#(MUSIC) The rattle of war drums

[mychlapci]

https://www.tumblr.com/mychlapci/751925919707545600/soundwaves-small-tape-player-form-could-slot-so?source=share

Megatron commands Soundwave to turn into his alt mode so he can push him up his valve and feel the vibrations of loud heavy music rattle his calipers for hours. He locks his panels so the fluid has no where to go but to slide around pooled at his entrance, which gives Megatron enough lube to grind his node into. He ruts his closed panels into corners of his office like an animal, he'll lay back in berth and shred a pillow between his thighs for the friction as Soundwave bangs out something with lots of bass.

Midway through one of these sessions the real fun starts. Soundwave isn't pushed too deep into his leader's valve, but because of the shape of his tape deck, he's properly stuck. Megatron will squat over his berth and open his panels, letting the pooled fluid splash under him. He'll flex his valve walls and push and cycle his calipers until Soundwave finally comes unstuck, usually tearing Megatron's walls with his blunt corners. In a pool of energon and more transfluid, Megatron "births" Soundwave onto the bed with a shout.

He brings his devoted third in command up to his face. Soundwave will play something a little slow during this cool down phase while Megatron licks at his lover's buttons and teases his antenna with his teeth, the best stimulation Soundwave can get in his alt form. Megatron recovers from his last overload and lays back down in the berth as Soundwave's music starts to pick up again, something fast with lots of drums that makes him shake in Megatron's hands. He lines Soundwave up with his torn valve and slowly pushes the TIC back in, grinding against the boombox often. He'll shove Soundwave deeper this time, the last was only the warm up after all.

Soundwave is indeed deeper in Megatron's valve this time, caught again between slippery calipers and locked in by a thick plug Megatron only used for their sessions. He blasted erratic techno music that made Megatron's valve spasm, digging his hard edges into the plush protoform of his partner's valve. If Megatron wasn't so into his valve tearing during birth he'd worry about it, but Soundwave wasn't third in command for nothing, he knew what would please his master.

It was a cycle that lasted as many times as Megatron decided, pushing the boombox into his valve and uncomfortably birthing it back out after several overloads just to cram it deeper next time to a new beat. What tended to be the ending of their date night was both of their favorites. By now Megatron's valve was a sloppy hole, stretched by Soundwave's mass shifted form and wet from various fluids. He jammed Soundwave up his valve again, much harder than his gentle introductions earlier, and pushed him up as high as his fingertips could reach. Soundwave was playing harsh noise into the torn valve, vibrating the hot interior around him as Megatron's plug pushed him even deeper. He was angled perfectly this time to press his speaker into the opening of Megatron's gestational seal. After being flattened into the back wall so many times now and making his leader's whole array quake with his thumping music, the seal had much more give. Soundwave cranked the music to full volume, making Megatron's frame shake as he cried through another overload. His seal slipped open just slightly, which was more than enough for Soundwave to bully his way in. He was stretching out the war lord's forge more than anything else, slotting himself in perfectly as he had done many times in the past.

Megatron was a stupid overloading mess as Soundwave shook his forge. He rested his hand over the bump on his belly, feeling Soundwave under his plating and thrashing his womb. He overloaded again at just the touch. Soundwave would kill the music once his song ended, but Megatron would not push him out this time. This was all still part of the game, after all. Megatron stood from berth, his knee joints wobbling and his pedes uneven as his panels snapped shut. He walked unstabliy to the wash racks and cleaned the slick fluids from his thighs and aft. He went to rinse a smear of energon from his belly where Soundwave was bulging out, but was stopped when Soundwave suddenly kicked the music back to life at top volume. Megatron gasped and fell to his knees, overloading in his panels with a shout. His panels were open again as he was now laid on the floor of the wash racks, letting the cleaning solvent's high pressure barrage his node as more transfluid squirt from his valve and onto the wall. He wanted to lay in the wash racks all day and let Soundwave break overload after overload from him, but Soundwave wouldn't give him that. The music shut off after minutes, which was Megatron's cue to stand back up and wash off again.

The gladiator was now clean and his panels locked shut, keeping any more fluid stuck to pool again for later when his "water would break" and he would get the pleasure of his TIC tearing his valve apart again. For now, Megatron would proceed his day as usual. It was very fun for him to schedule meetings on days he planned dates with Soundwave. He welcomed the challenge of keeping his composure while Soundwave skillfully worked to take him apart in front of his loyal army.

This is so fucking good. I almost don't want to answer this because I wanna keep this to jerk off to forever.

You know I'm especially fond of the thought of Megatron always having to birth Soundwave back out... It'd be especially difficult once he's been shoved as deep as his gestation tank. It's especially hard because Soundwave just keeps making him overload, and the rippling of Megatron's valve sends him a couple inches back. Which just makes Megatron cum again. By the time Soundwave is out, Megatron is a drooling, trembling mess, truly no one has seen him in such a state except for Soundwave. His valve is gaping and bleeding, still squirting out little jets of lubricants all over Soundwave, and he feels so fucked out he could pass out right here, right now. But now it's time for him to reciprocate the favour. And then put Soundwave right back in <3

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 18 - Part II

The Princess & The Lawyer Chapter XVIII - Part II 

Summary: Lloyd is rattled by unexpected news from Elliot that sends him into an emotional spiral and delays his return. Aiden is arrested for a shocking crime and Landon gives a profile of the stalker.

Word Count: 6,670 

Masterlist

Warnings: Physical violence, strangulation, attempted drowning. References to stalking, the U.S. military draft process, war and military service, drug addiction, family estrangement, international adoption, murder, and death.

Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I was planning to finish it sooner, but I had a virus of some kind for the past week.

Chapter XVIII - Part II 

The engine of the Mercury purred like the big cat it was named after as Lloyd exited I-15 and rolled to a stop at the light. He admired the way the hood gleamed in the afternoon sun. 

“You did a great job on the body work,” Lloyd said.

“Thanks,” Elliot replied. 

Ahead of them, the light was stubbornly red. Lloyd drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“I was shocked how many people showed up to the funeral,” he said. 

“They weren’t there for him, they came for us.” 

“I know. Can you believe Mrs. Wilcox stepped foot in a Catholic church? Do you think she’ll have to repent before the Baptists take her back?”

Elliot laughed. “No, they have a new pastor. He’s not as hardline as the old one.”

“Oh, man. I bet she hates that.”

“She stopped going to church for a month when he took over.” 

Lloyd tried to imagine Mrs. Wilcox without picturing her going to church three times a week and couldn’t quite fill in the picture. The light turned green and he rolled through the intersection. 

“What ticked her off?” 

“The new preacher didn’t condemn drinking alcohol.”

“Ah… that makes sense. The no alcohol thing is one of her favorite rules. Did you notice she only played Baptist hymns during the service? I was sure she’d pick a classic for the finale, like ‘Amazing Grace’ but she went with ‘The Gate Ajar.’”

“She’s probably hoping to draw some converts to the Baptist with better music.” 

“Hey, if the Baptists can drink now, she’s got a fighting chance.” 

Elliot snickered. Lloyd scanned ahead for the turn off to the rehab facility. 

“Did you know Uncle Joe served in the Marines? I didn’t.” 

“Yeah,” Lloyd said. “I knew he’d been in the corps, but only because I found his draft papers in the basement when I was a kid.” 

“Draft papers? He was drafted?”

“His card got pulled in ‘69 and he did two tours. We never talked about it. I knew better than to ask. Eventually, it just sort of faded from my mind because he never brought it up.” 

“Isn’t that weird?” Elliot asked. 

Lloyd shrugged. 

“Do you think that’s why he was… the way he was?” 

The way he was. Lloyd contemplated the phrase. How was Joe? The first word that came to mind was quite simply: mean. The stern demeanor, thirst for vengeance, and his desperate need for control might have had roots in his time overseas. Who knew what effect the brutality of guerrilla warfare would’ve had on Joe as an eighteen year old. Lloyd wondered if his father had been in a similar state of mind as he’d found himself in at that age. Perhaps the simmering rage had been hardened into something more deadly by the explosive violence of those two years in the jungle. 

“I don’t know. Maybe, but no one can know for sure. Even if it did, Joe wouldn’t have admitted it.” 

Lloyd turned in at the rehab facility and parked near the front doors. Elliot checked in with the admissions clerk, who took his luggage and disappeared down the hall, giving them a moment to say goodbye. 

“Were you serious about staying in touch?” Elliot asked.

“Yeah. I haven’t decided about the ranch yet, but we’ll need to coordinate on that when the time comes.”

Elliot stared at him. “Coordinate?”

“Joe left you half the ranch.” 

“Come again?” 

Lloyd clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “I’ll have the lawyer send you a copy of the will, okay? We’re business partners now. That is, unless you’d rather sell.”

Elliot looked dumbstruck. “Uh-huh. Yeah… I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“I haven’t decided. How about we wait six months to make a final determination? It’ll give you time to get back on your feet and I can think things over. But if you need cash now, I can arrange a sale.” 

“We should talk about that… later.” Elliot glanced over his shoulder to the desk, where the nurse was working on her computer. “Hang on a second, will you?”

Lloyd watched as Elliot approached the nurse, then accepted a small green notepad and pen. He scribbled something down and ripped off the page before handing it back to her. 

“Here. Since you were serious about staying in touch, don’t limit yourself to just me, okay?”

Lloyd looked at the paper. There were two unfamiliar addresses written down, one nearby in Park City and the other in Denver. He looked at Elliot. “What’s this?”  

His cousin shoved his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders. 

“I know you’ve never gotten in contact, which, you know… uh… speaks for itself… but I think you should have that. Just in case you change your mind.”

Lloyd studied the addresses and then Elliot’s anxious expression. 

“If you’re still angry-” he broke off, sighing. “You can’t blame them for something that was out of their control.”

“Blame who? For what?” Lloyd asked, losing patience as Elliot skirted around the point without explanation.

“Ingrid and Josephine. They’re your family, too.” 

Words died on Lloyd’s tongue, stolen by the impact of the revelation. He re-read the addresses and cemented them into his memory. 

“Will you say something?” Elliot said, annoyed. 

“I thought they were dead.”

“Dead? Why? You couldn’t find them?” Elliot asked.

Lloyd shook his head, “I never looked… because I thought… I figured…”

“Why would you think they were dead?”

“Joe always settled his debts. Always. If she ran away, that meant…”

He couldn’t finish the thought, but saw understanding flash in Elliot’s eyes.

“They’re alive, and they’d be thrilled to hear from you.” 

“Thank you, Elliot.”

They didn’t hug goodbye, just nodded at each other. Then he watched his cousin walk through the double doors that led to a long hallway. Lloyd slid on his sunglasses and headed out to the parking lot. The note in his hand felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He shoved the paper into his wallet and climbed behind the wheel in a daze. He didn’t remember the drive from Salt Lake into Wyoming, but the next thing he knew, he was filling up with gas in Rock Springs. 

He’d planned to drop off the Mercury in Salt Lake and have it shipped to D.C. Lloyd checked his watch and realized that appointment, as well as his flight, had long passed. There were a dozen missed calls on his phone. He wondered why he’d driven east, when he could’ve headed to Park City and seen Josie just as easily. It wasn’t too late to swing down to Denver and look up Ingrid; the stop wouldn’t be too far out of his way. 

What would he say? After all those years of assuming the worst, he'd been wrong. He had to reach out to them and that terrified him. 

They’d want to know why he hadn’t contacted them, why he’d let them go so easily, and ignored their existence for the past twenty years. How could he explain that the risk had outweighed the reward? Denial and avoidance and selfishness had cost him the most important people in his life. He cursed himself for it now and saw the stark truth - he’d given up on his sisters without a shred of factual evidence, leaning on emotional reasoning designed and tailored to protect himself.

He couldn’t explain that, not in his current state of mind, so he turned back onto I-80 and headed home. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You heard footsteps and jerked around so fast you nearly fell off your chair. The unexpected sight of the man behind you stole the breath from your lungs.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?” 

“Easy, Princess. It’s just me.” 

Jake raised his arms in mock surrender as you pressed a hand to your racing heart and inhaled through your nose. 

 “Zach let me in,” he explained. 

“Sorry. I’m still on edge from last night. What are you doing here?” 

He grimaced. Your pulse, which had just begun to slow, galloped in response to the expression. 

“Did something happen with the case? To Lloyd? Is he okay?” 

“Nothing happened with the case - as far as I know - and Lloyd… I have no idea. He called me at six-thirty this morning and threatened to rip me apart limb by limb. I’ve been ducking his calls ever since.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell him about Aiden last night, but I chickened out at the last minute.” 

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Well, that explains the phone call. Come on, Diskant is waiting.” 

He led you through the kitchen and dining room, into the living area. 

Zach lounged in the ornate Fauteuil chair on the far side of the room, his right ankle hooked over his left knee. The perfect stillness of his posture belied his casual bearing. The frozen, statue-like demeanor made your heart sink, as your attention shifted to the tall man who rose from the couch to greet you. 

“Good afternoon,” Diskant said, extending his hand.

You greeted him and settled on the loveseat with Jake, directly across from the sofa. 

“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but early this morning, Aiden LeDoux was arrested for attempting to break into your apartment.” 

The words hit you like a trap door opening under your feet. You didn’t know if you should celebrate or shudder. 

“When? How was he caught?”

Diskant glanced at Jake, who shifted nervously beside you. 

“I asked Jake to trail Aiden,” Zach said. 

“Starting when?” you asked.

“Saturday morning,” Jake said. “I’ve been following him all weekend.” 

Diskant spoke. “He found Aiden trying to pick the lock of your apartment door. Jake contacted building security and took video of the act, so we have clear evidence of the attempted break-in.” 

Your arms squeezed around your midsection. “And? Where is he now?” 

“Jail, but we expect him to make bail soon.” 

“Right.” 

Detective Diskant glanced at Jake before meeting your eyes. 

“There’s something else… While investigating the break in attempt, Jake located something unusual. We found a hidden camera in the hallway. It was tucked behind the welcome wreath on your across-the-hall neighbor’s door. The camera was pointed at your apartment and was live-streaming to an unknown IP address.” 

- - -

For the next two hours you reviewed every detail of your case with Diskant. You seized a throw pillow and hugged it to your torso, digging your fingers into its softness for comfort. The detective’s pen scratched on the page as he scribbled in his journal. 

