#Native Instruments – Action Strings

[kontaktlab650]

Native Instruments – Action Strings Pro Version Download

Native Instruments' Action Strings is a powerful and versatile virtual instrument that caters to musicians, composers, and producers seeking authentic and expressive orchestral string sounds. Crafted to deliver cinematic and dramatic strings, Action Strings is meticulously sampled to capture the nuances of real string instruments, allowing users to create professional and impactful compositions.

Features:

Dynamic and Expressive Sounds: Action Strings features meticulously sampled strings played with intensity and expressiveness, providing a realistic and dynamic sound that adds depth and emotion to your compositions.

Intuitive Interface: The user-friendly interface of Action Strings is designed for easy navigation and quick access to essential controls. This allows users to focus on creativity rather than technicalities.

Customizable Articulations: The instrument offers a range of customizable articulations, including legato, staccato, pizzicato, and more. This flexibility allows composers to tailor the performance to suit different musical styles and moods.

Tempo Sync and Sync Mode: Action Strings features tempo-synced phrases and patterns, enabling users to effortlessly integrate the strings into their projects while maintaining synchronization with the overall tempo of the composition.

Effects and Processing: The virtual instrument comes equipped with a variety of built-in effects and processing options, allowing users to shape and enhance the sound to meet their creative vision.

Compatibility: Action Strings is designed to seamlessly integrate with popular digital audio workstations (DAWs) and can be used as a standalone instrument or as a plugin within your preferred music production environment.

Scoring and Cinematic Capabilities: Tailored for scoring and cinematic music production, Action Strings is ideal for creating dramatic soundtracks, film scores, and other projects where expressive and impactful string arrangements are essential.

Expansion Packs: Native Instruments often releases expansion packs for their virtual instruments, and Action Strings may have additional libraries or sound packs available for users looking to expand their sonic palette.

[firerose18991]

A Fly In A Web

Miguel O'Hara x GN! Reader

A/N: The time has come

Minors DNI(ageless and minors will be blocked!!)

Warnings: It's all plot, cliffhanger, strong language, small action sequences, inconsistent writing structure, gender neutral reader :-)

Wrdcnt:1.9k

You had been a spider for 2 years now and not to toot your own horn but you were probably one of the best in spider society. I mean you handled your problems better than most. Though no one has told you how simple your canon was compared to everyone else's.  You had never lost anything significant, really you hadn't had anything to lose.  The job was your dream, ultimate freedom.

In the eyes of some you were a slacker, especially Miguel.  So when the society was spread thin on a particularly harrowing day in the multiverse he had to deploy you.  You showed up, brazen as ever, taking the lead on the mission and often getting in the way of those who knew better.  To you this mission was just as simple as everything else that’d been thrown your way and you approached it accordingly alongside your team.  The mission was completed successfully (by the skin of your teammates teeth) and you all returned to spider central to give reports to Miguel.  

You walked into the dark office and let the other give the report, you'd already been instrumental to their success.  You sat back and rocked in a chair till all was said.  In the end Miguel dismissed the group.

"Except you (Y/N)." He called, his back was still turned to you.

Obviously he had to sing your praises and it wouldn't be right to do that in front of the others. 

"I know what yer gonna say.  The mission went pretty well today." You spoke up as soon as the others left the room.

There was silence for a beat and then he began to laugh.  You laughed along unsure at first, Miguel never laughs.  But then it became clear he was amused at you.

"What's so funny?"

"You really believe you did good out there huh." He finally faced you from his platform.

"Oh please they wouldn't have made it without me."

"I suppose you did do well at taking enemy fire for them, but I can't say much for skills' ' He sat on the edge with his legs dangling off and his head cradled in one hand.

'Can't say much for skill? What!’ You thought.

"I'm one of the best Miguel!" You kicked the chair you were sitting in into the wall. "And don't you fucking forget it.". 

You stormed out of his nest and headed out to the hall to transport yourself home.

Throughout the next week Miguel’s taunting stuck with you.  Then another massive threat arrived, but this time it was your world.  The society would get the notification soon enough but as the native spider you were the first responder.  You really thought you could handle this big bad before it even showed up in their radar.  You suited up and headed into the fray.

At first things were going your way.  You evacuated the part of the city closest to the monster and swopped into tangle it in your webs like usual.  But it was powerful and ripped through them like string.  You tried again and again until exhaustion and just as you were about to land to reconsider your strategy it caught your foot.  You were dragged through buildings and concrete.  Each time it would find your body and continue its punishment on you like a child with a toy.  The only thing you thought while being thrown around was that at least your city was safe while it pummeled you.

You didn't even hear the hundreds of portals that spread all around you as fellow spiders rushed to subdue the monster.  You'd lost feelings in your body a while ago and your vision wasn't far behind.

You woke up in the med bay of the spider base.  The only light in your room came from the sun leaking through the curtains.  The room was various shades or blue and smelled like peroxide.  You looked down at your body covered in bandages and assorted castings.

"I lived bitch." You wheezed out a laugh that turned into dry painful coughing.

A small plastic cup of water was held to your lips followed by a strong hand pushing you back down into the bed.

"Eres una maldita idiota." Miguel looked down at you. 

You pulled away from the cup painfully swallowing the soothing liquid.

"You know I don't even understand English sometimes, so you're gonna-" Your coughing interrupted you again.

"Save the quips.  You're on bed rest and benched until further notice."

"Yeah I assume the two go hand in hand." You persisted stubbornly.

"You don't get it.  Once you're healed, you're benched.  I'll have another spider watch your turf and you'll train with me.  Until I can trust you in the field again."

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice clawed through your throat.

"Call for backup.  We're seconds away, that's what all this is.  And if your pride affects your work this much, I can't leave you to your own devices." He set down the water cup and turned to leave

"Miguel!" You grabbed his arm.  You bruised fingers squeezed to a purple hue through your cast. "You can't do this."

"It's not up for discussion." He pulled your arm away effortlessly.

You were left in the same maddeningly blue room for the next 2 months recovering.  Once you were discharged you'd move to the rehabilitation wing for another 3 weeks.

Which wasn't all bad.  You weren't restricted to one room and you were out of those itchy casts.  Pav would stop by to see you and others from time to time.  He was still a happy spider, and it honestly made it easier to go on seeing someone get through the job unscathed.

After you were cleared for dimensional travel you had to be assigned back your watch by Miguel.  You hadn’t seen him since your accident and steamed with anxiety as you walked to his roost.  It was pathetic to go back and grovel for something you had earned.

"Miguel." You called halfheartedly to the dark room.

His platform began to slide down to a visible level.

"I'm not in the mood to wait for the snail tram.  Can you get down here?" You tapped your foot rapidly on the tile.

Much to your surprise he hopped down silently to your level.  He landed only an inch from your face.  His mask was up and he stared down at you for a moment.  

"Here to train, then?" The nanotech mask melted away to reveal him.

"Here for my watch, I'm going home."

"So you'll start tomorrow?"

"I'll start when I need it." You held your neck straight up to face him.

"Then I'll let you know this device can only access your dimension and HQ."

"Are you putting me on a leash?" You snarled

"Maybe when you get home you can look up the term 'benched'.  Safe travels." He tossed you the watch and fwipped back to his platform (that had still not descended fully).

Nonetheless, you returned to your apartment.  The spiders that had taken turns watching your dimension had also kept the place in good shape for you.  It was good to be back in your own bed.  And in your own New York.  You laid back to relax and looked over at your spare suit.  It mocked you.  Despite what you said you knew you couldn't live up to the symbol.  You'd think if Miguel wanted to bench you he'd have taken it away too.  

"But then what would I wear for training?" You sighed to yourself.

The next day you were up bright and early(ish).  You pulled your spare on and flicked your watch to the only other accessible dimension and stepped into HQ.  It'd only been a day but you felt like a stranger, giving up your pride and all that.  You wouldn't be surprised if Miguel rubbed your nose in it everyday for as long as your training lasted.

You decided to scope out the training center before going to see him.  You'd never been to this part of the building and the irony was not lost on you.  Going through the strength section you see none other than Miguel hauling a Uhaul sized slab of metal across the gym.  He wasn't wearing his spider suit and was instead covered in by a tank top hopelessly lost in his chest muscles and gym shorts that left nothing to the imagination.

"You showed up?" He sounded tired as he reached the other side of the gym.

"Yeah whatever." You shrugged, walking further into the gym's center.

He rolled his eyes at you.

"We’ll start simple, fortify your body."

"I know I'm not as ripped as you, but I'm plenty strong."

"Endurance is your best bet in a fight.  Anyone could train in that and not hit a limit.”

He started you on 2 different drills you'd be required to perfect by then end of the week before starting new regimes.  Each week you'd be facing more challenges to improve the targeted skill.

The first few days were rough.  Each day you'd end up battered and shaking from exertion and leave only to come back and do the same thing on Miguel's schedule, 6:00 a.m. at the latest.  On the last day of your second week of training you ended the day only 5 reps away from your goal.

