and frankly prehistoric attitude has not wavered, and this year’s first announcement consists of fifty-seven men and one woman. The line-up editor Dalton explains that this isn’t a vendetta against Reading & Leeds Festival, but as a way to highlight “the underlying and often unspoken issues regarding representation and visibility within the music industry,” which he explains further:

“This is still at times an industry that still has a certain level of exploitation of women at it's core when it suits, be it in music videos, artwork, or even just being the focal point of songs - yet when women rightfully want to take part in these spaces, they aren't given the same opportunities or respect.”— Josh Dalton

A dismal lack of equal representation also extends to the easily-digestible, widely popularized article format of the list. This year’s Billboard Power 100 was brought to our attention by industry commentator and blogger Mike Schreder, aka Oblivious Pop, as a list which only recognised seven women as being “powerful” enough. If you’re yet to be convinced that this list is biased towards men, then take a look at their Billboard News round-up video, introduced by a clip from Kanye West’s “Power”, where you’ll clearly pick out the line “no one man should have all that power.” Perhaps, they were being ironic. It’s a similar story over at DJ Magazine with their Top 100, the most recent published in April last year, which listed just two female DJ acts, Nervo at #45 and Miss K8 at #88. While lists like Red Bull’s 25 Best Producers Under 25, with a 16% female presence as opposed to Billboard’s 7% and DJ Mag’s 2%, and Forbes’ Hip-Hop Cash Princes, which despite it’s name featured Young M.A. and Noname in an exclusive crew of twelve, there’s still an obvious gender gap in play here. As Schreder quite rightly suggests “The music industry is filled with powerful women that are entrepreneurs, executives, and leaders of stellar teams that succeed to the highest degree, but these women rarely receive the acknowledgement they deserve. There needs to be calls for equality among lists like The Billboard Power 100 to include more women in this male dominated list.”

This call to action is already in steady progression, as we have seen throughout this article with musicians and industry leaders speaking up, stepping out and encouraging others to do the same. Returning to Shine Theory, we shouldn’t be intimidated by these strong figureheads or feel that our efforts will fail to match up to their example, an issue raised by Microcultures producer Louise Pétrouchka with what she refers to as the “imposter syndrome.”

“We tend to feel less secure, even if we have experiences, even if we “want to”, it's always fighting our impostor syndrome to push through.”— Louise Pétrouchka

However, we’re not without a remedy to this mindset, what we need is encouragement from all parties, from all areas of the music industry to become even just “one link in the chain that could help starring women in music.” Pigeons & Planes recently published the article Music Industry Advice For Women, By Women, in which it called on veterans of the music world to share their indispensable wisdom resulting in six key strategies: do your research, find mentors, demand respect, speak up, work harder than the rest, and trust your instincts. It’s advice that a person of any gender could follow in their attempts to access the business, but for writer Adrienne Black, this is essential to combat a world where “women have a harder time earning the success or respect they deserve without being subjected to gender stereotypes or consistently being objectified for their image.” We have another four-point plan system from Sarah Thompson, the owner of Charmfactory PR, whose own career began in 1996 as an early adopter of online music promotion and over that time she’s seen major moves towards equality in the industry. As she tells us, “I think it could always be better but compared to when I started back in the mid ‘90s we have come along way!” Her experienced outlook proves that straightforward steps to “be smart and choose your friends carefully,” “always respond to help,” get involved in social media groups and be active in the real world to, for example by attending gigs, can lead to dramatic change, on a personal and career level, but can also lead to a ripple effect throughout the industry. Further sage also comes from our contributor Lisa Murgatroyd, leader of Sofar Sounds Manchester, who advocates a community mentality, with a reminder than we can learn from our peers’ failures as much as from their successes.

“We need to collaborate and share our experiences, best practice and tips to help each other across all types of roles.”— Lisa Murgatroyd

What’s become clear throughout this article is that we all possess the ability to have an impact on the established system, to mold it in our own image and to delineate the idea of separation between different genders, and by extension between all various forms of identity. We need to collaborate, congratulate, challenge and inform. As Ayelle conveys, “There are still so many things about the music industry that remain largely unchallenged because we've internalised this environment and adapted to it in order to survive in it, but more and more women are starting to break that pattern and I hope it continues in 2017.” It’s also an optimistic viewpoint shared by the Head of Music at The Most Radicalist Black Sheep Music, the music division of BBH, who notes that sexism exists within many industries, not as a vacuum in the music world, but it’s a trend on the decline. “If the music business is indeed a mirror to societal trends at large, then I have more hope for the eradication of misogyny and sexism now than ever before.” As with many of our contributors whose ultimate goal is to disband with this conversation of gender altogether, because Owen envisions

“... a world for young women looking to enter the music business where it’s no longer necessary to talk about being a ‘female leader’. We are simply leaders.”— Ayla Owen