Landon had joined your meeting an hour ago, since his shift tailing Aiden became a moot point when his bail hearing was pushed to Tuesday morning. You felt Landon’s perceptive eyes on you, taking in every detail of your reactions. 

“Remind me what initially caused you to suspect Aiden when you realized you were being stalked?” Diskant asked.

“No one else made sense. Aiden was the only person I’d upset recently, and he’d just gone through a stressful event, losing his job.” 

Diskant frowned. Zach leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“I think we should consider other suspects,” he said.

“What leads you to that conclusion?” Diskant asked.

“Last night, when someone tried to turn us into road kill, Aiden was playing basketball with friends on the other side of town - Jake witnessed it himself. The initial contact from the stalker where he quoted: “Don’t ask who’s there…” that’s a line from Scream, which was released in ’96. In other messages I found more references to horror movies. He quotes Misery and Candyman verbatim in some of the threats. It’s hard to tell if the quotes were deliberate or if the phrases were naturally absorbed into his lexicon. The movies he’s referencing are from the 90s, well before Aiden started watching horror flicks.”

Diskant nodded. You noticed he didn’t take any notes.

Zach sighed and glanced at you, then continued. “The third factor is Aiden’s personality. I made it a point to talk to him a couple times while he was dating Princess. In my opinion, he’s extremely passive aggressive, which isn’t compatible with the increasing level of confrontation we’re seeing from the stalker.”

“What comments did he make that you considered passive aggressive?” Diskant asked.

“He was too good at the art of a backhanded compliment. When I first spoke to him he claimed to appreciate Princess’ independence in one breath and undermined it in the next with, ‘not everyone can handle things on their own, like she tries to.’ There were less specific things too, but overall, he just had a way of taking an innocent sounding statement and giving it a whiff of contempt that set my teeth on edge.” 

Diskant clicked his pen and tucked it in his jacket. “I’ve been mulling over the possibility of other suspects myself. The main problem with that theory is the phone call Yvette received last night. Have you considered that Aiden might be working with a partner?”

Zach raised his chin. “Do you have a line on a potential partner?” 

“Not yet, but putting together the timeline of last night’s events, Aiden called Yvette before going to the park for his basketball game, prior to the hit-and-run attempt. The phone call where he asked if you were home might have been geared towards finding out the exact opposite. I think it’s just as likely that he was trying to find out if you weren’t at home.”

“If he put up a camera in the hallway and saw that no one was coming and going from your apartment, that might explain him contacting Yvette,” Jake said. 

“Once he knew the apartment was unoccupied, he could have sent his partner to distract you with the hit-and-run. We reviewed the security tapes, and it seems that the driver veered away at the last second. I don’t think they were trying to kill you, just frighten and maim.” 

You squeezed the pillow tight.

“Landon, have you finished profiling the suspect?” Zach asked.

“Male, 45 to 55, highly intelligent, strategic, with organized behavioral patterns. Some texts seem pre-scripted and sent on a schedule. There are three main patterns of delivery: rapid fire, cluster attacks with intentional pauses, and a steady trickle.” 

Diskant nodded. “I noticed the intervals, and the scheduled messages. He probably has a full-time job that keeps him occupied from 9 to 5.”

Landon inclined his head. “Agreed. His writing style shows the marks of higher education, which makes me think he works in a white-collar occupation. It would also explain the need for regular hours. The occasions where he’s made contact - the nephew’s birthday party, in the park on Friday night, and then the incident yesterday - they all occurred in the evening.” 

“Consistent with the profile,” Zach said.

“His emotional tone shows that he suppresses enormous amounts of rage. I’m inclined to think he can’t contain it all the time, which would’ve led to court-ordered therapy, probably on a non-voluntary basis.” 

“What about the fact that he hasn’t identified himself in the texts?” Zach asked.

“That’s why I’m not ruling Aiden out yet,” Landon said. “The coyness allows him to feign innocence. He’s being secretive and not taking ownership of his actions. That fits Aiden to a tee. Factoring the technological aspect of the hidden camera Jake found in the hallway, there’s a strong possibility Aiden is involved in the stalking even if he isn’t the driving force behind it.” 

You swallowed hard, disturbed by the description.

“Does the profile ring any bells?” Jake asked.

You shook your head and plucked at the upholstery of the pillow.

“My questions about the stalker’s identity began from the texts as well,” Diskant said. “These messages don’t read like they’re from a romantically obsessed stalker who’s trying to win back their victim’s affection.” 

“The primary motivation behind the messages is clear,” Landon said.

Zach snorted. “Yeah. He’s trying to terrorize her.”

“The person writing the texts is an emotional sadist. They’re motivated by the enjoyment of the hunt and provoking a response.” 

Diskant was nodding before Landon finished speaking. “The movie obsession in the subtext of his messages isn’t based around enjoying the adrenaline rush of fear, like a normal person would. He’s identifying with the antagonists, like Ghostface and Patrick Bateman.” 

“And our current theory is that Aiden is involved with this person?” you asked, fingers clenching in the pillow’s stuffing. 

“It’s one possibility,” Diskant said. “I spoke with Aiden’s father this morning. He mentioned he searched Aiden’s phone for evidence of the messages after you spoke with him. However, after going through his son’s phone, he realized it wasn’t the only device he’d seen Aiden using.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Ledoux reports Aiden has a second phone. He thought it was for work, but he’s seen it several times since Aiden was let go from his employer. His father’s theory is that he wasn’t using his personal device to send the texts.”

Jake leaned in. “Do you have a search warrant for the house yet?”

“We didn’t need one. Mr. LeDoux owns the house, all we needed was his permission. We searched his room from top to bottom and couldn’t find a second phone. A team is searching the rest of the house as we speak.”

“Why is Mr. LeDoux being so cooperative?” Zach asked. “Is it possible he might be Aiden’s partner?”

Your jaw dropped. For a second you were shocked, then horrified. “Mr. LeDoux is too old for the profile and I only met him one time. He has no reason to stalk me!” 

Landon spoke. “I went through Aiden’s publicly available writings when I was analyzing the text messages and compared them. Because of his proximity to the case, I also reviewed Mr. LeDoux’s writing and I doubt either of them authored the messages. But given the information Yvette provided us with, I’m still concerned that Aiden has something to do with the harassment.” 

“When do you plan to interrogate Aiden?” Zach asked.

“I’m not allowing you to speak with the subject,” Diskant said. 

“Why not?” Landon demanded.

“You’re emotionally invested in the case - that’s a recipe for disaster.”

After Diskant left, Zach and Jake headed to the office, while Landon stayed behind as your minder. You retreated to your work station in the conservatory where you stared blankly at your laptop for a few minutes before laying your head down on the desk. 

“Are you okay?” Landon’s voice cut through your misery. 

You glanced back and saw him standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the conservatory, sunlight glinting off his dark brown hair. 

“No. Would you be?” 

“Nope.” He crossed to the table and pulled up a chair, swinging it around to straddle as he folded his arms over the backrest. “Tell me where your head’s at.” 

“Zach and Lloyd might go into overprotective mode. The minute I realized I was being stalked, I was worried about Lloyd’s reaction. After watching Zach’s response to Diskant’s theory…” you shook your head. 

“Zach’s incredibly loyal,” Landon said. 

“That’s why I’m worried!”

“Jake and I will handle them, okay? Bishop already suggested locking Lloyd away before we fill him in. We could always shove Zach in too.” 

“Got a dungeon?” 

Landon snorted. “Not one that will hold them. Listen. This is temporary. The stalking can’t go on forever. It won’t go on forever.” 

“If Lloyd and Zach have their way it will be over quickly and violently. The latter part worries me. I want this resolved but I don’t want them going to jail on my behalf. Just thinking about it makes me sick.” 

Landon’s lips pursed. “Can you think of any reason, other than stalking you, for Aiden to want access to your apartment while you were away?” 

“No. I have no clue.”

“If he planted the camera in the hallway, I’m inclined to think it was placed to make sure you weren’t home. It’s straight out of the intelligence handbook to ensure you’re in and out of a target’s home while they’re gone. Given that Aiden’s father was an FBI agent, he’d know that much about tradecraft.” 

You rubbed your temple. “I don’t understand why he’d do this.” 

“There were no weapons on him when he was arrested. I don’t buy him as your stalker, but the evidence points to his involvement.” 

“It doesn’t make sense. Nothing adds up.”

Landon ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it from its carefully gelled style. “You’re right. And until we get more evidence, it probably won’t. What are you doing in the meantime?”

“Searching for missing persons reports.”

“Okay then. Shall we divide and conquer?” 

The next few hours flew by, filled with research and notes. Daylight slipped away but your eyes remained focused on the screen without pause. You pulled up another report and a moment later, elbowed Landon.

“Hey. Look at this. Li Wei Chapman, age 23, vanished in 1999 from Virginia.”

Landon looked over your shoulder. “Her last known location was at a bible camp her family owned in Fredericksburg.” 

“Is that too far away from Harmony?” 

“It’s only forty minutes by car. The serial killer was most active closer to D.C., but that alone doesn’t exclude this victim. She disappeared on June 14th - right in the middle of his active period.” 

“Look at the notes,” you said, scrolling down. “Her daughter, Zoe Chapman, also went missing on the same day. She was two years old.” 

“If she was his first victim, he might have chosen a location he knew well. Maybe he spent time at the bible camp and was familiar with the terrain,” Landon said. “Fredericksburg has a lot of wooded areas that could be used for cover.” 

“How do you know so much about the geography of Fredericksburg?” you asked.

“It’s on the way to Latimer’s hometown. We use his uncle’s farm for our team reunion every year. This is good. It’s the first mother-daughter abduction we’ve found that matches the details of our victim.” 

“Wait. Marco Latimer? He’s from Virginia?” 

Landon arched a brow. “Yeah. Why?” 

“His accent. I couldn’t quite place it. Where’s he from?”

“Kilmarnock. His accent is Virginia Tidewater, but it’s stronger than most because he grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere.” 

He re-focused his attention on the missing persons report and was about to say something when the doorbell rang. Your head snapped up.

“I’ll get it,” Landon said.

You trailed after him, but stayed out of sight as he opened the door. A woman in her mid-sixties with ash blonde hair worn in a blunt bob waited on the other side. 

“Hello, I’m Judy Lange. I’m looking for Lloyd’s house sitter. Is she here?”

“Yeah.”

Landon motioned you forward. Mrs. Lange’s eyes glinted in recognition when she saw you.

“Here are the pool keys, for Mr. Hansen. I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I promised I’d have them back before he returned,” she said, handing them over.

“Thank you, I’ll make sure he gets them.” 

“Excellent. And if you need anything, we’re just two doors down.”

You thanked her for the keys and when she was gone, placed the keys in the bowl on the foyer table. Realizing how late it was you checked the time and frowned.

“When does Lloyd’s flight land? Shouldn’t we have picked him up already?”

“He’s driving back,” Landon said. 

“What?! All the way across the country?”

“He’s bringing back a car, at least that’s what Zach said.” 

Your heart sank. You’d confessed your love, and now Lloyd was taking his sweet time returning. 

“What’s wrong?” Landon asked.

“I told Lloyd I loved him last night.” 

His eyebrows rose sharply. “Damn. That took guts. Lloyd’s the most emotionally repressed person I’ve ever met.” 

You groaned and sank down on the couch, head in your hands. 

“What was I thinking?!” 

“Maybe your confession wasn’t such a bad thing,” Landon said.

“Why do you say that?” 

“Lloyd is skittish about sharing his emotions, but under the right conditions he’s made progress before.” 

You rubbed your neck. “I’m worried that he might never say it back. If this relationship keeps going, I’m going to need the words, but I don’t know if Lloyd is capable of saying them… ever.” 

“I think the real question here is, how long are you willing to wait to hear him say it?”

“I don’t know. I love him, but I hate the way it feels to be left hanging like this. Either I get over myself and accept his limitations or… we break up.”

“Perhaps there’s a third option,” Landon said.

“What’s the third option?”

“Give it time. Lloyd is capable of changing. Don’t forget that.” 

“What am I going to say to him when he comes home?” you asked, running a hand over your hair. 

“I’d wait and see if he brings it up on his own. But remember - talking about his feelings is his most underdeveloped skillset. If you don’t remember that, you’re going to be hurt when he fumbles the pass.” 

“I can handle fumbling. What I’m worried about is the possibility that he might never try.”

Landon gave you a crooked smile. “Give him a minute to work things out on his own. Lloyd makes his best progress when he can move at his own pace. He’ll test the waters before he dives in. That’s why I think your confession might be a good thing.” 

You groaned. “It wasn’t a good thing. I humiliated myself.”

“Or you made him feel secure. Lloyd’s always taking one step forward and two steps back with emotional processing. If he knows where he stands with you, that might serve as an anchor. He’ll never be one for eloquent declarations of love, but a blind man could see how he treats you. I doubt the words will come easy, but he’ll find his voice when he’s ready.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

It wouldn’t have been accurate to say that Lloyd spent the rest of the drive across the country chewing on the idea of reconnecting with his sisters. Rather, it was the idea that spent the rest of the drive chewing on him. Thoughts of Ingrid and Josie took center stage and refused to let him look away. By the time he was approaching the outskirts of Rockville, he was exhausted and sick of spinning through the same thoughts over and over. 

By the time he parked the Mercury on the tree lined street outside of his townhouse complex, it was approaching midnight, and he felt like a zombie. His back ached and the bruise on his thigh from where Charlene kicked him throbbed. He felt every twinge of sore muscle from the explosion at Holbrook’s stash house as he unloaded his bags. When he stepped inside, the sight of Zach drinking whiskey on his living room sofa took him by surprise. It took a minute before his mind switched on and the details of the conversation on Sunday night came flooding back. 

“Shit,” he hissed.

“How was the drive?” 

“Miserable. I… stuff came up. I didn’t mean to take so long. How is she?”

Zach shrugged.

“I called Jake this morning, but he hung up on me, twice.” Lloyd crossed the living room and reached for the decanter of whiskey to pour himself a glass. 

“Tell me what's going on,” he commanded.

Zach snorted. “Fuck, no. I’m not touching that subject with a ten-foot pole, that’s on Princess. But I’m glad you’re back. Shit’s gotten weird the last few days.” 