You sat on the lat press machine struggling to get through the last few.  You felt a shift in the bench behind you and warm callused hands around yours.  Miguel applied nothing but the dead weight of his arm to the handle and yet it was just enough to allow you to complete the task.

You let go of the bar and let the weights slam down behind you.  You'd just chest pressed the weight of a semi truck and would promptly need to pass out as whatever pain you'd had from the workout would be nothing compared to your muscles response the next day.

"Rest up for the next few days.  We'll add on balance training next week"

"That's just insulting." You panted.

He patted you on the back and headed for the door.  So it continued for the next 3 weeks.  Miguel wasn't an encouraging coach; his stone demeanor probably would have made most quit after the first week.   But you'd felt yourself growing stronger each day of training.

"Listen I don't want you to mistake all the physical stuff for real resolve." He said at the end of the third week.  "As a spider you are expected to make choices for the greater good and bare repercussions on your own. The sooner you learn that, the better."

"Listen I'm sure that was a great speech and all, but I'm not gonna remember it.". You were standing en-pointe lifting 200 lbs in each arm.

"When are you going to start taking this seriously (Y/N)?!"

"Lemme know when spider-ham starts flying.". You had your eyes locked on a clock waiting for the final few minutes of your balance training to be over with.

"I'm done." He began to walk away.

"Wha-" you dropped your dumbbells leaving cracks in the ground and chased him.  "Miguel hold up.  I'm serious, alright, I swear.”

He stopped to study you. "Then we have a mission."

"Does this mean I'm off the bench?" You ran in pursuit of him.

"It means you've moved to probation. You'll only make jumps with me, I'll assess your fitness for battle when we're in the thick of it.  If all goes well-"

"I'll be the best spider on the force?"

"You'll be reinstated, but that's a goal I guess." He tapped his watch and opened a portal.

"So what's the mission?"

-fin

(This is going somewhere lol)

[well-dressed-sewer-rat]

bsd hc dump except they’re all either thoughtful ideas of actions/opinions they would do/have or the stupidest things you’ve ever read!!

no these are not in any order :) enjoy

alongside his whole cleanse-the-world-of-sin thing, fyodor’s secondary life goal is to learn as many string instruments as he can, own at least one of each, and dedicate an entire room to them. the only other one that knows is sigma, and they’re… honestly not even surprised

kunikida can speak spanish well enough to have an everyday conversation with someone, but he’s not totally fluent (i also like to think he’s very fascinated by the different dialects and knows a ton of variations of certain phrases)

because of this, dazai has committed exactly 5 spanish words to memory. all of them are insults. he uses them on chuuya sometimes thinking he doesnt understand (alas, he’s close to fluent and often returns these tiny insults with entire vulgar speeches in spanish)

while we’re on the topic of languages, sigma is completely fluent in both japanese and russian. fyodor and gogol (both non-native japanese speakers) are pretty good with the speech and pronunciation part, but they have a hard time reading and writing kanji, so they’ll often go and use sigma as a walking google translate

kyouka likes rock music! atsushi found her with headphones on once, asked if he could hear, and immediately got blasted to the other side of the room by mcr

atsushi, however, likes actual rocks. he has a little collection on the windowsill by his desk in the agency <33

the black lizard have game nights together once a month. higuchi caught them all heading to hirotsu’s place together and asked what they were doing, and when they told her, she immediately asked to join. a few months after she started tagging along, akutagawa was soon dragged into it as well. this is how they found out akutagawa is a huge rage-quitter (hirotsu has had to buy three new game tables since)

louisa and poe occasionally go out for coffee together. not on dates or anything, just to sit in each other’s quiet company and get work done together alongside delicious beverages. one time while the guild was still assembled, lucy asked louisa if she wanted a certain kind of coffee (she was practicing so she could eventually land her current job), and poe answered with her exact order before she did

during the dark era, dazai jokingly made a set of those neon loom friendship bracelets for oda, ango, and himself. today, ango still has his and oda’s, which he managed to save. it’s one of, if not the only remaining physical object that could ever prove oda’s existence.

anyway, back to the happy stuff- gogol and sigma are huge reptile nerds, especially lizards! gogol caught one once, and they spent hours playing around with it. fyodor passive-aggressively stared at them from across the room while reading a book on rats the whole time.

despite this, sigma can’t stand snakes. anything else scaley is cool, just not snakes- they do find most spiders adorable, though. gogol, on the other hand, is the complete opposite; he loves snakes and will burn the entire sky casino down if a single spider comes within a 2 mile range of it.

50% of mori’s obsession with elise comes from… y’all know what… but the other 50% is from his love for fashion and need for a model. apparently, he decided elise was the perfect candidate, and spoils her rotten trying to find her an outfit that not only he believes is stylish, but she finds agreeable as well (so far, he’s had no success)

one of steinbeck’s sisters is a professional hairdresser, so he knows a lot about hair care. as soon as he saw the state of lovecraft’s hair, he decided he absolutely would not have this and proceeded to spend the next three hours thoroughly detangling and cleansing it. other than steinbeck himself, louisa was the only one who got to touch it before lovecraft immediately jumped into the ocean again (she said it was perhaps the softest thing she’d ever felt with her own two hands. poe is secretly dying to feel it too someday)

ranpo often takes kenji, atsushi, and occasionally tanizaki out with him on snack shopping sprees! they all usually get addressed as “young boys”, despite only one of the three actually being a child- unless tanizaki comes along, in which case he is usually assumed to be the oldest in charge of the group.

ok that’s all my stupid tiny hands can type for now. please rb with some of your own hcs if you like, i lovelovelove seeing other people’s ideas on these stupid little guys

[soundbanks1]

Native Instruments – Una Corda Download

Welcome to the enchanting realm of musical expression with Native Instruments' Una Corda, a remarkable virtual instrument that transcends traditional piano sounds. Una Corda, which translates to "one string" in Italian, is a meticulously crafted software instrument designed to capture the unique and nuanced character of a custom-built upright piano with an unconventional single-string-per-note design.

At the heart of Una Corda is the exceptional Una Corda piano itself, an instrument handcrafted by renowned piano builder David Klavins. This extraordinary creation features a distinctive soft pedal that shifts the entire action, allowing the hammers to strike only one of the three available strings per key. This results in a delicate and intimate sound, rich with harmonic warmth and organic resonance, making Una Corda a go-to choice for musicians seeking a truly distinctive sonic palette.

Una Corda's innovative sound design goes beyond mere emulation, providing a wealth of sonic possibilities. With the advanced sound shaping options and customizable parameters, musicians can sculpt their own unique tones, from ethereal and delicate to bold and percussive. The instrument's meticulous sampling captures the subtle nuances of each key, ensuring an authentic and expressive playing experience.

This virtual instrument seamlessly integrates into your creative workflow, offering a user-friendly interface that invites exploration and experimentation. Whether you're a composer, producer, or performer, Una Corda opens up new sonic landscapes, adding a touch of magic to your musical compositions.

Native Instruments' Una Corda is not just a virtual piano; it's a portal to a world of emotive and evocative soundscapes. Immerse yourself in the artistry of this extraordinary instrument and elevate your music to new heights. Experience the soulful resonance of Una Corda and unleash your creativity with a tool that invites you to explore the boundaries of musical expression.

[apn-music]

Native Instruments releases Low End Strings, a virtual instrument for Kontakt

Native Instruments announced Low End Strings, a virtual instrument for Kontakt.

Where tradition meets innovation

Low End Strings harnesses the power of deep frequencies by pushing string instruments to the limits of their lowest pitches. Spanning a three-octave range, it allows you to layer traditional but processed lowest octave string articulations with field recordings, noise, sub, and synth sources, then morph them into sounds that reverberate with cinematic intensity. Unlock unparalleled depth, drama, and impact to breathe life into scores and productions of all kinds.

Low End Strings in action

From string sounds and basses to pads and special effects, Low End Strings packs carefully designed snapshots for fast inspiration. Watch as product specialist Reuben Cornell shares his favorites and dives deeper into the features of the instrument, showing how you can use the step sequencer, macro controls, and array of blendable sources to craft bold, hybrid orchestral textures.

Created by 10 Phantom Rooms

Low End Strings was created by innovative instrument developer, 10 Phantom Rooms. Specializing in next-generation Kontakt instruments for film and media composers, this company was founded by pro sound and instrument designer Tobias Menguser, alongside Paul Haslinger and other creative minds. With a career spanning three decades, Tobias has created sounds and instruments for many of the industry’s biggest names, including providing sounds for more than 500 movie trailers.