Whether it’s through songwriting, directing a music video, optimizing each and every platform, pointing out social, political and cultural injustices or by simply being more conscious of our own attitudes towards gender. As MILCK’s protest song shows, we can’t keep quiet, and it's why music (and art) for that matter can help to solve this issue. It allows us to understand and celebrate one another: which is beautifully portrayed in the Rupi Kaur's debut collection, Milk and Honey:

“our struggle to celebrate each other is what’s proven most difficult in being human”— Rupi Kaur

https://humanhuman.com/articles/women-in-music-2017

[jamesdcraft-blog1]

Reaching the Youth

I constantly ask myself who do I want to be in life, where do I want to go, and whos footsteps shall I walk in? I wonder to myself what does society me think of me, am I naïve or being lackadaisical by thinking like that?  I’ve come to the realization that I'm not the only person whos actions and decisions are determined by society. Why is it that we let society take control of our lives? Its my life, I don't want to be molded into what society deems is “cool”, when others are walking forward I want to walk backwards, when others are sitting I want to be standing on the chair. To give more light to my crazy dark tunnel; imagine people sitting on chairs in a row, when on society's side every person is sitting. In my vision I see everyone doing something different, someone standing on the chair, someone kneeling on it, someone sitting backwards, and someone doing a handstand on the chair. Stand when everyone sits, run when everyone walks be.... Different.

In the beginning of the summer I had gone to a Steubenville youth conference at the University of Steubenville in Steubenville Ohio, for the second time. I went last summer, and being it was a new way of practicing and viewing the catholic faith I was unable to retain or fully understand what they were proclaiming. I knew the words to the songs and I knew the prayers, but was unable to direct my attention to the bigger reason of me being there. I was so oblivious to the meaning that I questioned myself weather I would go this past June, and pushed myself to go seeing the low number of students attending this summer, and I thank God I did. I had experienced his power In a way and wish more youth and adults alike could have the opportunity to experience what I did. As I said I knew the words to the songs and prayers, but this year the songs made more sense and really held a greater meaning. The fact that 3000 Students were singing out the words “ We have come to give you glory” It was as if a stream which has been dried for centuries now had a rush of water flowing through. The prayers seemed to shoot a light through the roof of the field house, and felt to have the power heel the sick and end all evil. Yet I wonder why all Sunday masses don’t feel the way those three days did? What can I do to feel what I did In Ohio? 

The Catholic faith practices something called Adoration, in adoration the body of Christ is placed in what's called a monstrance; a beautiful gold case used to display the body so all can kneel before and talk directly to Jesus. Personally one of my favorite moments and the closest I've come to meeting Christ, as well as being said that adoration is the most powerful act in the catholic faith. At the Steubenville youth conference Jesus is processed around the field house unlike traditionally where Jesus in the blessed sacrament is left on the alter, it has to be one of the most holy and breath taking experiences you could ever imagine, its as if Jesus himself was walking around the room waving and praying with and for us. During this time of Worship and prayer, the band plays music, but one song stuck out in my head, its a song called “Oh come to the Alter”. It says no matter where you are in your life or walk in faith, Jesus wants you to bring it all to him, bring your burdens bring your pain, one lines says “Bring your sorrows and trade them for joy”, Jesus wants all of you to come to the alter not just the good. Along with the music and worship, it is incredible to see people praying over complete strangers and to hear others speaking in tongues or praying out loud, it is a very emotional time and really does bring you to your knees. After being processed all around the field house the music is retarded down to just instrumental, at this point Jesus is brought back up on the alter and in this time they begin the closing of adoration referred to as Benediction, after Benediction for about three to five minutes waves of laughter breaks out across 3000 students, its such a breath taking moment and you cant help but start to smile and laugh. Someone once asked the question why is their so much joy and happiness in that moment, and its almost like asking why is the sky blue. Shouldn't their be joy in Religion, why is it that after the choir plays a really good song or the priest speaks an incredible homily we shouldn't clap or say AMEN out loud to show joy or happiness. I don't know about other religions or faiths, but in Catholicism its not often seen, I would be over the joyed to see this at my home parish and would feel closer to that feeling I felt in Ohio; the joy, power, and happiness.

I was recently asked a very difficult question which I was taken back by, it made me realize that the music, the homily, and the joy are all great tools in worshiping and parsing God, but that's all they are is tools they aren't needed. The question was just that, can I worship the same way I did in Steubenville at my home parish, without the 3000 voices singing out, without the music, without the incredible speakers, can I worship and pray the same. I still am thinking on and will pray on that question for some time, and challenge anyone who reads this to ask yourself the same question catered to where you are in your walk in faith. This conference has really helped me in my walk in faith, as well as gave me a better understanding of the catholic faith and where I want to go with my music, and worship, and aspire to be able to feel the same power at my home parish I did in Steubenville those three days.