“Explain.”

“You look like death warmed over, Lloyd. Go get some sleep. I’ll stay through tomorrow and then I’m clearing out so you and Princess can talk.” 

He felt like death warmed over, too, which led him to climb the stairs without too much protest. Whatever you needed to share would probably go over better if he had a full night’s sleep before hearing it. Lloyd slipped silently into the bedroom and found you curled up on the far side of the bed. He stripped to his boxers and crawled in next to you.

When the mattress dipped, your lashes fluttered. For a moment, you opened your eyes, but they didn’t focus. He eased closer and you reached out to press a hand to his chest. Lloyd took that as a welcoming sign and closed the distance between you. 

He pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered, “I’m home. I missed you.” 

You blinked sleepily, trying to wake up, but failing to cast off the chains of slumber. 

“Lloyd… home…” you slurred the words as you struggled to open your eyes.

“I’m here now,” he murmured, smoothing a hand down your back. You cuddled into his chest with a breathy sigh that made his heart skip a beat. He kissed your hair.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

“S’okay. Glad… you’re back…” 

Lloyd smiled, squeezing you gently as the weight of his worries melted away. You were happy to see him and he was holding you again. Everything would work out. Whatever challenge was lurking around the corner could be dealt with in the morning. As long as he could bask in the feeling of holding the woman he loved for the night, he’d meet the trouble head-on tomorrow.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

In the morning, you curled against Lloyd and watched him sleep, enjoying the peaceful expression on his face. You were happy he was home, but dread clawed at the pit of your stomach. The conversation you’d put off was hours away and his reaction loomed large. Sighing, you showered and dressed before making your way downstairs. 

Zach was at the stove, stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.

“Morning Princess,” he said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You forced a smile in return and opened a cabinet to grab plates. As Zach finished cooking, you set two places at the breakfast bar. You ate in silence with the approaching conversation weighing heavily on your mind.

“So, have you decided what to say?”

“Kind of. I’m planning on starting with the reasons behind my decision before I tell him the details.”

“If he explodes, don’t take it too personally. He’s been known to say things in the heat of the moment that he doesn’t mean.” 

“It’s the uncertainty about the stalker’s identity that I’m worried about explaining. This was bad enough when I thought I knew who was behind it. Not knowing makes it even harder.” 

“I’m meeting with Mr. LeDoux this morning. He kept a log of Aiden’s comings and goings for the past week and he’s willing to share it with me.” 

“That’s good.”

“We’ll sort this out, okay? As for Lloyd, just bite the bullet and get it over with. He’ll come around once he calms down,” Zach said, and patted your shoulder.

You tried to take comfort in his words when your phone rang, interrupting your thoughts. Annabeth’s name popped up on the caller ID. You answered on speaker phone.

“Hey Annabeth. I’m here with Zach Hightower. Did you find something?”

“I have good news: you were right. The unidentified victim isn’t Julia’s sister!”

“Really? What did you find out?”

“There was an error in the initial comparison, which probably came about because of insufficient reference material. Julia came from a semi-isolated community that’s lived on an island for generations, her DNA is harder to interpret. With a deeper analysis, it became clear that Julia and the unknown victim weren’t sisters - they’re actually third cousins.”

“So the error was on Julia’s sample?”

“It can be difficult to interpret the genetics of a person with Julia’s background,” Annabeth said. “While China recognizes the Miao as an official minority, there's limited representation of her ethnicity in genetic databases, which is why the crime lab made a mistake.”

“Do you have a match on the unknown victim?” you asked.

“Based on ancestry DNA, the unknown victim is Li Wei Chapman. She was adopted by Frida and Lyle Chapman from Taiwan in 1977 and lived in Fredericksburg, Virginia.”

“Thank you so much, Annabeth. This is a tremendous help.” 

“Glad I could assist. I’ve emailed you the full genetic analysis, but it might take a minute to download. The file is huge.” 

“I can drop it off this afternoon,” Zach said. 

You downloaded and printed the reports for him, but once he was gone, the anxiety returned. To occupy yourself, you returned to the missing persons reports, pulling up everything on Li Wei Chapman. The breakthrough opened up a whole new realm of possibilities - you hardly knew where to begin. An hour ticked by and you were struggling to focus. Lloyd was still asleep. You felt trapped within the four walls of the house. 

It was too quiet. You were bubbling with energy as your mind raced with thoughts of what to say when Lloyd woke up and the possibilities for the investigation now that the unknown victim was identified. You tried to busy yourself by cleaning the kitchen and re-organizing your paperwork, but anxiety was gnawing a hole in your stomach and the attempts to stay occupied only amplified the restlessness. As you paced around the house, your eyes landed on the keys to the pool. They were still on the foyer table where you’d put them last night. 

Weighing the risk, you decided that the pool wasn’t too exposed. It was in a fenced enclosure behind the townhouses, which meant there’d be a row of three story tall brick buildings and a courtyard with an eight foot high wall between you and the nearest street. Locked gates prevented visitors from entering the recreational area behind the townhouses except by passing through a home. Plus, Lloyd’s back gate was only ten feet away from the pool enclosure. 

You found your regular one-piece suit in the front pocket of your suitcase, which you’d stored in Lloyd’s laundry room. After changing, you took the keys and made your way through the backyard, closing the wrought iron gate behind you, and dove into the glistening blue water of the lap pool. The coolness enveloped you, washing away the smothering anxiety that had been simmering all morning. With each stroke down the length of the pool, you felt the stress falling away.

- - -

Hidden in the shadows, a figure watched you splash through the water. 

He’d spent all weekend figuring out where you’d disappeared to. Finding you and Zach at the Emerald Harp on Sunday night had been an incredible stroke of luck. Since then, he’d been waiting for the ex-SEAL to leave so he could approach you alone. His heart pounded with anticipation as he watched, obscured by a neighbor’s arbor. The structure was overflowing with the thriving yellow blossoms of a Carolina Jessamine that offered sufficient cover from the security cameras.

He’d been planning this for months, even before he’d begun messaging you. He’d learned your routines and watched you, waiting for the opportunity to get close enough. Slipping the balaclava over his face he moved through the pool enclosure gate on silent feet, reveling in the rush of being so close to his ultimate goal. 

You swam to the end of the pool, your back to him, unaware of the danger you were in. Wanting to prolong the thrill of being invisible, he stayed out of your line of vision as you swam toward the end of the pool. You reached the wall and surfaced with a gasp, treading water for a moment before reaching for the ladder. Unaware of him, you climbed out and collected your towel from a nearby chair. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, pulsing through every capillary, and sharpening his senses. He bided his time and relied on the crepe soles of shoes to mask the sound of his footsteps as he drew closer. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Lloyd woke up, feeling well-rested and content. Beside him your spot was empty, and the sheets were cool to the touch. He listened but didn’t hear anyone else moving around in the house. A glance at the clock showed it was past ten-thirty. It surprised him to have slept for so long. Usually he didn’t sleep more than six or seven hours in a single stretch. He showered and brushed his teeth before descending the stairs, looking forward to seeing you. 

As his foot landed on the bottom step, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

Adrenaline surged, and without hesitation, he sprinted to the backyard, where the scream had originated. Another scream guided him towards the pool enclosure. He crossed the yard in four strides and didn’t bother opening the garden gate, just leapt over it and pivoted toward the pool enclosure, nearly losing his footing as the loose gravel shifted under his bare feet. 

You were locked in a struggle with a masked figure who had you by the throat. The masked man looked up and saw Lloyd barreling towards him. He threw you down on the concrete and seized a handful of your hair, then shoved your head under the water.

Lloyd charged. He slammed into the assailant and they tumbled across the hot cement, exchanging a barrage of punches and kicks. The masked man was stronger and more competent a fighter than he’d expected. An elbow to the jaw sent Lloyd’s head snapping back, and he cracked the crown of his head on cement. For a second his grip slackened, and the intruder broke free. Lloyd was on his feet in an instant, ready to chase after him, when he saw you unconscious on the ground.

The intruder was already disappearing around the corner into the courtyard. Lloyd knelt and pressed his fingers to your throat, feeling for a pulse. Your skin was ashen and your breathing shallow. Kneeling down, he cradled your head to his chest and stroked your cheek.

“Princess? Wake up… come on, honey…” 

You didn’t stir. His hands trembled as he found his phone in the pocket of his chinos and dialed for an ambulance.

- - - 

He paced in the waiting area, bubbling with tension as the doctors took their sweet time scanning you in radiology, where he hadn’t been allowed to follow. The door opened, and he spun around.

“What happened?” Zach asked.

“Someone tried to drown her in the swimming pool. I got there just in time.”

“You look like you need a bandaid yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Lloyd said. 

“Princess?” 

“A concussion for sure, they’re scanning for other injuries now.”

Worry lined Zach’s face. He crossed his arms and before Lloyd could question him further, the waiting room door opened again to admit Jake and Landon. 

“What happened?” Jake demanded. 

Lloyd gave him the run down and noted that Landon didn’t seem as surprised by the description of events.

“I stopped by your place and spoke to Mrs. Lange,” the dark haired man said. “She gave me a copy of the security tapes from the pool complex. I haven’t had the chance to look at it yet.” 

Jake was already pulling out his laptop. They huddled around the screen and watched as the technical specialist reviewed the footage. The assailant had done a good job of avoiding being captured on his way in, but the frames taken after his fight with Lloyd showed clear images of him fleeing through the courtyard.

“Let me try this,” Jake muttered. 

His fingers flew over the keys as he applied measurements to various objects in the footage, giving the software a frame of reference. The program calculated and analyzed for a minute as he isolated the figure of the assailant. 

Jake read the result and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit.”

“What?” Lloyd growled.

“The attacker is only 5 '9, which means Aiden is six inches taller than the man who attacked Princess. It’s possible to make yourself taller, but six inches shorter? There’s no way he’s the assailant. We’ve been looking at the wrong guy all along.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XIX

Behind the Scenes: Lloyd’s post-chapter reaction

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprinces

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-doctor-help

@terry2227

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove  

@babyevansblog 

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister

@ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit

@rosedpetal

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish

@calwitch

@peachiestevie

@texmexdarling

@here4thefanfics

@rogersbarber

@spikeluv84

@dear-fifi

@crayongirl-linz

@bigcreatorwombatdreamer

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Round Two

U2

Defeated opponents: New Kids on the Block

Formed in: 1976

Genres: Rock, alternative rock, pop rock, post-punk

Lineup: Bono- lead vocals, guitar 

The Edge- guitar, backing vocals

Adam Clayton- bass, keyboard, backing vocals

Larry Mullen Jr.- drums, backing vocals

Albums from the 80s: 

Boy (1980)

October (1981)

War (1983)

The Unforgettable Fire (1984)

The Joshua Tree (1987)

Rattle and Hum (1988)

Propaganda: One of the few mainstream Irish bands I love, and not only are they still together, but they're also all still around after all these years. They also cover a lot of important topics in their music while still being hopeful, and I think all of them (Bono in particular) have aged quite gracefully.

The Kinks

Defeated opponents: Faster Pussycat

Formed in: 1963

Genres: Pop, rock

Lineup: Ray Davies – guitar, harmonica, keyboards, vocals

Dave Davies – lead guitar, backing vocals

Ian Gibbons – keyboards, backing vocals

Mick Avory – drums

Jim Rodford – bass, backing vocals

Albums released in the 80s:

One for the Road (1980)

Give the People What They Want (1981)

State of Confusion (1983)

Word of Mouth (1984)

Think Visual (1986)

Propaganda:

[scruffytheclown]

My Fav Character's Fav Songs

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Self Defeating Prophecy by Dystopia

Let's be real here, Ghost would listen to the most disgusting metal to drown out everything else. Bro is not going to be listening to explicitly sad music cause that would mean he would have to think about his feelings and he doesn't want to do that. He would, however, know a surprising amount about music and would have sludge bands with like 100 monthly listeners on his playlist. Ultimately, Ghost is blaring the most disturbing, harsh metal known to man. His favorite is Self Defeating Prophecy because of the rattling vocals and extreme drum breaks.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Rooster by Alice in Chains

Soap would be a Dad Rock kind of guy but in a "my dad was a teenager in the '90s" way. So a lot of grunge. He could get behind some heavy shit for sure, but really appreciates some solid vocals. I think Soap would actually have a pretty good voice and would be able to sing along to Eddie Vedder or Chris Cornell songs. I feel like he's at least a little more in tune with his emotions and would listen to Nothingman by Pearl Jam alone at night. Rooster would be his favorite song because he can relate to the lyrics since the song is about a Vietnam War veteran.

Jujutsu Kaisen Spoilers Mentioned Ahead

Suguru Geto

But The Regrets Are Killing Me by American Football

Bro is a fucking math rock, midwest emo freak, I'm so sorry. Geto is blaring songs about self destruction with some of the most beautiful guitar riffs. And he was doing that before the KFC breakup too. The American Football song is his favorite though because it almost perfectly represents his tragic relationship with Gojo. I know he's constantly racked with guilt and regret, but is so far gone that he feels like he couldn't change. His music taste mirrors that. GAH it hurts. Are you kidding, "A long goodbye with mixed emotions"? Pretty much sums it all up.

Satoru Gojo

New Song by Maggie Rogers & Del Water Gap

Gojo gets it. Man has a 20 hour crying playlist. He never got over Suguru and probably visited him (or at least wanted to) after they split apart because he would never love anyone the same ever again. New Song helps him justify his lasting feelings about Suguru and how he would go back to him in a heartbeat if he could. But alas. "Is there a cure for this hunger? A terrible curse to be under." Hmmm, kind of reminds me of "Love is the most twisted curse of all."

Damn, all my favorite characters emo as fuck. Bless them. Sorry for making them more sad.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Everything For You: Part 2

The deep emerald green satin dress had a swooping neckline that accentuates and simultaneously hides the fullness of your breasts. The fabric is complimentary, it embraces your curves in a way that transforms you into a subtle femme fatale, yet it doesn’t cling uncomfortably to you.

The train delicately caressed the floor and off-the-shoulder sleeves were ruched to add detail while the slit on the left side of the dress added sex appeal to the gorgeous gown.