Product type: KONTAKT instrument For use with: Free KONTAKT PLAYER or KONTAKT. Sound category: Hybrid string plugin Number of NKIs: 1 Number of snapshots: 134 with 3 variations each Download size: 2.4 GB System requirements - Free KONTAKT PLAYER or KONTAKT (version 7.6 or higher). - Please also see the KONTAKT PLAYER system requirements and the KONTAKT PLAYER FAQ. - You can install this instrument with Native Access – just as you would with any Native Instruments product. The price of Native Instruments' Low End Strings is $99, and detailed information and purchase can be found on the Native Instruments website. Read the full article

[nahasuse]

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 upgrade#

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 full#

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 pro#

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 upgrade#

However, combined with some of the new things from version 10 that I missed is there enough to justify the upgrade price? Maybe I should be more discerning. I already own Reaktor 6 and a lot of delay plug-ins. There’s the new Form synth which might be interesting, a prepared piano that I’ll never use, some cool Indian sounds that I’m unlikely to need, I already play guitar and I’m sure Flesh was a freebie at some point. Is there enough in there to tempt me to upgrade from my version 9? Well as far as what’s actually new in 11 you’ve got a whole bunch of orchestral strings which is nice but I already have a load of that from previous versions. The pricing does seem a little bit off to me but only because it’s a noticeable hike from the previous model. Komplete 11 Select is yours for £159 inc VAT. It appears to come on a natty little USB stick, which is nice. It also comes with the Kontakt 5 and Reaktor 6 players with a factory selection of sounds and Blocks Wired. Products included are Massive, Reaktor Prism, Scarbee Mark 1, Solid Bus Comp, Drumlab, The Gentleman, Vintage Organs, Monark, Retro Machine Mk2, West Africa and Replika. It comes with 11 products, 2500 sounds and 25GB of library, so it’s certainly not entry level. What they are calling “Komplete 11 Select”. Komplete 11 upgrade – £159 inc VAT Komplete SelectĪnd then we have a new tier. Komplete Ultimate 11 upgrade – £319 inc VAT Maybe it’s the effect of Brexit, maybe NI are punishing the world for the leaks but the slightly inflated official pricing is as follows: The pricing we got from the .uk website yesterday was a little bit cheap, it seems. Go and listen to the tracks on the website for a much better idea of what you get for your money. The video, on the other hand, tells you nothing and looks like an After Effects promo. They brilliantly show off the diversity and quality that’s on offer here. The website product page lists all the included products along with some rather astonishing sound samples, songs and mixes. However, they seem to have everything ready to go. Native Instruments usually like to announce and release on the same day and so you can see why they might have been rattled by the leaks. Still very attractive for electronic composers with molekular, razor, the verb and vintage effects that are all pricey on their own so depending what you are really attracted by after testing, buy the crossgrade during summer promotions can be a great bargain.īut surely if you really have the use of those, this is not a bad investment at all !.The official release date of Komplete 11 will be September 1st. Ultimate is really made for composers who look for a cheaper but good quality solution (or just more choice).

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 pro#

The session horns pro is excellent but same here, you need to have a use of it. As D One said the rise and hits is kind of cinematic sounds that is really impressive also the action strikes for the big cinematic drums that sound really great but you must have a use of it. Molekular is really original and if you like it all the Abbey Road drums are amazing for musical composition. What I really liked from ultimate is razor, all the vintage effect serie, rc verbs that sound great even if a bit CPU intense for my old mac. Maybe when the next numbered version comes out. I'd just start with that and upgrade later, if needed. the regular K11 is already overkill, where I've had it for a year and still haven't touched like half of it.

Komplete ultimate 10 vs 11 full#

Else you just wind up with an empty bankaccount and a folder full of stuff where you have no idea what it really can do. Better to get a single set of decent ones and then only expand it when you feel like you're really bottlenecking somewhere. Getting shitloads of VST's in one go is ALWAYS a bad idea. Still looking for some others like Molekular and the Premium Tube stuff, but with those I don't know what else I'd really want. Supercharger is worth expanding, Replika as well. I don't need a lot of acoustic strings and things like that.īut I have been able to snag up some the bits I want on the open market. K11U does have some very cool bits, but for me.

[coinprojects]

New Post has been published on https://coinprojects.net/polygons-matic-usd-recovers-support-what-next/

Polygon's MATIC/USD recovers support. What next?

Polygon’s native token MATIC has gained by 8.00%, underlining solid recovery.

Brokerage firm Robinhood said it would launch its Web3 wallet on Polygon

Bulls are in control, but it remains to be seen of price action at $0.90 and trendline

Polygon’s MATIC/USD could be back to winning ways if the latest gains are to go by. As of press time, MATIC had added 8.00% and looked increasingly bullish. There has been a string of positive developments for the Ethereum Layer-2 scaling solution. Let’s look at the latest.

Robinhood, an online brokerage firm that promises commission-free trading, remains a retail darling. Although the popular trading platform has taken a hit this year, it always elicits excitement on major news.

On September 27, Robinhood announced its Web3 wallet would launch on Polygon. That comes after, earlier, launching MATIC transactions on Polygon. However, MATIC remained largely bearish in September, coinciding with the weak crypto sentiment.

MATIC outlook as recovery continues above $0.76 support

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Disclaimer

Binance

Binance is one of the largest cryptocurrency exchanges in the world. It is better suited to more experienced investors and it offers a large number of cryptocurrencies to choose from, at over 600.

Binance is also known for having low trading fees and a multiple of trading options that its users can benefit from, such as; peer-to-peer trading, margin trading and spot trading.

Buy MATIC with Binance today

If we turn to the technical side, MATIC has recovered the $0.76 support after the price slipped temporarily below. The level remains crucial to a technical reader since bulls have defended it since July. The latest surge could imply that buyers are getting active.

Source – TradingView

Looking at the moving average, MATIC has recovered above the 20-day MA. It is also moving above the 50-day MA. The MACD indicator remains in the bear zone but shows a bullish building momentum. However, MATIC remains trapped by a short-term descending trendline.

Concluding thoughts

A bull case scenario for MATIC could be confirmed by a bullish moving average crossover. The price has to move above the short-term descending trendline. Otherwise, a price rejection at the descending trendline would invalidate any bullish bias. 

Another price point of interest is $0.90. It coincides with a minor resistance and could force a correction.

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Source link By Motiur Rahman

#Altcoin #Binance #Bitcoin #BlockChain #BlockchainNews #BNB #Crypto #CryptoExchange #RobinhoodApp

[harmonysanreads]

01: Guest [Songbird Index]

—THE SHOGUNATE CHEERED. Claps, mumbles of wonder faded as mere background sounds just as the song came to an end. Her excellency, too, sat at her throne, nodded in approval, appearing much too pleased by the small curve of her lips.

“Henchforth, I announce you as my honoured guest and welcome you to the land of Eternity. Until your departure, Inazuma shall treat you as its own.”

Her mighty voice silenced the whole of the Shogunate just as you curtsied in respect. Then, a smile so bright outshined all the glittering embellishments of the Tenshukaku, even the Raiden Shogun stopped to bathe in its glow.

Among the crowd, Kamisato Ayato watched, too. Tea, long since abandoned the moment your fingers started to strum a foreign string instrument. Followed afterwards your voice in the shape of a song, one that could rival the ones sang by the prettiest of Geishas and those offered at her excellency's shrine- and would emerge victorious.

Such an angelic tune, unheard until this moment. Whatever frowns some particular Shogunate officials had sent upon your bold exclamation had instantly vanished when your lips parted. No one was left short of mesmerized.

In Spring, some birds not native to Inazuma could be found doing their things while strolling the sakura coated streets. They would make themselves comfortable by the branches, some would sing foreign songs at the break of dawn. The reason for their sudden appearance was unknown as their stay lasted not even a month.

Perhaps, you were one of them, the Yashiro Commissioner mused. Suddenly appearing to add colour to Inazuma's rather bleak days, and maybe you'd be gone in the same way, too.

In that case, you'd be a blessing. For just the one hour of your stay you managed to bring the tense and serious Tenshukaku to life. The Shogun herself smiled and still was. The Yashiro Commissioner spectated with a newfound fondness, too. There was no need to go out his comfort zone, not when your songs soothe every crevice of the Tenshukaku.

Ayato, caught in a daze, rendered immobile to your every action. Truly, it would've been fortunate if his eyes could meet yours, even just for a second. Then, he'd imprint your visage in his mind, for the lost chance when you first stepped before her excellency.

And what a serendipity it was. When you looked over your shoulder and caught his lavender gaze. For what appeared to be a transient eternity, you both remained frozen. Lord Kamisato's gaze appeared more coloured in surprise while yours remained indescribable.

Like the efflorescence of the ever glorious sakura, the remnants of your previous smile stretched wider this time. It might just have been a trickery of the Commissioner's mind, for he would not admit ; his breath hitched for the first time in a long while.

What only remained in his vision were locks of shining hair-tossed in the wind-as you turned your face to the throne once more, then, the Commissioner heard a tune better than even your song.

“How about another song, your excellency?”

And just like that, the once grim and frowning group called The Shogunate errupted into a cheer once more. Funny, the officials even the ever capable Yashiro Commissioner struggled to earn the approval off, were wrapped around your finger with one single song.