It was a gift from Steph after you denied her the chance to take you shopping she had given you the dress anyway. You needed something for Saturday, and Steph had sent it your way when you confirmed that you would rather show up than be dragged to the party.

You run your hands along the bodice of the dress as you hide away, stealing yourself into one of the many corners you’d traced out in your mind before you had to make your presence known. You’re buying time, that’s all your doing. You know that Jake is already here, you can feel his presence, and you’ve heard the whispers and the expectations that had risen since he left the military to take his rightful place.

You know he’s here, just as you know that there are women and omegas here that are willing to try and steal him. They doubt your bond, they question Jake’s ability to love someone like you, someone of your size and your upbringing in a home with a single mother that divorced your father.

An omega who was plus-sized and broke, an omega who lived in a dank part of town in a rickety building. An omega who spent their time after Jake left, trying to mend your weary heart and soul with random hookups and toxic exes that only made you hate yourself more.

You and Jake were promised to each other when he was ready to take over, but you were not in a relationship. Truly, you didn’t owe loyalty to each other however you chose the worst alphas to be around.

Was it your guilt? Was it all rooted in your anxiousness and desperation since you gave your heart and soul to him?

Was Jake’s missing presence enough to make you lose yourself in their twisted and disgusting comments? Had you reduced yourself to a receptacle for their hollow seed because you felt so empty and lost without him?

You trailed your hands up your chest and neck, your fingernails trapped between your teeth as a coping mechanism. You nibbled on your nails, your eyes unfocused when you listened to the sound of music pouring from the ballroom and footsteps that echoed on the marble floor beyond your hiding place.

Every sound felt like a drum in your head, the crazed sounds coming across with war-like power that rattled your mind. You drew in a sharp breath when you first caught the notes of his scent and immediately felt confused when it was gone again.

“That’s a dirty habit,” he crooned in the dark, his presence behind you startling you as you stumbled back against the wall, trapped behind the luxe curtain that obscured the guests from you.

“Jake,” you shakily exhaled his name, your eyes growing wider the longer he lingered in this small space with you, “you scared me.”

It’s all you could say, all you could muster.

He was there with you, standing to your left in a beautifully designed suit that was fitted across his chest and shoulders. The soft black blend had transformed Jake from the kind of gangly alpha you remembered, even before he left, into a massive beast of a man who towered above you.

His eyes were iridescent blue that sparkled and shone like beacons in the darkened space, just the brief glimmers of his teeth noticeable beneath the curl of his lips.

“You still choose the same hiding places, Princess.” He turned toward you, cornering you against the wall and his body, his hand outstretched to touch the satin of your dress. “Look at you, dressed up-“

“Jake…” your voice trailed off, you were struck silent by the flash of his eyes, the headiness of his gaze and he looked you up and down.

“Aren’t you going to welcome me home, Princess?” He hummed, raising his hand to swipe his thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m home, omega. Your alpha’s back, and that means that you and I have a lot of planning to do.”

You saw it, the gentle nature of himself hovering beneath the shell of the toughened act. He was planning your future, like all the times he had before, only now those plans for the future would be solidified.

“Any chance you would change your mind? Find someone else—?” You barely get the words out before Jake steps forward and presses you against the wall, one hand resting directly above your head trapping you, and the other resting on your lower back.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment for too long, I’ve waited and wanted you for too damn long to let this pass.” Jake nudged your head to the side to gain access to your scent glands, his tongue and teeth lapping and nipping.

“Whine for me, Princess.” He groaned against your flesh, wantonly and desperate. “I still remember the clench of your walls, the heat of you squeezing me. Fuck, I want to hear you again.”

Jake paused and within a moment he had relaxed, breathing softly against your skin. He placed both hands on your hips, holding you steady as he breathed your scent in.

“I missed you,” Jake admitted the weighty confession against the crook of your neck, breathing in and out against you, his hands stroking your satin-covered hips just to get you and his scent on his body, “I missed you, Princess.”

You leaned into him and turned your head, resting your cheek against his shoulder. All the skewed and marred words that had been fired against each other felt as if it was nothing compared to feeling him against you. Everything in the past, every bad decision and crooked, harrowed word had become something of the past.

It was Jake and you, it was the alpha you used to play hide and seek with, the alpha that you used to cause trouble with.

He was no longer a boy, he was a man and an alpha who was about to have the world at his fingertips. He was about to take the reins and take control of three states, an entire empire under his feet.

He was about to take on a role that he was well suited for, a role that he was meant to take on but that had also tied into you. You had known since you were younger that you and Jake were meant for one another, no matter how you had wandered or what you had done, Jake was always the endgame. It would always be you and it would always be him.

The few alphas between his departure for the army and the stint where he had come back and even to his permanent return home, none of it mattered in the end. Jake would have you, perfect or imperfect, broken and cracked or completely whole.

You knew Jake had been with other women too, you didn’t need any confirmation from him verbal or otherwise, you had just known. He didn’t talk about it, he had kept it completely to himself without a single mention of any omegas he had met over there.

It wasn’t just him sparing your feelings, it was because none of them had truly mattered in the end, just as the alpha you were with hadn’t mattered. It might as well have dust on the wind, a scattered memory that had nothing to hook onto.

“I missed you, too.” You muttered, your cheek resting on his shoulder while he kept you pressed to his body, holding you tightly against him as if he would lose you again. “Jake, I…”

You swallowed your words and he pulled away, his eye searching your own. It was a back-and-forth between this darker and more possessive part of him and the dorky sunshine alpha you knew so well from childhood.

He had the penchant ability to be both, to do both, and you had already seen one. The way that he had spoken of you and your body, of your heat that gripped him, it was rooted in this insatiable hunger that affected you just as it had him. It was the darker part of him that made him threaten to hunt you down if it was necessary, just as that darker part had taken hold of him when he found you with that alpha.

“I wouldn’t have cared how many other alphas you slept with, I wouldn’t have cared if it was the same one over and over, but why…” Jake grit his teeth, his eyes flashing in the darkened space and the glint of the chain tucked under his dress shirt had drawn your eye.

“Why did you settle for them? For those alphas who thought…Princess, why the fuck would you let them talk to you that way?”

“Jake please-“

“Don’t,” he growled, that slip of darkness taking hold of him again, “make excuses for them. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine and they didn’t respect you. Fuck, I would drop to my knees right now and show you how much you mean to me, how fucking gorgeous you are and yet you let them walk all over you.”

“I didn’t want someone that treated me like—“ You clamped down on your tongue and averted your eyes, the sharp sting of your nails digging into your palms was a placeholder for your screaming frustrations.

“You didn’t want someone to treat you like I treated you?” Jake had straightened himself out, hands busying themselves by fixing the tie looped around his neck.

You listened to him inhale and exhale slowly, as a means to calm himself or maybe to gulp down your scent, in the end, it didn’t matter.

“Well, now I’m back.” Jake fixated his eyes upon you in such a way that you were left frozen, unable to breathe or speak while your heart hammering in your chest. “And I’m taking what’s mine.”

He leaned in with that vibrant possession and protectiveness that warmed your belly and made you entirely too aware of how he affected you. He swept his eyes over you and smirked, taking you and your appearance in inch by inch, then he reached out and stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I have something for you.” He kept one hand on your cheek and the other had slipped into his pocket for only a few seconds before he pulled out a sleek white gold chain with a pendant hanging off the end, and two solid initials, both of which bared his scent.

“Turn around, Princess.” Jake let the command slip, and it settled beneath your skin instantly. You had turned your back to him, inhaling sharply when the metal was placed against your neck and his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “My initials resting against your pretty neck.”

He delicately kissed your cheek, his lips lingering as he settled his hands upon your hips once more, and you were met by his strong chest flush against your back.

“We should go greet our guests,” Jake was everything you had remembered, and everything you wanted, “welcome them to the party celebrating the start of our engagement.”

“Engagement?” You looked at him over your shoulder, seeing the balance of your loveable and dorky alpha, and the dangerous future head of the mafia.

“We’re promised to each other, Princess. This is as much of a welcome home as it is a celebration of our future marriage.” Jake mumbled softly in your ear, humming pleasantly. “Do you want a ring? You can wear mine until I can get one for you.”

Your breath was bated, your heart was thrashing in its cage and you were warmed by Jake’s chest against your back.

“I missed you,” he repeated himself, nuzzling his cheek against you, “my beautiful omega.”

*This is what Jake looks like*

Permanent Tags List: @jennmurawski13-writes @beardburnsupersoldiers @daydreaminginthechaos @rebekahdawkins @supraveng @bookfrog242 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @valsworldofcreativity @rainbowkisses31 @loveitorleaveit20 @alexakeyloveloki @socalgem1124 @mogaruke @dreamlessinparis @frisky975 @dispatchvampire @hereforbuckyandsteve @jesgisborne @fairybnha3 @hallecarey1 @tang082646 @mrslokibarnesrogers @deputy-videogamer @posionivy0061 @loving-life-my-way @kaylamcd2000 @mercyy98 @undecidedsworld @rootcrop @whatinthestyles @slutforsteve @cornmousequeen @rededfoxy @yagurl-snow @glimmering-darling-dolly @patzammit @buckymydarlingangel @missusbarnes-rogers @andy-is-gay @nervousfandom @rileyloves5 @emi11ie @carelessreadersstuff @readingandwritingandreading @cynic-spirit @inkedaztec @gh0stgurl @mansaaay @cats-and-sheep @pono-pura-vida @seitmai @teambarnes72

[mywifeleftme]

316: Toto Bissainthe // Chante Haïti

Chante Haïti Toto Bissainthe 1977, Arion

“These songs are mostly slave songs taken from the Vodou cult. They speak of the quotidian, of the suffering of exile, and the desire of Africa, not as a geographical place but as a mythical land of freedom. They express their resistance and their refusal: resistance to the colonizer, refusal of his politics, of his religion, of his culture, of his language.”

So begins Toto Bissainthe’s statement on the rear of Chante Haïti, her 1977 collaboration with a small combo of Antillean folk and French jazz musicians: vocalists Marie-Claude Benoît and Mariann Mathéus; percussionists Akonio Dolo and Mino Cinélu (Miles Davis, Weather Report, Gong); Patrice Cinélu on acoustic guitar; and Beb Guérin on the double bass. The songs indeed fuse the Vodou ritual of her native Haiti with the European avant garde sounds of her adopted milieu of Paris, where she had moved to pursue acting and found herself a de facto exile due to the political situation back home. Bissainthe had become a prominent figure in the French theatre, performing in new plays by Beckett and Genet and co-founding Les Griots, France’s first Black theatre company; by the late ‘70s, she was an acclaimed recording artist to boot. Her accomplishments made her a prominent figure in the Haitian diaspora and her activist streak is apparent throughout Chante Haïti, explicitly linking the grief and yearning for liberation in these traditional ceremonials with the country’s contemporary struggles.

Like many songs on the album, the Creole words of opener “Soley danmbalab” mourn the people's estrangement from Mother Africa, a crossing which can neither be reversed or repeated. It begins like a field recording, Bissainthe’s soulful, Miriam Makeba-esque voice set to a chorus of rattles and bells and gurgling masculine whispers. As the song develops, her melody wends like a stream through the dense jungle of percussion, dissonant bass, and counterpoint chanting. Eventually, Mino Cinélu’s arrangement becomes more free, the male chorus imploring the Oungan (a male Vodou priest) to intercede with the creator on the people’s behalf as the tune breaks down into an increasingly abstract bass and drum interplay, while the three female singers exchange birdlike vocal improvisations.

“Ibo Ogoun (Variations)” is even wilder, evoking a trance ritual, the spirits speaking in many tongues through the celebrants as they seek to summon Ogun, God of Iron and War, to lead the battle of liberation. One of the male percussionists times his tanbou beat so that it hits just as he sings certain notes, creating the illusion that he voice has suddenly lurched down an octave for a moment, almost like a DJ freaking a vocal sample. Bissainthe, Mathéus, and Benoît match the intense drumming with some crazy syncopations, sometimes talking, sometimes hissing and whispering, sometimes wailing and ululating.

Most of the album takes on a more meditative tact, anchored by Guérin’s plangent double bass. On the smoky “Papadanbalab,” an entreaty to the serpent creator Damballa to bear witness to the penury of his people, Bissainthe sways over a slinky jazz bass line, Patrice Cinélu adding mellow acoustic fusion licks. The song seems like a brief stopover in a Parisian club. But even the less overtly intense tracks pack plenty of musical interest. “Lamize pa dous” has this hypnotic rhythm that sounds exactly like a micro house beat—in fact, the first thing it made me think of was Ricardo Villalobos’ Alcachofa, or Animal Collective at their campfire ravingest. The song is about the moment of surrender to death, the winnowing of time represented by water encroaching on all sides, the realization too late that “we spend our lives trying to fill the sea with stones.”

Listening to a record like this, especially in light of Bissainthe’s note on the back excoriating the colonialist ethnographer who reduces Haitian folklore to “excitement and violence,” requires at least a smidgen of awareness from the white listener that Chante Haïti is not intended for them. The traditions it engages with are of deep spiritual significance to many Haitians, both in the ‘70s and today. But for those inside and outside the culture who are willing to approach it with respect, Chante Haïti is a fascinating fusion of Antillean and European musics, and a peek into a profound and secret history.

316/365

[manysmallhands]

My Favourite Songs of 2023 part 4: 10 - 1

The final countdown! (synth melody plays)

Previous entries in the series can be found here, here and here.

10. Tyla - Water

Water sounds like nothing so much as the romance novel version of the last night on a Caribbean holiday; the twitchy afrobeat rhythms feel slightly mischievous while the vibes are relaxed and extremely seductive. There’s plenty of fun to be had singing along to the group chorus but it’s the innocent charm of Tyla’s performance that really carries the song. Though Tik Tok is not really known for producing lasting careers, I’d like to hope she’ll go a long way.

9. GAYLE - Butterflies

It’s fair to say that the abcdefu star has done little of note since her moment in the limelight but Butterflies is a surprise banger and might well be the best song on the already stacked Barbie soundtrack. Yes, it piggybacks on its pilfered Crazytown interpolation but GAYLE’s rapid fire vocal and fierce pop energy carry the day and make a good case for her working more often with this harder edged approach.

8. beabadoobee - The Way Things Go

Bea’s sweet-toothed multigenre world has crept up on me more as the year's gone on but she’s never sounded better than she does on her most recent single. Her farewell to a dying relationship is given life by a delicately resigned vocal and set to an orchestral swirl so otherworldly that it entirely rubbishes her claim to be “not far from the ordinary”. There’s even a bit of a Harriet Wheeler impression on the outro to get the indieheads all teary, proving that beabadoobee is truly a renaissance woman.

7. Tate McRae - Greedy

Always better when she ditches the sadgirl songs, Tate’s swipe at sleazy old men instead rides atop a wonderfully rolling rhythm and sports the kind of sticky hook that will still randomly pop up in yr head in 20 years time. This is played about once every half an hour on the radio at the moment and yet it's never made an unwelcome appearance, in fact it’s the song that I’d rather hear there more than anything else.

6. Doja Cat - Fuck The Girls

While her hits cast a softer tone on what has become a totemic and obsessive personal crusade, Fuck the Girls was perhaps the most strident assault yet in Doja’s ongoing war with her annoying online stans. While the battle itself is probably not that compelling, Doja’s take on it is furious and funny enough to hold my interest and the rattling breaks and twitchy stand-up bass provide a hauntingly austere framework from which to launch her barbs. Truth be told, it just goes incredibly hard: what more can you ask for?

5. Charli XCX/Sam Smith - In The City

In The City feels like Charli moving away from the Crash era, focused anew on 90s club culture and with that hard edged bass synth powering everything along. But more than anything, it’s a glorious shot of light, full of yearning and surprising melodic beauty, and with a happy ending out on the dance floor that - surprisingly for Charli - does not involve a car. And Sam Smith is good! Not bad like you think! Shut up over there!

4. Poppy - The Attic

The Attic represents the cleanest example of Poppy’s pivot back to pop this year, for once ditching the goth adornments and going full on euphoric drum n bass. For someone who’s music often creeps and lurches along, The Attic is a surprising blast of musical weightlessness, full of skittering rhythmic energy and flashing piano chords. The lyrics as ever tell a different (and far more uncomfortable) story but by once more casting aside the idea of what a Poppy song ought to be, she’s made something new that blew me away completely.

3. Mitski - My Love Mine All Mine

The surprise hit of a major artist’s career has always been a tricky area to navigate: for every Walk On The Wild Side there’s tended to be an equal and opposite My Dingaling. However, Mitski has managed to luck out here, with international success neatly falling into the lap of one of her very best singles. My Love Mine All Mine sounds like a sepia tinted 50s ballad, simple and elegant, with each flourish of piano or guitar cutting eerily through the song’s low-key veneer. And Mitski herself has never sounded better, the sombre warmth of her vocal seeming to express all the ambiguity that radiates from the heart of the song.

2. U.S. Girls - Tux

Sounding for all the world like a classic era disco 12” that Meg has just happened to find down the back of the sofa, Tux also profits from an extended lyrical metaphor that’s so complicated and yet catchy that you’ll be singing along to every word before you’ve figured out what any of it means. Rare is the album cycle where U.S. Girls don’t release a top tier single or two and Tux manages to continue that very long winning streak. 

1. Olivia Rodrigo - Vampire

I can’t honestly say that Olivia Rodrigo’s theatrical disco banger stands way above everything else here (do not let anyone tell you that 2023 has been a bad year for music) but Vampire still hits hard all these months on. It’s a song that’s full of breathtaking moments: from the doof doof of the bass drum at the end of the first chorus to the surging harmonies in the second; the full-on sound assault that hits halfway thru to the rousing final step into “the way you sold me for parts” at the end; each one feels like a gut punch and yet they just keep on coming. Despite having listened to it many many times since the middle of this year, it hasn't even started to get old yet and is still perfectly capable of stopping me in my tracks. I’ve already said plenty about Vampire before so I won’t drag this on for too long, but in a year that perhaps for the first time has been more pop than rock for me, It feels fitting to have a record sat atop of it that embodies the best parts of each without ever feeling strained or clumsy, from an artist who spent 2023 truly finding her voice.

And that's it! If anyone read these posts and/or found them at all interesting, thank you for your time and i hope you liked some of the songs! Below is a Spotify playlist of the whole 40 (Kweli/Madlib aside, which is Soundcloud only), followed by a few of the songs that i might have picked had i only given things a bit more thought. And i rounded it off with Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift, which though not really eligible for a best of 2023 round up, was so inextricably bound up with the year that it feels like it should have its place somewhere. Sayonara!

[sonneillonv]

@reucrion and @sonneillonv are proud to launch our Patreon! We are working on the first of our Tourist's Guide projects, which will be supplements exploring different realms in the gaming multiverse. Join to get project updates, free content, assets, and merch reviews, as well as access to a brand new serial by Sonneillon V!

Descent Into Avernus Do you enjoy Lets Plays? Would you like to explore the story behind game modules without actually having to play through them? Or maybe you don't have a consistent D&D group, but you still want a chance to experience the twists and turns of established in-universe stories. As a special bonus, even the lowest subscription tier can enjoy a serialized fic based on the popular D&D 5e Module "Descent Into Avernus", updated 2x monthly. Read a sample below!

(Refuge, Undersigil)

The deep, bass pounding of the drums shook the walls and floor. Ceiling too, if the intermittent rain of mortar was any indication. It rattled Hyx's organs, demanded his heart take on the beat, which was exactly how he liked it. The orcs in The Well were doing something really interesting with carefully pitched industrial grinding noises they made with rusted machine parts, chanting in dissonant harmony with the groaning cry of the war horn their tattooed tanarukk lead was blowing.

 The other patrons seemed to like it as much as he did, crashing their bodies together on the cracked, silt-stained dance floor and crowding around the bar, a collection of salvage lashed together with hemp cord and nails, propped against a stack of re-used barrels. The drinks were swill, clouded with sediment, but they flowed fast and free, and they were strong enough to ignore the taste most of the time. Hyx was good with the trade - no one in The Refuge would expect better - but he wasn't a noob. He was alternating. The thirst that propelled him from the crowd, weaving between bodies in the wild strobe of colored magical light, demanded water.

Fiends were immune or resistant to a lot of things that hurt mortals, but suffering for one's excesses was half the purpose of hell, so hangovers weren't on the list.

The water was warm and the dented tin mug made it taste metallic, but it was clean enough. He guzzled it and considered stepping outside for a piss, extracting himself from the bar crowd and shifting toward the entrance so he could puff his feathers and get some air on his skin. As a result, he was standing in easy view when a three-tailed celestial fox demon with long, white hair pushed past the crowd at the door. Hyx ground his teeth on a sigh and made a token effort to look for an escape route, but he wasn't fast enough.

Siblings were another form of suffering fiends were allowed, nay, encouraged to experience.

Xien strode in his direction, eyes burning white in the darkness between strobes. His expression was anger, exasperation, concern... different colors highlighted different emotions. It would have been fascinating if Hyx hadn't been busy bracing for impact.

He opened with, "It's 2am," and Hyx scoffed because he never understood why normies bothered pointing that out to people like him. If he was out partying until 2am, it was clearly because he didn't give two shits.

"I know," he shouted over the music, favoring his brother with a toothy smile. "You're just in time -  party just hit its stride!"

Exasperation took center stage. Xien knew when he was being annoying on purpose. "We have an early check-out."

"I'll sleep on the trip."

"You'll be hungover and puking on the trip," Xien shot back. "Come back to the inn and get it out of your system so I don't have to smell it all day."

Hyx grinned. "You're not going to fix it? Disrespectful. Am I not your favorite anymore?" He hooked an arm around Xien-di's neck and bonked their horns together clumsily, swaying a little. "Didi, breaking my heart. Respect your elders."

"Gege," Xien said as patiently as he could while shouting to be heard, "Don't just assume I'll restore you if you get excessively fucked up. That kind of spell takes effort, actually. Magic isn’t free."

"Of course it's not." He rolled his eyes and walked Xien over to a wall near the exit where it was a little easier to hear. "So what do you want?"

"You've had fun, you've gotten drunk, probably high. It's a good night, right?” Xien was clearly doing his best to sound reasonable. “So wrap it up, come back to the inn now, and when you start feeling like shit I'll restore you... as long as you go to bed, STAY in bed, and let ME sleep until you actually need help."

"You bargain like a fucking devil," Hyx sighed, but he couldn't help a lopsided smile.

"I bargain like I have two older brothers," Xien tossed back. "Agreed?"

He snorted and tugged one of A-Xien’s fluffy ears. "The little princess of Seven Springs Mountain doesn't get to talk. You should have grown up at Broken Stone, THEN you could bitch about siblings." But he extended his hand with an air of great affront, prepared to trade a few more hours of fun for a get-out-of-hangover-free card.

Then the floor dropped out from under them.

x-x-x

You see, once upon a time, there was a cistern.

In the beginning, there wasn't anything very remarkable about it. It was built of stone and rusting metal, a reservoir for rainwater and run-off from the streets above. It was dark and quiet and alone, except for the ever-growing collection of trash it accumulated as the water ebbed and flowed through it. A peaceful, forgotten place that caused no problems and earned no accolades. Well-behaved cisterns seldom make history.

One day, a creature came to dwell in its collected waters. Slimy and seditious, with grasping tentacles and rings of saw-like teeth, it nestled into the darkness under the streets and made its home there. It attracted no attention and bothered no one, because its focus was elsewhere - an entirely different world, far from the floating city that contained it, a true planet with mountains and seas and a molten core that spun it around its sun. In that world, the creature had enemies and it lusted for their destruction, plotting daily, weaving spells and wearing down the barriers between itself and its prize. After many years of effort, it made a tunnel that would allow it to prey on the people it hungered for and retreat back to its nest from any resistance, escaping across the worlds, across the planes, where no one would reach it. It thought itself very clever for this.

Unfortunately, monstrous behavior indicates the presence of a monster, and the presence of a monster attracts adventurers. The greatest plague in all the realms, relentlessly nosey do-gooders, incapable of minding their own business... the whole phenomenon of adventuring parties is roundly condemned by would-be tyrants everywhere. And sometimes they are versed in magic, though the creature would have considered them clumsy as children compared to itself, limited in their minds, incapable of even rudimentary telepathy and limited to communicating via disgusting sounds they made with their actual MOUTHS. They hammered at the Weave like a child hammers at a toy lute, but they hit the right notes and the creature found itself cut off from its retreat.

All its plans collapsed quickly after that.

But even as its cartilaginous mouth with its rings of serrated teeth was mounted, hung in the halls of its killers as a trophy, the tunnel remained. With no living creature to maintain it, it anchored itself to those teeth, yawning wide enough to swallow a man whole. Then it went to sleep.

Time passed.

The forgotten cistern was truly forgotten. The waterworks of the floating city changed: new cisterns were dug and old, crumbling ones closed off. All paths leading to our subject were closed, and over time the water drained away and left only the refuse.

Decades later, someone exploring the depths of the floating city broke through a crumbling wall and found a vast space full of gently-rotting trash. Then another wall was broken through, and another, as the desperate dwellers in the dark searched for the resources to prolong their miserable lives. The former cistern became a place where the poor and suffering gathered. They dug for valuables, traded them, and eventually dumped their own trash so the next seeker could rifle through it.

The large, round hole in the ceiling didn't concern any of them. No one had reason to explore it, and even if they had, the tunnel was sleeping.

Because it was hidden and secure, the cistern became a place to trade not only garbage, but also information. Soon there was a goblin spit-roasting rats for barter. Then an enterprising wight began rolling barrels of his hobby wine down on alternate days and making deals for a stiff drink.

They called it Refuse at first, painting the letters over the entrances in used whitewash. Then, after a raid on Undersigil, someone messily painted over the 's' with a mismatched 'g' and it became Refuge. Availability of food and alcohol expanded. Locals gathered to make music together in street-corner bands, attracting others. Regular vendors pooled resources to have magic lights installed. Foot traffic swelled. Refuge became a place, not just to find things, but to lose them - inhibitions, memories, responsibilities, cares. It was elysium. As long as you kept the peace, nobody cared who you were. Living refuse, drifting into the cistern and settling in to stay.

Still, the tunnel slept.

Worlds away, there was a catastrophe. 

As it happens, the creature that had once resided in the cistern died not far from a tavern called Two Black Antlers, and its jaw was now displayed there amidst the remains of a dozen other monsters as an adventuring trophy. That tavern and its surroundings were being pulled across planar boundaries. Spikes were driven deep into the earth, chains rattling from Faerun to Avernus, reeling and ratcheting an entire city down to Hell. Dragged with it, the tunnel awoke screaming in the language of time and space and magic. It twisted, tearing, shrieking as the delicate threads of sympathy began to snap. But in the moment before it shattered forever, the tunnel opened and a portal bloomed between that old, crumbling cistern and a tavern sinking into Avernus. The ancient mortar gave - floors, ceiling, and walls all shattered. Screaming patrons and debris spun through the hole between worlds as if the dead aboleth itself exhaled them into Avernus, a last predatory act.

Then the portal shattered. The connection between planes dissolved into the nothingness between, and the place where the cistern had been was deathly quiet.

Casualty reports would change continually over the next few weeks as investigators in Faerun tried to tally the number of missing from the once-resplendent city of Elturel. Eventually the figure would crest 15,000.

The 73 victims from Undersigil went unmarked. No one even knew to look for them.

Like the rain trickling down the culverts of Sigil, they had disappeared into the dark.

[heyjude19-writing]

Also I had a musing I would hope you could share your own opinion on.

I'm so glad you find him as interesting and intriguing as I do C! 🌈

I'm a sucker for Greek mythos and I cannot wait to see how ur Draco’s journey will unfold. His aesthetic lends itself to the classics, lends itself to the analogy which is why I think I often make this connection. On top of his character being simply compelling, he has an air of timeless and competitiveness that reminds me of the age old Herculean hero that stand the test of time.

I don't like to prophesies too much bc I love to go in reading things blind (I avoid conspiracies and teasers like the plague!) but I cannot help myself in getting excited to see how he will confront and face crossroads and compare them to the great ancients.

If our golden boy will be more likely to pull an Apollo or become Achilles. The thing that makes characters interesting imo is how the deal 'in the complicated'. When they are taken away something they want, or confronted with a problem, do they go red or do they mourn in the quiet and peace? And I think from what little we know of in Draco from the chapters of what we've seen, he is a character that has more than what meets the eye. which makes him all the more compelling to see what happens when he splits.