Kamisato Ayato did not know whether to be envious of or charmed by you. But the former would be a sin, he realized just as quickly. As the strum of your instrument blended in with your voice —a voice so unparalleled in it's beauty— the Tenshukaku was rendered silent and the Commissioner, too, was mesmerized this time.

You were not just any bird. You were a songbird. You sang songs unheard, songs that were so hypnotizing. You sang not only of emotions but of tales only you could weave. A songbird so precious, who would not want to treasure you?

Kamisato Ayato drowned in the sea that was your voice and he drowned willingly. But he couldn't help but think.

When the seasons changed, some birds from foreign lands would pay the nation of Eternity a sweet visit. The cause of their sudden arrival was unknown although no one questioned why. For the birds' harmonious songs and chit-chat would lighten up the dawns and streets. Some would say, they were the long lost friends of the cherry blossoms.

They would receive a hospitable stay, some held them to high admiration. But a coin has two sides ; for the majority's admiration had some contrast here and there, too. Unable to withstand departure, some people would capture these birds and put them in silver cages. The birds would cry, their songs transitioning towards deep melancholy until they would sing no more.

So, Lord Kamisato thought, what if you became one of them, too?—

Snapped out of his deep thoughts as you turned around and began to step forward, towards him. Your song was yet to end but you strolled past various Shogunate officials and stood before his seat ; caught of guard he could only stare in anticipation. Only then did he realize that your fingers had not stopped from strumming the instrument, the melody shifting towards softer tunes.

Your eyes were cast somewhere else as the last verses left your lips ; the overall result strangely reserved. It was a great parallel to the smile and curtsy you sent afterwards, no less bright than all your previous ones.

The Shogunate clapped and left words of appreciation this time, too. Lord Kamisato held the fragile porcelain containing the long cold tea in his grip, as if it'd break if he pressed any further. He realized there was more to what you let on, what you briefly announced to the entire Shogunate and her excellency.

The Yashiro Commissioner had come across many interesting things since the day he took on this position, and they all taught him that life was not short of wonders, dangers and warnings. So, he reached a conclusion.

—That is, if, he would allow so.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] - Nine: Peace

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mention of child neglect and abuse

Word count: 3300>

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Nine - Next [coming soon!]

It was a long walk back to the holiday resort, just you and Maxwell. Your mind wandered off with worry about Diana. You knew she was strong enough to handle her own, but there was clearly something very personal between her and Barbara, and you knew better than anyone else how easy it was to let your feelings get in the way of your goals. You and Maxwell held hands the entire journey, although neither of you spoke that much. There was still a lot going on. Yes, you had destroyed the dreamstone, the God of Lies was no more, but you still had to fight for Alistair. You still had to win this custody battle. The war wasn’t over yet. Maxwell hadn’t stopped thinking about it either. Since arriving in Greece, you’d hardly spoken about the case and it left him wondering what exactly your plan was. He was resting his fate with his son on you. No lawyers… just an Amazonian goddess who swore her duty is to bring together families. He had no reason not to trust you, but this was a big deal so of course he was worried.

And of course there was one thought you both had in common. It wasn’t as much of a concern, but neither of you felt like you could bring it up yet. You had destroyed the dreamstone using the power of love. Your love. The love you had for each other. Maxwell didn’t know what it meant to love someone romantically until he met you. He thought he loved Julianna, but that was short lived. He always saw himself as someone undeserving of those feelings. But now he was certain. Maxwell Lord was completely and utterly in love with you.

By the time you’d reached the quaint little village you were staying in, your stomach rumbled. Maxwell paused and looked at you before bursting into laughter. You felt your cheeks heat up and you placed a hand over your stomach, slightly embarrassed.

“Hungry?” he laughed and you nodded sheepishly. “Why don’t we- uh- get dinner?” he suggested with a casual but nervous shrug of his shoulders.

You smiled. “Dinner sounds good.”

Maxwell nodded his head and led you down a cobblestone path. At the end of the long path, was the hotel resort, but along the way was plenty of quaint little shops, boutiques, and restaurants serving native cuisine. It must have been around nine at night, so the other shops were shut, but the restaurants were lit up beautifully with golden string lights, and on every street corner was musicians singing and playing instruments.

You were in awe. You broke free of Maxwell’s grip and wandered over to one man who was playing the violin. It was soft and romantic. You got close to him, probably too close, but Maxwell found it endearing. He loved to watch you take in all these new experiences. 

“You didn’t have music on Themyscira?” he asked, pressing a hand into the small of your back. His touch combined with the melody of the violin was enough to take your breath away.

“No,” you replied quietly as you let yourself fall deep into the song. When the man finished, Maxwell took out his wallet and made a generous donation. “You should be very proud of yourself. You have a gift.” you smiled- and the man blushed at your comment.

Maxwell was taken aback when you and the Greek street musician held a conversation in his native language. Of course - Amazon’s were multilingual. He remembered you mentioned it before. You knew every single language. But still, it never failed to impress him. Everything you did, every action and gesture you made had Maxwell fall head over heels for you.

You both carried on walking for just five more minutes, until Maxwell decided on a suitable restaurant. You’d settle for anything, but Maxwell had a specific taste. As it turned out, Maxwell Lord was even known in Greece, and the restaurant manager was able to pull a few strings to get you both a table without reservations.

“Do you know what you want?” Maxwell asked, peeking over the menu. You took a sip of water and shook your head ‘no’.

“How do I know what tastes good?” you asked.

“You can’t really go wrong with Greek food. In my experience it’s all good.” Maxwell explained, puting the menu flat on the table and waving over a waiter.

You pointed at a couple on a nearby table. “They’re sharing,” you acknowledged. “Why?”

You and Maxwell both watched the man and woman as they fed each other moussaka, laughing and smiling and planting intimate kisses on each other’s hands. “They’re a couple.” Maxwell hummed, wondering what it would be like to share food with you.

Too distracted in his own thoughts, Maxwell didn’t even realise you had already placed your order with the waiter. “We’ll have exactly what they’re having.” you beamed, pointing towards the couple.

Maxwell blinked and turned to you. 

“And drinks?” the waiter asked.

“Same as them!” you repeated and Maxwell’s head snapped towards the table. Actually, a pink berry iced cocktail didn’t sound at all that bad. It made a difference from his usual champagne or dry whiskey. Before Maxwell could even object, the waiter was already whisked away to bring your order to the kitchen.

“You’re getting really good at this world of man stuff.” Maxwell told you proudly, taking your hands and brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“I feel like I’m settling in,” you admitted with a nervous smile. “I always felt like an outcast on Themyscira. Like I just… didn’t belong there. I was never a warrior like the other Amazons.” you explained and Maxwell nodded in understanding.

“It’s a shame you can’t stay here.” Maxwell swallowed and looked past you. His eyes fixated on another happy couple, and the truth finally began to settle in his stomach.

In just a few days, the love of his life was going to leave him, and he’d never see you again. Being with Maxwell in a Greek restaurant amongst the other happy couples left you feeling upset too. It made you wonder: did you really want to leave? Did you even have a choice?

Diana had told you that the world of man could not handle a goddess just walking around living a normal life. Your powerful aura would slowly cause destruction and chaos. Even death. You’d read plenty of romance novels to know that there would always be heartbreak. And maybe this would be yours.

“Your moussaka and cocktails.” The waiter grinned, presenting you both with the food on a silver antique platter. You both thanked the man and picked up your forks. In unison, you both dug into the meal and fed it to each other, just like you’d witnessed before. There ended up being a lot of laughter and hysterics as food missed your mouth or it dropped down Maxwell’s shirt making a mess.

You both knew that the inevitable was coming, but that didn’t mean you had to wish away your days together. You were fully prepared to make as many memories as possible with Maxwell and enjoy your night together in Athens.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Maxwell asked as you walked back to the hotel room.

“Worried about Diana.” you mumbled.

“Yeah uh- I’ve been thinking about Barbara,” Maxwell revealed, and you looked at him in confusion. You remembered the flirtations he made towards her in the cave, or rather, the manipulative techniques. “I owe her an apology. But I can’t apologise until she renounces her wish. I failed her.”

You gulped and squeezed the businessman’s hand. “Even if I’m not here, I believe that there will be a redemption. She will renounce her wish.”

“How do you know?” Maxwell quizzed you. “I just do,” you hummed. “She’s not a bad person. She’s just a person… who’s done bad things. But we’ve all done bad things before, haven’t we?”

Maxwell nodded before smiling. “I can’t imagine you doing anything bad.” he chuckled lightly.

“I try not to,” you shrugged. “But nobody is without flaw.”

Once you reached the hotel lobby, the receptionist called Maxwell over.

“Mr Lord, you have a phone call on line 3.” she said, pointing her finger towards the phone booth. Maxwell nodded before turning to you and pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

“Let me take this call. Meet me in the hotel room.” he told you, passing you the key. You obliged, padding towards the elevator.