We all know the well told romance of Achilles and Patroclus on how they were lovers/friends but also fellows competitors and Patroclus went to the Trojan war just bc his lover was destined for greatness there. He was a supportive bf haha. Achilles was very much following (up until the death of Patroclus) a very, 'healthy' doctrine to war. He fell in line and was excellent.

But when Patroclus was killed nameless grief took over Achilles and went genuinely insane with his screams of cry and revenge. He cried so horribly that even his mother Thetis could hear in the depths of the sea and went up to comfort his son. He kept the corpse of his lover in his tent for the entirety of the war as he extracted his revenge that was so bloody it was feral. He slept with Patroclus's corpse, delusional kept it, and threatened anyone who suggested to remove it. He wanted to be buried with him by the time the war was done and made Odysseus swear that he would see this happen. Obv as we know he killed Hector.

I remember shivering in class when I was a teen remembering the poem in the Iliad Book 18, that, he said, 'neither food nor drink shall glide down my throat, for as long as he [Patroclus] is mangled in my tent I only crave murder and blood and the rattling of dying'.

So does Draco follow the same blood wounded vengeful fate like Achilles? Will he move heaven and earth to go on his own Taylor swift reputation era tour? Or will he be a different drum, one of peace and calm like the story of Apollo?

The story of Apollo, as the God of music and dance, prophecies and healing (also God of the Sun, queue the analogy of why I think of Draco for obvious blonde hero reasons :P) fell in love with a mortal man named Hyacinthus who was as well a Spartan warrior prince famous for his beauty and everyone wanted him. men and women, the whole lot!

Include the God of the West wind Zephyrus. But Hyacinthus chose Apollo among his many admirers and they had the best romance dude. They would do all kinds of things together like music, dance, archery, they were both extremely sporty (as Leo is!!).

But Zephyrus was rotting with jealousy of their romance, that while they were playing archery, he blew Zephyrus's arrow off course and it hit him in the head and killed him.

Apollo was obviously inconsolable and mourned his lover and tried to commit su**ide many times hoping to join his lover in death. And bc he was inconsolable, he decided to always remember Hyacinthus by naming the famous flower by him and made music and games after him. And Hyacinthus bloom every spring now.

So it will be interesting to see whether Draco will be the type to be bloodthirsty, angry for his Harry or if he is a blonde hero that's more of a mourner?

These are the kind of musings I catch myself thinking of Draco and would love to know where ur heads at when it comes to it :)

oh wow, lots of theories here. so i read the greek classics much too long ago and most of what i remember is related to the web comic Lore Olympus tbh 😅. i'd say i don't really see a hero vs mourner dichotomy in the drarry story im writing as it's not one of war and violence, but more one of two people trying to find their way back to one another. they've moved past the bloodthirsty, angry part of their lives and it's more a question of coming at a relationship from two different perspectives with the same end goal and trying not to destroy each other in the process.

[dustedmagazine]

IMustBe Leonardo — Not To Be Scared of Weekend (Self-Release)

“Why should you need gods when you have John Peel or PJ Harvey or Meryl Streep and Stan Kubrick and Kim Gordon, fallible, fantastic, inspiring people but just people like you trying to create and share beauty?”

That’s a small part of a monologue that ushers in IMustBe Leonardo’s “Kim Gordon,” a meditation on humanism, the power of creativity and the emptiness of organized religion. It’s an odd, intoxicating little glimpse into an idiosyncratic mind, spoken in uninflected tones by the Google reader, but even so, deeply, fundamentally human. When the spoken word fades, the music enters, a wispy, whispery voice asking repeatedly, “Why should...you need god…when you have Kim Gordon?” against a minimalist frame of acoustic strumming, which is just a bit later submerged in a most satisfying swell of amp feedback and dissonance. It’s a poem, a philosophy, a lo-fi acoustic lament and a blast of rock-and-roll mayhem all in one, and while certainly one of the most arresting tracks, not even the best thing on this eccentric album.

IMustBe Leonardo is a Berlin-based songwriter who has been making his oddball songs since around 2016. He gets a little radio play here and there, and a handful of people are ardent supporters, but you could spend a whole lifetime listening to music and not run across his work. That would be a shame. His outsider-y poetry is slow to light but catches fire on repeat plays. About half the tracks are hand-made rock songs, bolstered by clicky drum tracks and ravaged guitar tones. The other half are the maddest, most surreal campfire songs you ever heard, gently strummed but extremely odd.

Out of these, perhaps, consider “All the Poets Here” a murmured litany of wry observations about all the things that the poets are getting up to. The line lifts gently at the end of phrases, not so much a question implied as these evanescent thoughts blowing away on a slight breeze, and every sentence is a little koan. “Oh the poets here are naked and they feel like war/oh the poets here they say they’re crying when it rains/Oh the poets here don’t wash for days and weeks and months” and so on.

Other cuts are more taut and rhythmic, as for instance, “Government Press Office’s New Rattle,” with its staccato Young Marble Giants-ish guitar riff and punching drums. The cut might remind you of Lewsberg in its mordant chant that takes brief flights into melody, in its quiet tensions that erupt into noisy crescendos of guitar. There’s a song in there, a well-shaped melody, swamped almost entirely by ennui and static.

And indeed, the artist seems aware of his tenuous but legitimate claim on pop music. His song “Perfect Pop Song” rattles on like a wind-up toy, with its sharp hedges of guitar picking, its nonchalant chatter of verse. And yet, it is sort of a pop song. You can sing along after a bit. It creates an economical amalgam of melody and meaning, a unitary sort of structure that is exactly what it is, and then blows out that structure in a profusion of harmonies and vocal counterpoints.

This is a wonderful album, absolutely original and striking and unpremeditated. Listen to it a few times, and you might find yourself asking questions, like: Why do we need gods when we have human beings making beautiful little songs out of sticks and string and imagination? Why do we need forgiveness when art swaddles us in solace and connection and meaning? Why do we need religion at all when we have IMustBe Leonardo? 

Jennifer Kelly

[conjuremanj]

Father Black Hawk in Voodoo.

Who Was He: Indian name is Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, or Black Sparrow Hawk, and he was born in 1767 at Saukenuk, located along the Rock River. Black Hawk was born into the Thunder clan. He chose to have only one wife, As-she-we-qua, or Singing Bird, they had five children—two girls and three boys.

Black Hawk was a leader and warrior of the Sauk American Indian Nation. Then he was an appointed war chief. During the War of 1812, Black Hawk fought on the side of the British. Later he led a band of Sauk and Fox warriors against settlers in Illinois and present-day Wisconsin in the 1832. After the war, he was captured and taken to the eastern United States, he died in 1838 in what is now southeastern Iowa.

A Spiritualist Saint: According to some Spiritualists, Black Hawk is a Saint sent by God. It is said that when Black Hawk comes to help, God is right behind him. Anyone who is recognized as doing the work of the Creator is considered a saint, whether or not they have been officially canonized by the Catholic Church.

Mother Leafy Anderson (circa 1887–1927), medium and miracle healer, from the black spiritual churches is considered by some as one of the founders of the Spiritual Churches here in New Orleans. Black Hawk was a spirit that she used and probably was apart of her spiritual court. He first appeared to her in a vision in Chicago, where she lived before moving to New Orleans. She described him as “The Saint For The South,” while White Hawk, served the north.

After being brought to the spiritual churches in the south like where I'm at New Orleans we honor the Native American spirit of Black Hawk. Black Hawk is also considered a Voodoo saint, He is liked by many hoodoo practitioners as well. Because of exploitation by fake marketeers, the image of this Indian spirit guide has had a big influence in my opinion fake commercial hoodoo products.

The Indian is a significant part in the art and organization of the Mardi Gras Indians, as well.

Father Black Hawk, is what he was called because no one could pronounce his given name, so it was change to Father Black Hawk by fake Root Workers. (In my opinion if you don't know who Black Hawk is and understand why he is important in southern history then don't contact him)

Is He Apart Of Hoodoo Or Voodoo: No. Black Hawk is a spirit similar to St. Expedite meaning he is a conjured spirit and like Saint expedite he's called upon us to do certain things. But he is respected in the south and apart of our history.

What Is He Invoked For:

He is invoked for help with money and protection, justice, release from prison, to win court cases, and to overcome trag­edy. He is the consummate warrior, and wants to fight your battles for you. They say he will come to those who have enough patience to sit still.

Setting Up His Altar: You need a statue or picture of him with his candle incense. But Do Not get a statue and place it in a bucket or a ceremonial bowl of sand or dirt a statue of an Indian warrior, along with a hatchet, tomahawk, and a spear. (Example above☝️) this is not hoodoo this is fake new age practice.

Give him his own space don't cram him in with others stuff on your altar.

Incense: It is usually a good idea to burn sage, cedar, or sweet grass or even Indian spirit incenses while petitioning Black Hawk.

Color: Red or White

Dislikes: Some people insist on giving him whiskey to “fire him up,” But this is a stereotype of a Indian man drunken on fire water. Disrespect.

Don't put lightning-struck wood on his altar is good (remember, he is of the Thunder clan)

Petitioning Him: put on some traditional Native American music or play a drum, rattle or flute. (I prefer a rattle while listening to native music)(see my post in rattles)

Offering: Offer him tobacco and food like beans, rice. Then recite one of the prayers to Black Hawk, afterwards talk to him and tell him what you need.

Days Of The Week: Wednesday, Sunday

Prayer:. Isaiah 62:6-9 KJV. Is good.

Prayer to Black Hawk: Oh Great Spirit, hear my voice, I believe in your power and your ability to defend me. In the name of all that is good, I ask for your help with this battle, my battle, with those who intend to harm me. Oh Powerful Spirit, you are the Great Chief, Help me with your Warrior medicine and guide me to safety with your Divine protection, shield me from the attacks of my enemies, with your bow and arrow, protect me from the evil thoughts and actions hurled towards me. With your hatchet, cut the chains and ropes that bind me. With your feathers, brush away the negative energy surrounding me. With your eyes, see that no jealousy and envy penetrates me. With your peace pipe, create harmony where there is discord. See that no evil befalls me. Fight the battle to destroy those who will harm me. Take revenge on my behalf and destroy the insurrection of the wicked. This prayer I ask not just for myself but for all of my relations past and present, and for those yet to come, Amen.

[deny-the-issue]

The Battle of Illumination

Chapter 7: Fugue State

TBI Masterlist

[PTSD] [ Masturbation] [ Silco x you] [silco x fem!reader] [no y/n] [set before act 1] [angst] [20y/o naive reader] [Canon-typical violence]

Summary: You are saved by the industrialist and slowly gain back your health.

AO3 Link

ko-fi link

You heard the distant, muffled sound of screaming as your body shook violently. Eyes shot open, temporarily blinded by the white-hot pain searing its way through your veins. Breathing was easier after a minute and you focused on the corrupted eye inches away from your face. Its teal counterpart was fraught with worry as the man urgently mouthed something to you. 

As you become more aware you realize he was telling you to wake up. It was hard to hear through the ever-present high-pitched whine but focusing made it possible. When he saw that you were conscious he gently scooped you in his arms, making sure your hands were crossed over your chest.

You tucked your head against his chest as his pace quickened and you felt each small bump throughout your entire body. The thoughts rattling in your mind were cloudy at best and it felt as if your brain was twice the size it should be. You were loaded into a carriage and it sped off before you even heard the door shut. 

The rough rocking faded into the background as you drifted to sleep only to be jolted awake by the gentlest of touches. The man’s hand pulled away from you immediately and you closed your eyes again.

“You need to stay awake. Please stay awake.” He pleaded and you did your best to keep your eyes open. You tried focusing on something, anything , as strong hands gently brushed your face again, testing your reaction. You welcomed the touch and it kept you awake as strange energy still pulsed within you. 

Coming to a harsh stop, you mourned the warmth of his hand as he flung the door open and jumped out. Easing you out of the compartment caused you to whimper as your head rolled around with the rough movement of the man running. 

The whirling scenery made you nauseous and you shut your eyes against the visual assault. 

“ Save her ,” the man yelled with the reverberation through his chest vibrating your cheek. Loud Clanging and the breaking of glass startled you before you were placed on a table.

“That may be difficult,” a different man replied as you opened your eyes again just in time to see a frightening man holding a large needle. You tried batting away the needle fruitlessly as he instructed, “Hold her down.” 

Music flowed from your quiet mind, floating around and hugging you tight. It was almost pleasant until it wrapped ever tighter until you felt as if you were suffocating. Pain radiated through your body pierced by thorns until all you could do was scream.

You shot up in bed and relaxed after your mind caught up with your body. Sharp pain in your head caused you to fall back onto the pillow until it abated. Opening your eyes again you found yourself in a closet of a room that was illuminated by a single beam of light poking through the unopened door. 

Bringing your hands to your face you grimaced as shockwaves of pain traveled up your forearms. Your hands and feet had makeshift braces on them to hold the splints on each finger and toe in place. The sight relieved you, vaguely feeling like you were going to wake up in pieces. A war drum pounded in your skull as dismembered body parts were painted on the backs of your eyelids.

What the fuck?

Tensing your face you desperately tried to remember what happened when a flash of pain bolted through your body, lighting your nerves on fire. Rolling over into a fetal position you calmed yourself and a face floated to the front of your mind: A monstrously beautiful face with a corrupted eye that made you feel indescribable things. Fear, pain, longing, and… lust? 

Memories of your life washed over you but when you got to your most recent ones they started skipping like a scratched record. Something happened with Liam and Bruce, you could feel the sadness in your bones when you thought of them. Remembering this room, your room, brought forth some more faces. A badass woman named Sevika, and the man with the hellfire gaze named Silco. 

Their names came to you like muscle memory but offered nothing else and the inevitable frustration made your head pound. The door opened, hands coming up to shield your eyes automatically. By the time your eyes adjusted the person was gone and you could see into a warehouse of some sort. 

Feeling vulnerable, you started the arduous task of sitting up, groaning with the effort. Your head hit the wall behind you as you caught your breath making the room ripple around you. The visual waves calmed just as footsteps neared your tiny room. Squinting through the throbbing in your head, Sevika and Silco stood outside the door frame.

Silco entered the room, filling it with his intimidating presence with practiced indifference.  

“Do you know where you are?” He asked coldly as if reading from a script.

“Not really. The room feels… familiar.”

“Do you know your name?” He inquired softly as if scared to know the answer. You thought for a moment before answering.

“Do you even know my name?”

He narrowed his eye in irritation but his tense composure lifted slightly. 

“That’s not an answer,” He stated, cocking his eyebrow in anticipation. 

“Gods, fine. Yes, I know my name.” You snapped.

“Walk me through your last memories.” He commanded in an authoritative tone, putting you in your place. 

“I vaguely remember leaving my long-term living arrangement, and I very clearly remember blowing up. Everything in between is spotty as best.” You answered truthfully, silently hoping he could fill in the blanks. A vital piece was missing and it made you feel like half a person. Incomplete. 

“Do you remember me?” He said, searching your eyes for something.

“Only your name and face, along with Sevika’s.” You admit and he frowns, making you wonder about the relationship you had with him prior.  

“And what about Chross?” He asked with a wave of anger you didn’t fully understand. The name elicited violent urges within you, making your face twitch and you knew in your core that this was Chross’ fault. Not knowing why made you hesitate.

Chross tortures those who betray him. My fingers and toes are fucked, so I must have. Why?

Searching Silco’s face for more information you felt something else; loyalty.

“Did you save me?” you asked, avoiding his question. He studied you for only a moment more before leaving the room and pausing just outside of it.

“Help her bathe and get her a warm meal.” He instructed and Sevika let out a disgruntled huff.

“I’m not a damn nurse .” She retorted before giving in to his murderous gaze and unceremoniously tearing the covers off of you. Sweat-stained sleepwear outlined your frail frame and you saw your hands and feet in the light for the first time. Nails were half-grown and slightly malformed but not half as bad as you imagined by the feel of them. Each finger and toe had an almost identical scar and an image of a hammer hitting a wedge flashed through your mind.

Wincing with the revelation of a painful memory, Sevika paused to make sure you were ok before pulling your legs to hang off the bed. Slapping her hands away you brought the rest of your body over in preparation to stand. Legs shaking with effort, you slowly rose to your feet, and a symphony of cracking accompanied the motion. 

Taking a deep breath you attempted the first step and promptly fell over, landing in Sevika’s arms as she caught you immediately. With her arm around you for support, she leads you to a shoddy bathroom with a walk-in shower on the same level of the warehouse. 

Your feet froze as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Your once full face was gaunt with dark rings around your eyes but that wasn’t what caused you to panic. The hair on the right side of your head was shaved and in its place, a nasty-looking scar started from your cheek to about an inch behind your ear, about five inches long with fractured lines sprouting from it. 

That explains the headache.

Sighing, you turned to the now running shower as Sevika kept a keen eye on you. To your embarrassment, Sevika had to help you undress and wash you. The sight of your deathly thin body had disturbed you more than the new scars peppering your skin, and you resolved to eat as much as you could to fix it while she wet a washcloth and brought it to your body. Sevika’s rough touch brought more unpleasant memories of being forcefully bathed while strapped to a chair. 

Tears involuntarily fell from your eyes and you focused on your breathing. If Sevika noticed, she didn’t let on as she diligently washed you without a word, allowing you to keep what was left of your dignity.

Freshly showered, you were sitting at a table in a makeshift kitchen when Silco found you again. He silently examined you before two bowls were placed on the table by Sevika.

“You’re feedin’ yourself.” She stated bluntly as she doubled back to fill another bowl with stew. 

“Fuck off,” You retorted as you struggle to cup the bowl with the splints on your hands. Bringing your head closer to the bowl you were able to drink the food without making too much of a mess. It tasted so bland that if you weren’t starving you would have turned it away. After about three-quarters of the bowl, your stomach was fit to burst and you pushed it away from you.  

“Finish it,” Silco demanded, giving you that look that stirred something in you. 

“I mean, I could . But it would all just come back out again.” You responded dryly, cocking your head to challenge him. His good eye seemed slightly surprised by your brazenness before standing and taking the bowls away.

Am I acting differently than I did before?

Thinking about your potential change made your head pound again, making you lay your head on the table. 

“Get some rest,” Silco suggested, making you groan as another memory surfaced.

Did I call him an asshole?

Sevika pulled you up from your seat and began dragging you back to your bed. You begrudgingly cooperated as the war drum inside your head raged on. Pills were placed in your hand and you swallowed them without a second thought. Rolling over, you buried your head in your pillow to block out the world and drifted into blissful nothingness.

After the braces were removed from your appendages the first item on your to-do list was to teach a brute how to cook. Having had enough of the disgustingly bland food, your stomach had begun to turn the more you tried to force it. Silco himself made time to stare you down at least once a day to make sure you’ve eaten enough. 

The doctor removed the braces and when you wiggled your fingers you swear you heard them creak. Besides the residual ache, they felt better than you hoped. A small smile lit up your face as you gained back your independence. 

Walking was incredibly painful, you found. Hobbling up the stairs and over to the kitchen had taken real effort and you arrived in front of the faux-chef breathing heavily. 

“Food’s not ready!” He shouted without looking your way.

“Good thing, you’re a shit cook.” You spouted, causing him to look at you incredulously. “How’d you even get this job?”

“Last guy killed someone with food poisoning,” He shrugged, returning to the browning meat with a frown. A burst of laughter from you startled him as you doubled over.

“That makes so much sense,” You confided through your laughs, “Let me introduce you to seasoning.”

The man moved aside and you brought a small container of seasoning out of your pocket. 

“This is a blend of parsley, oregano, and a little rosemary.” You informed him as you added a healthy coating to the browning meat before mixing it all. Then you picked up some garlic cloves and brought them to the cutting board already on the counter. He watched you closely as you crushed the clove, de-shelled it, and minced it. 

Once the garlic was dumped into the meat you told the brute to finish cooking it as you opened two cans of preserved tomatoes. Fresh food was hard to come by in the undercity, especially for people attempting to remain secret. You were silently grateful at the moment as your fingers started to hurt from use. 

Dumping the contents of both cans into the browned meat you filled one of the empty cans with water and added that as well. 

“Stir this every couple of minutes until it’s not watery anymore, then it’s ready to serve with rice.” You concluded, smiling at him before limping your way back to your room. He looked skeptical of your cooking but not enough to say anything about it yet. He was most likely waiting to see how it turned out before making his final judgment on it. 

The door muted the noise of the warehouse and soothed your ever-present headache just a bit. Collapsing onto your bed in the dark you groaned as you felt your heartbeat in your fingers and toes. Not even an hour out of the braces and you felt like you were overdoing it. 

There’s no helping it. You had to do something or you were going to go stir crazy. No one would talk to you, and you were tired of not knowing why. Closing your eyes you cleared your mind, hoping lost recollections would find their way home.

You smiled as you remembered stealing the spices but it soon morphed into a memory of torture. Sighing, you attempted to clear your mind again. Breathing in and out slowly, Silco’s voice popped into your head in a shockingly soothing tone. 

Why was he so gentle with me?

You lost yourself in the memory of his smell and found your hand creeping closer to the ache between your legs. As you thought about touching yourself, you noticed your head hurt less.

Fuck it, my fingers are healed enough.

In the blink of an eye, you had undone your belt and opened your pants. Hands sliding into your panties you gathered your wetness near your opening and circled your clit with it. Gods, you were already so close.

Slipping a finger inside of you caused you to moan softly. You pictured Silco’s strong hands instead of yours, teasing you, keeping you from your release. Slick sounds entered the atmosphere along with your crazed pants, no longer able to deny your clit the friction it demands.

The memory of Silco’s voice brought you over the edge, hips shuddering as you bit your lip to keep yourself from calling his name. For one blissful minute, your headache abated and you forgot about your life. Your entire body relaxed and you fell into a deep, well-needed sleep.

Waking up in a panic is your new normal and you’ve avoided sleep by helping the doctor in the lab. It was mind-numbing work, mostly fetching things just a foot away from the man. Nonetheless, you were grateful for the work and general darkness of the lab because of how sensitive your eyes had become. 

Food was practically forced down your throat at every moment anyone could spare and you didn’t feel like a skeleton anymore. The restlessness of missing gaps in your mind coupled with a sedentary lifestyle has caused you to learn quite a bit from the doctor about your injuries and other topics. You found that he had no will to protect you like the others as he went into nauseating detail about your busted body.

The doctor informed you that you had suffered what he calls a traumatic brain injury. The loss of memories may be caused by brain damage or swelling. Wishful thinking led you to believe it’s due to swelling but your behavior changes are noticeable to everyone around you. 

There was no more pain in your fingers and toes, although they were clumsy and stiff from disuse. You had to take two pills and a drop of shimmer variant a day and you were amazed at how fast your body healed. Only your mind remains damaged.

You were left with a crippling headache that followed you into your dreams and tainted everything with pain. All in all, you felt useless and it made you angry. On top of everything, Silco had been avoiding you and your questions, leaving you in the dark in more ways than one. 

So when Silco walked into the lab grumpier than usual it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You stomped over, triggering his head to snap in your direction. 

“Not now,” He growled, forcing your temper to rise to match his.

“When?” You shouted back at him, losing any semblance of rationality. His face changed back to cruel indifference before retreating to his bedroom. Your hands shook with rage as you did the only thing you could think of; leave. On your way out of the warehouse, you pilfered a pair of sunglasses from a goon’s back pocket. Placing them on your face you let your anger lead the way, and with each step, you felt your anger abate.

With nowhere to go, you found yourself wandering the promenade with a pounding headache. Faint music made its way through the mid-day crowd, bringing your feet to a stop. Panic gripped you, searching for the source and you found a street guitarist strumming happily to an ignorant crowd. Your body relaxed as you made your way to the man, relieved that you weren’t hallucinating. 

Since you’ve been lucid, music has been coming to you at random. You asked the doctor about it and he just shrugged his shoulders as he explained it could be from brain damage or psychological trauma. Doesn’t matter, really; Knowing wasn’t going to make it go away. So you dealt with it like any sane person would; by completely ignoring it. 

Finding a corner not too far away from the entertainer, you relaxed your body against the stone building. He played popular songs, hoping to increase his haul during the busiest part of the day. You didn’t mind, the warehouse never had any kind of music around other than what was in your head. 

That doesn’t count.  

You almost felt ok, listening to the mediocre musician. He wore dirty rags, had long partially-dreaded hair, and his guitar had undoubtedly seen better days, but his voice held a youthful softness that stood out. The current song settled into your chest and you felt the urge to make music of your own. Memories of your father danced their way across your mind, filling you with a calm you hadn’t felt since you woke up from your injuries. 

He had gotten through about five songs before someone stepped in your line of sight. 

“Time to go back, brat,” Sevika commanded annoyingly. 

“No.” You answered, moving to look at the musician again. Sevika crossed her arms and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“What's your problem?”

“You people are holding my memories hostage, that’s my problem. I’m not allowed to ask questions about my life.”

“Yeah, it’s called protecting you.” Sevika scoffed, making your temper rise.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me, I am not a child. I’m not staying around people who withhold that kind of information.” You finished, scowling at her intensely. Sevika mulled over your words for a moment, grinding her jaw. 

“What do you want to know?” She said, defeated. 

“What did I do to betray Chross?”

“You told Silco some piece of information you shouldn't have.” She rolled her eyes.

“Why would I do that?”

“How am I supposed to know that, kid? I can only guess. You had it pretty bad for him, I know that.”

“...What?” You asked with wide eyes causing her to smirk.

“Yeah, you might’ve fucked him.” She teased, making your face twist in thought as you attempted to remember. 

A memory of fisting his vest, calling his name as you came, and a hard bite to your neck made you choke on air.

“Guess you remember.” Sevika laughed.

“Partially,” You answered matter-of-factly after a moment. 

“Was there anything else you need to know before you come back willingly?”

“How long have I been with this crew? And how long was my recovery?” 

“You’ve been with us over a month. You were with Chross for about three days, and you were in and out of consciousness for about a week before you were able to make new memories again.” 

“So I have at least a three-week gap in my memory?” You asked rhetorically, trying to wrap your head around it. This is the first time you’ve been able to piece it together and it made you feel a bit more complete. With more than enough to chew on you sighed and said, “let’s go.”

As Sevika led the way back to the cannery you snatched a pastry from one of the stalls, earning a judgmental frown from her. You had never wanted sweets as much as you did right now. The pastry tasted like sugary heaven and made your taste buds sing. Who could blame you for the suggestive noises you made while eating it?

You wiped your hands off on your pants as you walked into the warehouse behind Sevika. Silco was having a conversation with one of Chross' agents and just the sight of the gas mask filled you with rage. Reaching for something that wasn’t there made you remember your daggers and you cursed. On your right Sevika’s blade strapped to her thigh called to you. In one swift motion, you pulled it from the sheath and bolted for the agent. 

Silco pushed the agent out of the way, grabbing your wrist and twisting until you let the blade go. You growled as you watched the agent run away and attempted to charge after him. Silco wrapped his arms around the middle of your body over your arms and hauled your struggling form to your bedroom, slamming the door closed. 

“ Get yourself under control ,” He growled in your ear, making your anger morph into want . Suddenly aware of how close he is, you stop struggling and work on bringing your breathing under control. The smell of him triggered more heated memories and you had to hold your tongue when he asked, “Are you finished ?” 

When you failed to answer he slowly released you from his iron grip, testing your resolve. You took a step away before facing him, awaiting your punishment for such rash behavior. Instead, he took his time smoothing errant strands of his hair back into place and pulled his vest down. When his eyes met yours again you found understanding instead of fury.

“Follow me,” He ordered, turning from you and opening the door. Following curiously Sevika eyed you furiously as Silco led you to a room by the back door. It was spacious and you assumed it was the communal dining area before the place shut down. Now it was filled with workout equipment ranging from dumbbells, a bench press, a punching bag, and even an improvised stationary bike. 

“Take your frustrations out here,” He directed, turning to face you with a stern look in his half-lidded teal eye. “You will not do that again, do you understand?” 