Maxwell walked over to the ringing telephone and took a deep breath. He wondered who could possibly be calling him from Athens?

“Hello?”

"Hi daddy. I miss you." Alistair's small and timid voice revealed. His little fingers curled around the telephone wire as he tried to keep his balance, standing on a stool so he could actually reach the telephone that was pinned to the dining room wall. Maxwell's face softened upon realising it was his son who had been trying to communicate with him.

"I miss you too, but I'll be home soon. Is everything okay?" he asked Alistair with genuine concern. He was at Theodore and Julianna’s house and they never let him contact Maxwell. It was forbidden.

"No. Mommy and Ted went out together and they've left me in the house alone. They've been gone for hours. Daddy I'm scared." Alistair sniffed, rubbing his tired, glazed eyes.

Maxwell immediately saw red. He knew Julianna was neglectful, if anything she had always been even more neglectful than Max. But the fact there was an ongoing custody battle and his competition had left their six year old boy home alone was infuriating.

“Where did they go?” Maxwell asked.

“Date night.” Alistair replied shakily.

“Listen buddy, I’m going to call Raquel and have her take you to Black Gold okay? Me and Y/N are heading to the airport now so we’ll see you as soon as we possibly can. I love you Ali. Stay strong for me. Can you do that? Can you stay strong for me?”

Alistair nodded weakly. “Why does everyone always leave me daddy?” Alistair croaked and Maxwell’s heart broke because he knew he was partially to blame for it too. He hadn’t been a perfect father but he sure as hell was trying to make amends now, which was more than what Julianna could say.

“Because they are not deserving of you Ali, you are too good for this world. I mean it. Go to your room okay, and Raquel won’t be long. I love you.” Maxwell promised.

“I love you daddy.” Alistair sniffed before putting the phone back on the hook.

***

Maxwell had been downstairs on the phone for quite a while. You had kicked off your shoes and discarded most of your outfit on the floor. You were lying on the king sized bed staring at the ceiling. All you could think about was Diana and Barbara. You had to make sure Diana was okay. She was your sister, after all.

The door swung open causing you to jump up in surprise, and Maxwell bolted into the room before doubling over trying to catch his breath. “Elevator was taking too long. I ran up the stairs. We have to go.” he panted, clutching his chest for dear life.

“Max? What’s wrong?” you asked, climbing off the bed and walking over to him. You placed both your hands on his shoulders and tried to calm him down.

“It was Alistair. He needs us.” Maxwell said, fear flicking in his eyes.

“Say no more,” you told him, finally feeling your duty as goddess of home and hearth kick in. A child in need of his father? This was your time to shine. “You pack our stuff. I’m going to try to call Diana and let her know that we’re leaving earlier than planned.”

Maxwell nodded as he started to gather together your things, throwing them haphazardly into the bags. To your surprise, Diana answered the phone after the first few rings.

“Di! Oh Gods, I was so worried about you.” You confessed, taking a big sigh of relief.

“You need not be worried,” Diana chastised you. “I’m okay. I had some trouble with Barbara but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did she renounce her wish?” You asked.

“No,” Diana replied, her voice small. She was struggling to hold back tears. Barbara meant so much to Diana, she could not fail this one thing. She had to redeem her best friend. “But she will. I’ll make sure of it. Why did you call?”

“It’s Max’s son… something came up and… we’re flying back to D.C. tonight.” you told Diana, glancing briefly into the en-suite bathroom where Maxwell was collecting your toothbrushes and toiletries. 

“When’s the court case?” Diana questioned.

“Two days.” you informed her, feeling a little weak in the knees. It was so soon and you hadn’t even discussed a plan with Maxwell. 

“Remember sister, once this is all over you must return to Themyscira. Earlier, when the cave walls began to crumble… I realised that was because of you. You’ve already overstayed your welcome. I’m afraid the world of man’s destruction has already begun.” You had caused the cave walls to crumble? The ground to split? You were mortified. But if this was only the start… you weren’t prepared to know what was to come.

“I know.” you whispered sadly, feeling a tear slip down your cheek.

“I’ll see you back in D.C.,” Diana promised. “Good luck.”

And with that, there was a deadline. 

“Everything okay with Diana?” Maxwell called from the bathroom.

You choked out an involuntary sob just hearing Maxwell’s voice again. How would you ever be able to live knowing you could never hear another word he spoke? His voice was more beautiful than any violin or song on the car radio. You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to go back to Themyscira. When you didn’t reply, he called your name.

“Yes, everything is fine!” you called back, doing your best to hold back your whimpers. Maxwell didn’t need to see you like this, it would only concern him. You wiped your tears away and began to pick up your previously discarded outfit, re-dressing yourself. 

Diana might have said goodbye to Steve, but there was no way you could say goodbye to Max.

***

The flight back to D.C. was uncomfortably long and you could cut the tension with a knife. “Max, he’ll be okay. He’s with Raquel.” you reminded him.

“He doesn’t deserve this,” Maxwell shook his head in dismay. “I can’t believe my son is having to put up with this bullshit.” he spat angrily.

You hadn’t seen this side to Maxwell before. Sure you’d seen him get mad and give you the silent treatment, but now he was being so vocal. He was vocal because he could be. He had been in Alistair’s shoes before. Neglectful parents who didn’t give a shit about him.

“My dad was never home,” Max swallowed, tears pricking his eyes. “And when he was, he was drunk. My mum was sick. She slept a lot. I didn’t have friends growing up. I was alone and bullied…” part of this you already knew from when the lasso of truth had shown you little Maxwell Lorenzano’s childhood, but still, you chose to keep quiet and listen to what you had to say. “I never planned on having kids but when Alistair was born I swore I would be a good father. I wouldn’t end up like my old man. But without even realising… I did. I neglected my son. I was always working. Too busy for him. I-” Maxwell held his face in his hands as shame consumed him.

“You are nothing like your father,” you promised Max, grabbing his wrists and pulling them away from his face. “Listen to me. Alistair loves you. And you love him. He called you because you’re his dad. His hero. You made mistakes in the past but we all do. Point is, you’re choosing to fix it. You’re choosing to change and that makes you one thousand times better than what your own dad ever was. Alistair sees the good in you,” you whispered. “And I do too.”

***

By the time you arrived back in D.C, it was nightfall. The sky was pitch black and Maxwell was readjusting his watch to fit the EST timezone. Upon your approach to Black Gold Cooperative, you noticed from looking in the windows that most of the lights had been turned out, bar the main lobby and Maxwell’s private office. Max was the first to enter, pushing through the revolving doors and bolting through the building, up the stairs and to his private office. You followed him, but let yourself drop behind just a little as you thought about the fact this might be your last time in this building. It was this exact lobby where you had met Maxwell Lord for the first time, sleeping on that sofa in your full Amazonian gear. It was only a week ago and yet it felt like a lifetime.

“Alistair! Alistair!” Maxwell called. He barged into his office only to see his son, curled up on his chair, asleep. Raquel was laying on the sofa, fast asleep also. It was late and Max didn’t blame her whatsoever. As long as Alistair was safe, that’s all that mattered. “Hey buddy, hey.” he cooed, picking his son up in his arms. Alistair stirred slightly and opened his eyes.

“Daddy?” he asked, his question followed by a yawn. He brought his fist up to his face and rubbed at his tired eyes. “You came back?”

“Of course I did,” Maxwell whispered, smoothing out Alistair’s black hair and pressing a kiss into his son’s forehead. “I’ll always come back for you Ali. I missed you.”

“I love you daddy.” Alistair sniffed, bringing his hand up to cup Maxwell’s face.

“I’m going to take you home, okay? Better sleeping in your own bed than in daddy’s office chair. Trust me, I know.” Maxwell said, remembering the ample amount of times he had fallen asleep at work, amidst an abundance of paperwork.

“Let me take Ali,” you whispered, nudging Maxwell and holding out your arms. “You should wake up Raquel and let her know you’re back.”

Maxwell nodded his head in agreement and handed you his son. Max was strong, but holding a six year old in his middle age did nothing for his bad back. When he passed you Alistair, part of him expected your shoulders to curl inwards or for you to struggle to lift him. Then he remembered you were an Amazon, and he smiled to himself upon seeing the way you cradled his son like he was as light as a feather. There was something so wonderful about seeing you hold Alistair like he was your own child. Ali looked at you with so much love. Just like his father, he’d only just met you, but he had put his whole trust in you - like his life depended on it.

“How was Greece?” Alistair asked you.

“Was good,” you smiled. “I brought you back a present.”

Alistair’s tired smile grew into an ecstatic grin. “A present?!”

“Yes,” you giggled, pinching his adorable little button nose. “But I’ll give you it tomorrow when you wake up. How does that sound?”

Alistair nodded his head and closed his eyes again, before nuzzling his head into your chest. “Thank you for being so kind to my daddy. He doesn’t realise it, but he’s been through a lot, and he deserves kindness.” Alistair hummed quietly, and you felt like your heart had melted right then and there. Before you could reply, Alistair had fallen back asleep in your arms.

It was that precise moment when you realised how important family was to you. It was that moment when you realised that maybe you wanted a family of your own.

Taglists - let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @justanotherblonde23

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[andaniellight]

Fanfic writer ask :

🎧 A certain song you listened to while writing a fic?

🔬The fic you had to make the most research for?

🌈 Your favorite tropes to write about?

📬 The best comment you ever received?

😊 The fic that you’re the most proud of?

:D

[waves excitedly while tearing up] HI AGAIN MY FRIEND!!!!!11! <3 <3 <3

🎧 A certain song you listened to while writing a fic?

I listen to instrumental songs/music, mostly (like this one)! Things like Video Games (like this one) or Movies Soundtracks (like this one)!

Sometimes I also listened to Deep Layered Brown Noise to keep me really focus!

🔬The fic you had to make the most research for?

This also answers the Q about fic that I'm most proud of 😊 "Inferential Continuum" (once titled When The Time Comes) (Pairing: NanaGo from Jujutsu Kaisen)

I spent almost 2 months studying about String Theory, Multiverse, and science for this one. That's why it's my longest yet packed fic I've ever written all my life so far.

🌈 Your favorite tropes to write about?

I love slow burn but my patience is too thin to make one that is actually worth read(?). I usually go with either angst, hurt/comfort, and maybe action / whump too but they still have to include humor obviously 😌

📬 The best comment you ever received?

Oh this is not good, I love all the comments I received. Obsessed, even, which is unhealthy but my readers have been very kind, passionate, and considerate toward me. I'm so very lucky.

But I do love the ones that give me good laugh such as the incoherent ones. And some from my native friends as well because they usually do NOT hold back whatsoever when they roast some stupidity our favorite pairings were doing in my fics 😂😂😂

(Qs from this Fanfic Writer Ask Game!)

[ellewritesathing]

Infernal  - VI

Summary: In your sleepy little town of Greendale, nothing ever slept for long. And ever since October, everything felt like it was waking up. Everything except for you, that is. One teensy trip to Hell (and an infuriatingly cute guy) later and suddenly you felt wide awake.

Word-count: 3.7k+

Masterlist Prev. | Part 6

A/N: so i just wanted to thank you guys for the support you’ve given Infernal!! it really makes my day to see you reading and getting feedback is just 💓💓 anyway this is the last part for this series until the next season comes out, but i have a few caliban wips. should i start posting those and tagging you in them?? thanks again and i hope you like this!!

Light streamed through the blinds when you woke up, landing softly on your covers and gently covering Caliban’s face. He’d never looked so calm when he was awake; always putting on a show, whether it was for you and your friends or for the courts of hell. Look at me, his face screamed when he was awake, I don’t care. I am in control.

Now it was silent. Dreamy. 

You reached out a slow hand and moved some blonde curls out his face, letting it rest on his chest when you were done. Smiling to yourself, you thought about how absolutely mundane this morning was. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. You wouldn’t change a thing. 

“I have the strangest sensation of being watched,” Caliban murmured as he stretched out next to you. His arms extended overhead and you watched how Harvey’s too-short hoodie crept up to his elbows. When you looked at his face, it featured a barely contained teasing grin. 

“Well, we’ll have to get that sorted out right away,” you said as Caliban rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow to face you. Your hand moved from his chest to the side of his neck, thumb tracing his jaw. “Tell me, sir, what did the perpetrator look like?” 

“Beautiful.” 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, careful not to crash into you or get too tangled up as your hands rose to the sides of his face. His laugh tickled your face. It made your heart beat a mile a minute. 

You pulled away ever so slightly to look in his eyes. Breath caught in your throat as you asked, “Don’t go back to Hell.” 

Now his face said he was confused, something that he didn’t feel very often. Caliban sighed and rolled back to his side of the bed, slipping through your fingers to stare up at the ceiling with a half-open fist resting on his forehead. 

“I just mean-” you slid closer, getting up to your forearm to face him. You lifted your hand to his chest but your palm hung millimeters above it. Unsure fingers tapped at the air. “For one day, stay here. Sabrina won the challenges, right? So there’s no real rush and I- I could show you what it’s like to be human for a day. And you could-” 

Caliban took his fist off his forehead and wrapped his hand around yours, holding it to his chest as he took a breath. His eyes moved from the ceiling to you. Your heart stopped. “I’m not going outside looking like this.” 

“Deal. There’s a Target like ten minutes away and you can pick out whatever you want,” you said. Before he could argue, you turned and started climbing out of bed. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

Caliban looked at you with equal parts amusement and bewilderment before shaking his head and moving to his feet. “Surprise me.” 

You reached out a hand to lead him to the kitchen, but stood still in front of the door, shoulders tense as you turned to face Caliban. “I should warn you,” you said, looking at the spot between his eyebrows. Apparently, people couldn’t tell you weren’t making eye contact if you looked there. “My dad can be a little … much. Lilith said he has something like the cunning, but I think it’s more like early-onset dementia. He means well, he just- he gets a little confused.” 

Caliban’s jaw clenched as you spoke and you watched him make a conscious effort to relax it. In the most controlled voice you’d heard, he asked, “And does he hurt you when he gets confused?” 

You couldn’t even look at the spot between his eyebrows. Coward. “He doesn’t mean to. He just-” 

“That night you had a bruise on your arm, that was him?” 

“You remember that?” 

There was something fiery in him when you looked at Caliban again, slithering just below the surface. You cupped his face and drew his eyes off the door and back to you. His skin was hot to the touch. 

“He needs help. You can’t hurt him,” you said. He was going to say something biting so you talked over him. “Please, just for today, let it go.” 

Silence. His jaw clenched. 

One. 

If looks could kill, your door would be nothing but a pile of splinters and you would be dust. 

Two. 

“Just for today,” he conceded.

You held up a pinky and all that anger faded into amusement. He even laughed when you picked up his hand and forcibly intertwined his pinky with your own. 

“This means that I get to keep your pinky in a jar if you break your promise,” you said, sounding far too serious for someone making a pinky promise before nine o’clock in the morning. 

“Is that another promise?” Caliban asked, leaning down slightly. 

Still, after everything that had happened, the action made you nervous. In a (probably failed) effort to seem cool and unaffected, you dropped his hand and turned to open the door. As soon as you did, the smell of pancakes hit you in the face like a ton of bricks. Your dad was awake, and he probably wouldn’t remember the past few days. Would that make this easier or harder to explain? 

Too busy thinking to come up with clever and endearing things to tell Caliban about your house as you wandered your way to the kitchen, the two of you walked in silence while you absentmindedly gripped his hand. 

‘Silence’ wasn’t really the best word to describe it because, although neither of you were talking, the house was filled up by your dad’s music. When you got closer, you could even hear him singing along as he flipped pancakes. 

“Dad?” you asked hesitantly as you rounded the corner to the kitchen. The batter sizzled uncertainly as he looked up at you. All of the carefree happiness drained from his face when his eyes landed on Caliban. “Dad, this is-”

“That a monster should be such a natural.” His voice wasn’t quite as venomous as the last time you heard him speak, but it was icy. “Caliban, son of the witch-hag Sycorax. Native son of the-” 

“Dad, no.” You let go of Caliban’s hand to take a step closer, putting one hand on your dad’s and using the other to try and pry the angry spatula from his hand. “Caliban is a friend. He-” 

“O, it is monstrous, monstrous: Methought the billows spoke and told me of it-” Your dad broke eye-contact with Caliban to stare holes in your soul. He whispered to you like a child trapped in a horror movie, “The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder - that deep and dreadful organ-pipe-”

“Dad-” 

“Be not afeard. This isle is full of noises,” Caliban said. His voice was almost as gentle as it was when he showed you how to conjure light, and he walked closer very slowly and carefully. “Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices that, if I then had waked after long sleep-” He held out his hand, palm up, like someone would to frightened animal “-Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me, that when I waked I cried to dream again.”

Your dad blinked once, twice. He looked at you. He looked at Caliban. He looked at Caliban’s hand. 

“Oh, crap, that one’s burnt!” He jumped out of your grip to shut off the stove and scrape out the burnt batter before something caught alight. 

Caliban held onto your shoulders in an effort to comfort you as you stared at your dad. No matter how often it happened, you still couldn’t understand what made him like this. One second he was making pancakes, the next he was cursing you in Elizabethan tongue, and then he was making pancakes again. 

“So let me guess,” your dad said with a wry smile as he turned back to the two of you, pan successfully scraped clean. “Long lost cousin of Sabrina’s-” he pointed the spatula harmlessly at Caliban and continued to the stove “-And you’re working on a … History project? Fell asleep at the desk?” 

“You’ve always been a good guesser,” you said through gritted teeth. 

Your dad laughed as he poured the next lot of batter in the pan. “Chin up, Y/N, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. There’s some pancakes over there and the syrup’s in the fridge.” He smiled over your head at Caliban. “Help yourselves.” 