A short nod from you sent him on his way, leaving you alone in the gym. The prospect of building your body up again excited you and released some of the tension that had been amassing in your shoulders the past week. Masturbation had been your only means of obtaining dreamless sleep and you desperately needed another way to relieve yourself. 

Picking up the lightest free weights, you began rehabilitation.

The smell of food awoke you pleasantly and your stomach made itself known with a loud gurgle. Easing yourself onto your feet with aching muscles you stretch, hoping some of the soreness will go away. You spent the night before in the gym doing a variety of exercises and today you felt crippled. 

A fitted black tank and baggy gray sweatpants were your armor of choice for the day and you left the room while you were still tidying your hair. Despite the lack of effort into your appearance, you had gained some looks from the goons that made you want to punch them. 

They had smelled the food from all over the warehouse and had lined up preemptively, just like you were looking to do. Silco found you in the back of the line and gestured to follow him as he skipped the line and grabbed two bowls of rice and meat before leaving the warehouse completely. You followed him and he settled on the steps just outside the back door. There was a nice breeze coming off the river and the setting sun colored the smog a light pink.

Your stomach twisted as you sat next to him. This was the first time he had allowed you to be alone with him since you recovered. He handed you a bowl of food and started eating from his own. After the first bite, he raised his eyebrow in surprise and nodded in approval. He noticed you studying his face and you quickly looked away.

“Did you do this?” He asked, reading you like a book. Nodding, you took a bite of your food. It was good. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“My father would leave me with a chef who had a booth near The Last Drop when he had to work.” You answered before properly digging into your food. He stared at you a moment longer before returning to his food. The two of you ate in comfortable silence as the drum in your head lessened its intensity. 

Sighing happily, you lean back on your hands after placing your bowl on the step below you. Silco eyed you carefully, something brewing in his expression. Gods, he looked striking in this light. Your eyes flicked down to his lips only for a second but you knew he saw. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, breaking the charged silence. 

“Maybe,” He teased, shifting his body towards you in anticipation of your request. The words caught in your throat and it felt like you swallowed angry bees. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his teal eye, silently commanding you to ask .

“Did we,” You paused briefly to muster the courage to ask, “Did we fuck?” 

He let out an amused huff as he looked at you with a mischievous lopsided grin that made your heart melt.

“What do you remember?” He dodged your question, backing you into a corner. You cleared your throat and looked away from him.

There’s no way in hell I’m looking at him when I say this.

“I remember you making me come… but I don’t know how , exactly.” You whispered, afraid of what the words would provoke in him. He hummed in agreement before speaking.

“I only used my hands. Does that set your mind at ease?” He asked in a dangerously low voice. Swallowing hard, you only nod to him as you didn’t trust your mouth to speak properly. His eyes travel along the left side of your face, examining your scar and you bow your head instinctually, feeling vulnerable. 

His fingertips lifted your chin, bringing your gaze to his. He wore a familiar intensity on his face as he spoke.

“You are perfect ,” He remarked as he gently touched the scar on your face with the thumb of his other hand, “ This doesn't change that.”

The urge to kiss him won out and you leaned forward just as his hands left your face. In a blink of an eye he was walking away from you through the door, empty bowls in hand. 

Bastard.

Walking around the building you found a secluded spot that no one could see you from and paused only a moment before unbuttoning your pants. The risky spot made you rush things, slipping your hand in your panties and circling your clit eagerly. You were soaked from your interaction with Silco, and your bundle of nerves set you on the edge of release as you imagined your hand was his.

‘You are perfect.’

Your climax pulsed through you as you fell against the wall with wobbly legs. Circling your clit until you were a shaking mess, you slowly pulled your hand out of your pants while your breathing returned to normal. Buttoning up, you felt ready to face the world again with a rational mind. 

I got it bad, alright.

[dreaminghour]

Obi-Wan & Anakin - Parade

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: 14 Parade Ship: Gen Obi-Wan & Anakin Context: Canon-verse. On the eaves of a brewery in Er-Mar, two spirits sit and watch the festivities. Cross posted to AO3. Words: 1086

Night was seldom so quiet in the little town of Er-Mar. The stone streets were empty, only a solitary inhabitant tapping a stick as they walked. A breeze carried the smell of sulfur from the west. In the sky, long gray clouds traced the path the shuttles had taken as the last of the imperial garrison had fled.

Slowly, the sound of music reached the town.

On the eaves of the brewery, just above where the Nive family lived, two translucent spirits sat. Their forms, should you be able to see them, were bright blue. They were slouched close together, quiet but leaning their heads toward one another as though they were whispering.

"Can you see them?" the younger asked.

"Patience, my young friend," the white-haired ghost said.

"Not that young anymore," the younger grumbled, but he was ignored.

Anakin scrunched his nose a moment, scowling at Obi-Wan, while the other man ignored him and smiled mildly at the cluster of swaying lights that carried chanting and the beating of drums.

"You've dragged me all across the galaxy," Anakin said, "to all sorts of places I've never heard of, let alone set foot on, to show me the same sights over and over. Doesn't it ever tire you?"

"Why, does it tire you?" Obi-Wan asked, tilting his head toward Anakin, his smile knowing.

Anakin, as expected, did not reply.

Slowly the revelers approached.

As spirits were not bound by physics, they had been there at the launch platform; they had listened to the locals yell in shrill and caustic language as the imperial governor fled with little more than the clothes they wore. News had come late to planet Aji. It had been weeks now since the emperor had been killed, his ashes scattered to the solar winds of the universe. Apparently, Anakin had learned, it was not uncommon for the power hungry to vainly hope the change was not real. But change was here at last.

Now, they watched as beneath their feet, a handful, dozens, and then hundreds of people swept through the town's gate. People were banging on tin bells, making joyful noises, buzzing instruments and calling to one another. The Nive family had gone out, but someone was still asleep inside and they now came to the window, shouting and cursing at the revelers before stepping out into the throng as well.

A crack and a distant boom brought the spirits' attention back to the distant river. Fireworks were now being shot up into the sky from the launch platform. Technicians laughed as they carefully lit fuses, daredevils laughed from the nearby shelter of trees as the village itself shook and rattled. The townspeople cheered. Even more visitors came, streaming in from remote settlements and camps. The Nive casks were cracked open, someone was frying sweet and tangy meat, the smell of sulfur more pronounced now.

Anakin leaned against Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan let him.

Each time a burst of light and color was unleashed, people cheered. Large blossoms of green and red, dances of blue, yellow and white, then sparkles of purple, pink, orange lit up the countryside. The warm lamps of the town seemed dim each time the fireworks exploded.

Children and tookas ran between the crush of raucous adults. Eventually there was such a long pause from the launch platform the people began to murmur that it was finally over. Anakin smiled secretively to Obi-Wan.

Then, with a stupendous bang, the finale. Dozens of fireworks went up in quick succession, a rattling roar that was not unlike cannon fire but dazzled everyone. The people gazed up at the sky as the fireworks lit up their entire world, hands held to their hearts as the reverberations shook their entire bodies, made them tremble, deafened and blinded them. One child covered their ears and tucked their face against their parent's legs.

And then it was done. Everyone seemed dazed for a moment, but at long last the night was quiet. The sound of crickets, of distant music, of chatter slowly began to fill their ears once more. Children shrieked and shook their heads to regain their hearing more quickly. Finally, the stragglers returned from the launch pad and the village settled. Not to sleep, but to sit and spend time with one another. Slowly, people began to go home, taking guests with them. No window was dark.

Dawn slowly began to color the horizon.

"Is that it?" Anakin asked.

"I suspect some of these parties will go on for days, if not weeks," Obi-Wan replied, dryly amused.

"No, I meant, is that the last one? The last imperial outpost to be removed?"

"More or less," Obi-Wan said. "Some will go underground; there will always be holdouts."

"You wanted me to see how happy they were," Anakin continued. "That's the lesson here. You wanted me to see how happy people are now that the empire is gone."

"Why must everything be a lesson?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Because I know you, old man."

The sky began to grow pale, birds returned after being frightened away, even wandering among the revelers, pecking at crumbs beneath their feet. Children were being carried or tucked into makeshift beds while others lingered, all but swaying on their feet.

"Yes, I wanted you to see them. Not because the empire made them unhappy, you always knew that deep down."

Anakin dropped his head to hide his face, but spirits didn't blush in shame. These two were so deeply in tune with one another however, that Obi-Wan felt it in his heart. He didn't remark on it, he continued on.

"I wanted you to see the good you've done."

Anakin's head snapped up with fearful surprise.

"Master, don't mock me—"

"Now, now," Obi-Wan raised a hand, "that title is well and truly dead for you, I think. I am your friend and as such, I need to show you that you have done good."

"Not enough," Anakin replied, "never enough to make up for all of it."

"But you've freed them. You killed the evil that poisoned our galaxy—" he held up his hand again— "poison which was there long before you and I had ever even met."

Anakin closed his eyes. If spirits could cry, tears would have pricked his eyes and run down his pale cheeks.

"You did that. With help, of course, but no one ever is alone. Not even when they feel most abandoned."

Anakin accepted Obi-Wan's embrace and wept as Obi-Wan began to stroke his hair.

Thank you for reading ♡ fic log → @dreaminghour-archive

[ukdamo]

The Eve of Waterloo

Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’

And wild and high the ‘Cameron’s Gathering’ rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!

[doomedandstoned]

ALMOST HONEST Previews Raucous 3rd LP, ‘The Hex of Penn's Woods’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Album Art by Francesca Vecchio

I'm a big fan of songs that reflect the regional lore of where a band hails from. Enter 'The Hex of Penn's Woods' (2023) by ALMOST HONEST, a New Cumberland, Pennsylvania act blessed with the boisterous energy of Red Fang, the harmonic luster of Crobot, and the riff-power of Black Sabbath. For this outing, the band says: "We did historical research, genealogical research, we traveled, we explored inside ourselves, we brought our emotions to the forefront and so much more to bring this album to life." Let's take a look at several of its 11 songs.

"Mortician Magician" introduces us to the record's magnetic guitar-driven sound. A tribute to B-movies, the song features bouncy drums, funky bass, ravaging riffage, clean, earnest lead vocals and aggressive backing vox.

"Laughter Of The Deer Owl" follows and welcomes in a band-made creature with the head of an owl, the body of a deer, the wings of a fly, and octopus tentacles to boot! "It appears," they say, "only to people who have lost everything including the will to live." You'll find the deer owl featured on the front cover artwork, which also gives a nod to "the Dutch Hex signs that you see on the side of barns throughout Pennsylvania." Brandon Yeagley of Crobot makes a guest appearance during the chorus.

The focus on weird cryptids continues with "Alien Spiders," which joins the previous track as one of the singles and features lyrics composed when two of the founding members were 11 years old. Front man Shayne Reed is on point with his guitar lead -- it seems to tell a story without words -- and the rhythm section is robust, giving way to hearty shouts.

"Amish Hex" rounds out the three singles with a tale of an Amish lad who gets picked on and discovers a book called (wait for it) The Hex of Penn's Woods. "The lyrics push forth powerful south central Pennsylvania imagery," says the band. This one opens with an old-style riff and has an air of mystery and tragedy about it.

Another track of interest to me was "Where the Quakers Dwell," which Almost Honest says is about the history of this area, "including local Native American tribes, fruit, traditions, folklore and geography." I'm once again impressed by how much thought the band has put into the songs on this album. The vibe is groovy, with a grindy midsection that reminds me of Stone Temple Pilots, but holds its own identity admirably.

There's plenty more to experience on this packed record, a tribute to weird, quirky metallic rock and dark folk stories, played heavy, bright, and tight. Almost Honest's The Hex of Penn's Woods drops on Black Friday on compact disc and in digital format via Argonauta Records (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist with Lo Pan, Caustic Casanova, All Hail The Yeti, Sasquatch, and Freedom Hawk.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Coughed up from a smoke filled corner deep in the Central Pennsylvania rock scene in 2012, Almost Honest is a four-piece riff conspiracy dipped in enough sludge to choke mammoth, enough groove to make the dead dance, lyrics that could summon a Sasquatch and make her sing along, and a tonal brilliance that was crafted by master sound-smiths and enchanted by sonic-shamans.

Helmed by the darkly dulcet guitarist Shayne Reed, driven by the jungle rattling bassist Garrett Spangler, lifted up by the immense leads of David Kopp and powered by the ent-war thump of drummer Quinten Spangler, Almost Honest has evolved into a rock act to be reckoned with. Their debut studio full length album, 2017's 'Thunder Mouth' showcases a clarity of direction all but unheard of among debut albums.

Two years and thousands of toured miles later, 2019's 'Seiches And Sirens,' an anthemic atomic payload, detonated on impact with the local music community and showed the Pennsylvania rock scene a new kind of animal. Their southern metal sensibilities and dedication to the craft of *the show* shine brightly and remind audiences that great rock can and *should* be great fun. All of these ingredients bubbling in Almost Honest cauldron, and it's easy to see how their brew appeals to so very many, from genre die-hards to even the most casual listener.

Not contented with their cavalier domination of Pennsylvania metal and hard rock, where they have been featured on hard rock radio staple 105.7 The X, Almost Honest has struck out farther, having toured — *flown their jolly roger* — all across the eastern United States and invading the dreams and streams of Asia, Europe, South America, North America, and Australia.

2020, a cursed year by any metric, should have been a circle around a brighter kind of star for Almost Honest, and everyone else. With tour dates canceled across the planet, and a creeping sort of dementia lingering over everything, it's easy to understand why so many acts took the year as a loss. Almost Honest, however, had not.

Focusing the energy they would have put into extensive touring and using ritual druid magics, they conceived, wrote, and recorded a brand new album: 'The Hex Of Penn's Woods.' A conceptual leviathan, 'The Hex Of Penn's Woods' boasts a nearly arcane dedication to lyrical content and wisely eclectic musicianship, recording and mixing from top-tier Dynamo Audio Studios, mastering from iconic metal production wizard Machine (Gene Freeman), and artwork by the grimly baroque Italian master Francesca Vecchio.

Almost Honest is poised to deliver more of their unique, creamy fuzz soaked, metallic prog-funk potion, with a riot punch live show that Pennsylvania head bangers have come to crave as soon as the world is ready

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[thesquireinvictus]

The Eve of Waterloo by Lord Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’

And wild and high the ‘Cameron’s Gathering’ rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!