“Thank you,” Caliban said with a thin smile. 

--- 

You sat in the car for five minutes, tinkering with the seat and mirror settings while Caliban sat politely in the passenger seat. Never did you imagine using the words ‘Caliban’ and ‘polite’ in a sentence without the words ‘is not’ sandwiched between them, but a lot of things had changed since then. Sighing, you sank back into your seat and looked over. 

Polite, amused. 

“Okay, you need to put your seatbelt on before we start moving,” you said. Caliban arched an eyebrow at you. “I’m being serious. Belt on or you can stay in Harvey’s old clothes the whole day.”

“Are you that bad of a driver or did you forget that I’m nigh-indestructible?” Caliban asked, making you roll your eyes. 

“Wanna find out exactly how indestructible you are?” you asked, leaning over the armrest and getting distractingly close to him. 

Caliban’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “Do you want to try?” 

“Nope!” 

You yanked the seatbelt forward and kept it with you as you flipped back into your side of the car, clicking it into the socket when you could breathe again. You shot him a grin and he shot you a glare. Oh well.

Switching on the engine, you tried to string together a coherent thought. “So this car is old - older than me, probably older than you - so she’s a little sensitive. She’s also a piece of crap who’s been stuck on the same cassette since I learned to talk,” you told him as you rolled out of the driveway. “The air con’s busted. There’s a spring sticking out of the backseat. Is that a cloud? We can only turn right if it starts raining.” 

Caliban let out a laugh next to you, craning his head to try and spot the cloud. “Why don’t you just get another car?” 

“Because she’s part of the family.” You smacked the dashboard twice. “Aren’t you, Sugar?” 

The speakers started blasting Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now in response and it was the first time you’d ever seen Caliban look truly startled, even if it was just in your peripheral vision. It made you smile the whole way to Target. 

Despite your worries, finding Caliban something to wear was pretty easy, even if you had to coerce him into picking out a jacket. It didn’t take long for something to burst your bubble though: you heard Harvey laughing somewhere nearby. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grabbing Caliban’s arm. You pointed over some shelves to where Harvey and Theo were looking at graphic socks. “Shit. Scatter!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Scatter! I-” You shoved the clothes into Caliban’s arms. “Go try these on. Don’t come out until I come to find you.” 

“Don’t you think this is a bit of an over-” 

“No!”

You pushed him back towards the changing rooms and got ready to confront Harvey and Theo when Caliban’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you back with him. You didn’t argue until he latched the door. 

“Don’t know how to get dressed by yourself?” you asked in a low voice. 

“If I said yes, would you show me?” Caliban asked, lifting the corners of his mouth. He sighed before lifting Harvey’s old sweatshirt over his head. “I didn’t think you wanted to explain all this to your friends. Hence the - uh, what was the word you used - scattering?” 

You bit your cheek as you weighed your options. Deciding it would be easier to think without looking at Caliban’s chest, you handed him a shirt. You focused on Caliban’s hands as he buttoned up the shirt, long and dainty-looking as he worked his way up the fabric slowly. 

And then there weren’t any buttons left, just Caliban watching you watching him. It made your heart stop. Again. 

“Right, all done?” you asked, moving your things so you could stand up. You became intimately aware of how small these changing rooms were. 

“Unless you want to stay for the pants part?” Caliban asked. 

“I think I’ll take my chances with Harvey and Theo, thanks,” you said and carefully stepped around him to get to the door.

While Caliban was busy, you did some impulse buying and tried to catch your breath. Thankfully, Harvey and Theo seemed to have left. The whole situation left you feeling conflicted; all you wanted was to tell them about Lilith and Caliban but you were scared that they wouldn’t understand. 

When Sabrina finally told you all about her being a witch … to say it didn’t go over well was an understatement. When you finally told them, would it go over any better?

After getting Caliban something to wear and something to eat, you took him to a parking lot of a long-abandoned strip mall. Still debating whether this was a good idea or not, you took a breath and turned in your seat to face him. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said carefully, resting your hands on the gearshift. “Do you want to learn to drive?” 

“That depends. Am I going to learn in this car?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the front, the beginning of a biting comment coming out of your mouth before Caliban laughed and leaned over, placing his hands over yours on the ignition. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, stifling the rest of his laughter. “I’d be honored if you’d teach me to drive.” You didn’t say anything. He leaned in closer. “In this car.”

You turned your head to look at him, underestimating just how much he leaned in. Almost nose to nose, you said, “Say please.” 

“Please?” 

“Like you mean it.” 

A smile sparked on his lips. “Would you, please, teach me how to drive?” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you said dryly, unlocking the doors and stepping out while Caliban shook his head and did the same. 

Teaching Caliban was just as infuriating as you expected; he sped up when you said he couldn’t, he rode out the clutch, but - worst of all - he didn’t appreciate the background noise of the broken mixtape. Round and round the old parking lot he went, muttering swears and curses all the while. 

“Okay- okay, babe, you need to stop.” You put your hand on the gearshift, over his tight white knuckles. He let out a heated breath as he shut the car off. “You’re sticking the shift from second to third. Sugar’s old, remember? You need to be more gentle.” 

“I’m being plenty gentle.” 

“You’re definitely being plenty something,” you said. He didn’t appreciate the joke. “Take a breath. Let’s try again.” 

Caliban didn’t say anything as he started the car up again, but he did everything you told him when you told him to do it. With your hand guiding him, he didn’t stall for the first time in over an hour and he only swore once (at a pigeon, but in his defense it really was stopped in the middle of nowhere). 

Finally, Caliban parked the car squarely in the middle of four spots and turned to face you, much like you had some time ago but without propping up any legs. “We’ve been doing human things the whole day,” he said. “I’d like to add something to the itinerary.” 

“Oh, would you now?”

“Do you trust me to take you there?” Caliban asked, ignoring your teasing. 

“You mean, like, letting you drive on the road?” you asked. “Where the other people drive?” 

“Unless you’d like to teleport there,” Caliban offered. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Okay, you can drive but you have to listen to me exactly like you did just now. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Bad music blared over the speakers as Caliban drove, windows down, to his mystery location. You pretended not to notice whenever he damn near stalled the car, he pretended not to notice whenever you messed up the words to the music, and you both pretended not to notice how right it felt to have your hands intertwined. 

It was absolutely mundane. A drive for over-eager teens with nothing better to do. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

Caliban turned down a gravelly road that you were sure led to private property, but you didn’t mention it. He seemed very sure of himself in your piece of crap car. Even as he rolled to a stop and the car wheezed its way to sleep, he looked like he was made for this moment. 

“So is the part where you make me dig my own grave?” you asked, moving to face him and lifting your hand from his to the side of his neck. “Because you should know that I’d rather kill myself than do manual labor.” 

Caliban let out a laugh as he mirrored your movements, except his hand lifted to his mouth, thumb running across his lower lip. “No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a while longer, love.” 

You weren’t entirely sure how to answer that one, so you took a breath and looked down at the gearshift. “So what exactly is the plan?” 

“Swimming,” Caliban answered. He unbuckled his seatbelt before you could ask more questions - of which you had plenty - and got out of the car. 

You had to rush to keep up, slowing your jog once you could grab his hand. “Woah, slow down. Swimming? In a Greendale Lake?” 

“Is that a problem?” 

“Uh, yeah. For starters, it’s January.” 

“I can cast a spell to keep you warm.” 

“You got a spell to protect me from Hep A?” 

Instead of answering, Caliban rolled his eyes and lifted his hand, palm up, in front of you. He nodded to it when you didn’t answer him. “Do you trust me?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked at his hand. Not everything had to be a show of how tough you were, and you got the feeling that Caliban already knew how tough that was. You put your hand in his, trying your best to memorize the changes in his face when you did. 

The two of you walked in silence, joined at the fingertips, until Caliban slowed down at the mouth of a cave and you made a disapproving noise. You held up your other hand when he looked at you, to show that you were trusting and not criticizing. At least not externally.

The cave wasn’t anything like the one you’d found Medusa in, nor was it like any of the ones you and Harvey played around when you were kids. It was smooth and dark, with air far less musty than you expected. Water was running somewhere and Caliban led you to the spot where it ended. A small, pitch dark rock pool. 

Then Caliban let go of your hand and started taking off his brand new shirt.

“Okay, what are you doing now?” you asked. 

“Swimming,” Caliban said without any hesitation. “Do you not remember?” 

“I-” You broke off. He said you were going swimming, did you think he just magically had a swimsuit in your size hiding out in this cave? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not taking off my underwear.” 

“It’s going to an awfully uncomfortable drive home,” Caliban said with a devilish smile as he threw the shirt at you. “But whatever you prefer.” 

You stood awkwardly as he finished undressing and slid into the pool. He was considerate enough to turn around after your first complaint and then you begrudgingly took off your layers. At least it was dark enough in here that he couldn’t see you blush. 

Dipping in your toes, you pulled away with a tiny shriek. “It’s fucking freezing!” 

Caliban laughed as he waded around to look up at you. It was unnerving, though he didn’t mean it to be. “It’s going to be cold for the first few seconds. Diving headfirst is the best way to do it.” 

“Yeah, if what you’re trying to do is get a concussion.” 

“Just get in,” Caliban said slowly, “And it’ll get better after that. I’ll warm you up if it doesn’t.” 

“No way in Hell. And I mean that with a capital H,” you said, refolding your arms over your chest. “The only way I’m getting in there is if you drag me.” 

Caliban’s head tilted to the side for a second before straightening up as he waded closer to you. When he was right in front of you, the water only came up to his naval, but he gestured for you to lower down to him like he was telling you a secret. In a dangerously low voice, he asked, “What was that again?” 

You blinked back your surprise. “Uh, what was what? That I’m only getting in here if you- Don’t you dare!” 

Before you could run away, Caliban had scooped you up and twirled you into the icy water. But you couldn’t focus on the cold when everything that he touched was on fire. And when the screaming and splashing and laughing died down, it was just you and Caliban alone in the dark. Nose to nose. Holding your arms to his chest. Too afraid to breathe and mess up the moment. 

Your heart was trying to break out your ribcage. 

“I think you were right,” you whispered. “Diving in headfirst is the best way to do it.”

Caliban’s heart was slow and steady, but you could swear it skipped a beat right there.

“You’re sure about that?” he said softly. 

“Without a doubt.”

Tag List:  @caliban-is-my-girl  @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @music-movies  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​  @foji2000​  @mschfavngz​  @artaxerxesthegreat​  @thxmagic​  @luquincy  @strawberriesandknives​  @xealia​  @hotmessindisguise​  @olivia-west-allen  @sweetrogers​  @reheated-coffee​  @shelby-x​  @perseny-blog​  @millie-753​  @luneerius​  @shizzybarnaclee​

[statecryptids]

The Bear Lake Monsters- Utah

Straddling the border of Utah and Idaho, Bear Lake is a long, deep body of water lying along a shifting fault line.. The lake’s vivid blue waters- which are caused by an abundance of dissolved calcium carbonate- have drawn people to its shores for centuries, from the native Shoshone, Ute, and Bannock, to more recent European trappers and settlers. And also, according to settler Joseph C. Rich, a small population of aquatic monsters, . In an 1868 article for the Deseret News, Rich wrote: “The Indians say there is a monster animal which lives in the lake…They represent it as being of the serpent kind, but having legs about eighteen inches long on which they sometimes crawl a short distance out of the water onto the shore.”

The story quickly caught the interest of newspapers all over the west, eventually even reaching the ears of the leaders of the LDS Church in Salt Lake City. The church fathers, including Brigham Young, would inquire about the monsters when they were in the area around the lake and quickly discovered that nearly everyone claimed to have seen the beast or at least knew someone who had.

Descriptions of the monster varied. Sometimes it was said to be long and limbless like an eel. Other times it had dozens of little legs like a centipede. It was often said to have sleek brown fur like an otter, and little ears- or at least ear-like tufts of fur on its head.

Sightings of the monsters (sometimes singular, sometimes plural) became very popular in local papers, and led to a proliferation of hoaxes and tall tales. One particularly colorful encounter with the beast was related by Quill Nebaker in 1907:

“By this time all of the folks but me were terribly frightened and they confidently expected that the monster would smell the fresh-baked pies in the cellar and turn over the house in order to get them. Confidentially, I rather hoped he would in some way get the pies, but I sensed the danger to my loved ones and set my mind at work to devise ways and means to divert the animal’s attention in case he decided to come up our way. At this juncture my dog, which seemed mesmerized before, let out a terrible howl that attracted the monster and here he came full tilt, mouth open wide enough to swallow the front porch. Here was my time for action. And while I dislike to speak of myself, I must confess that I arose to the emergency... I noticed my large graphopohone (sic) standing on the table ready for use. An inspiration struck me- I called to mind the value of music in taming the snakes and wild animals of the forest- and I decided to try it. Hastily winding up the machine, I opened wide the front door, squarely in the face of the approaching monster, and turned loose my music.

As it happened, the record on the machine was that incomparable tune, “Home, Sweet Home,” and as its strain floated out on the midnight air, I noticed that the monster halted, then stopped. His head being low, a reminiscent smile played o’er his features, and as the chorus was reached we were surprised to see the monster’s tail switch ‘round toward his neck. As we watched we noted a stringed instrument, something like a lyre, at end of the animal’s tail, and as “Home, Sweet Home” continued, that monster didn’t do a thing but utilize his several hands or feet in playing accompaniment to that grand old tune. Ah, but it was sweet, and as “the band played on” we really fell in love with the Bear Lake monster. As I moved to his side, the monster seemed to welcome me as a friend of other days and before “Home, Sweet Home” was ended the animal’s head rested on my shoulder and we were mingling our tears together.

All was going splendidly and I had definitely decided to adopt the animal and make him a member of my family, but just there sorrow, deep and tearful sorrow, shook the frame of my newly made friend, and he began to weep. Great streams of tears poured from his eyes, and finally they flowed so copiously that the monster floated away in them. Thoughts of his subterraneous home were too much for him, and though he seemed loth (sic) to go, he waved us a sad farewell and disappeared from sight.

A point of particular interest just here is that as the monster passed the barn it left my barbed wire stacked up nicely, and on top the pile left that lyre on which it had played that accompaniment. Imagine my surprise at discovering that stringed instrument to be a portion of a bale of that wire and a part of my pigpen worked up into the most approved form.”

                                   ---“Quill Nebeker Sees Monster” Logan Republican, 21 September 1907

From the beginning, the Bear Lake Monster was known by local people to be nothing but a tall tale. Nevertheless, a number of outsiders were convinced the beast was real. Twenty-six years after publishing his first sighting of the beasts, Joseph Rich admitted that he’d made the whole thing up as a way to draw interest to the Bear Lake area. Yet despite this confession, sightings of the monster continued all the way until 2002. Whether these were honest reports by people who genuinely believed they’d seen an unknown animal in the lake or just more tall takes, is up for debate. But hoax or not, the monster remains a fond piece of Bear Lake folklore.

SOURCES

An article about the beast from the Utah Outdoor Activities website.

A library of newspaper reports about the monster from the USU Digital History Collections

An article from Utah Humanities

The Bear Lake Monster Winterfest!

A scan of Quill Nebaker's account of the musically-inclined monster

[kayleighhalliday2203]

Hi! I love The King’s Harem so much! I was wondering if you could make a post for what all of the elleths look like and which children they sired with Thranduil? I tend to confuse myself from time to time- thank you so much! @mirkwood-haven

You get confused? Try having them living in your brain! Lol, no problem, I can do this. I basically have a cheat sheet to keep them all in line. There’s also a few non-spoiler details in this that haven’t been mentioned in the story yet, so enjoy those!

Gwend Gwend is a Sindar Elf of non-noble birth; her father is Thranduil’s Master At Arms. She has the characteristic blonde hair and blue eyes of the Sindar. The first thing anyone notices about her is usually her sweet smile and gentle voice. She is very graceful, even by Elven standards. Her long-standing relationship with Thranduil was noted by the Elven Queen, and when the time came that the Queen could no longer satisfy Thranduil, Gwend was handpicked to be Thranduil’s mistress and later Chief Courtesan of the harem. She is eternally grateful for her favour, and ensures that the rest of the harem reflect regularly on how the late Queen’s actions gave them their places. She is very laid back and has a calm confidence in her position in both Thranduil’s harem and his heart. She takes on the role of ‘mother hen’ with the other members of the harem, watching over them and helping them with their roles, especially when they are newly arrived and do not have the confidence to speak up when something upsets them. She is who Thranduil seeks out when he has suffered a stressful day or requires comforting. There have long been rumours that one day the two will wed, but Gwend in fact turned down Thranduil’s proposal, stating she prefers the freedom of being one of his harem rather than his wife. Her passions include dancing and music. She is bisexual with a preference towards males. She has bore Thranduil three sons.

Thangonnas

The eldest son of Thranduil and Gwend. He is a full-grown adult and a general in Thranduil’s army. He is his father’s exact double, a bone of contention between him and his half-brother and close friend Legolas who more resembles his mother. The two are very close in age, less than six years between them, and played together as children. Legolas’ status as Royal Heir prevented him from following Thangonnas into the army. Thangonnas is a serial womaniser who has worked his way through most of the female staff, causing no end of headaches for his parents. His most frequent complaint is he lacks a harem of his own. The response to this is usually if he finds a wife, he can have a harem. He states that this is too much work and promptly finds a maid to bed. He is very flirtatious and cheeky, and lacks the knowledge of when to stop. He has a scar down one side of his torso due to a bar fight this ignorance started. The story of this fight often changes, lately it has featured a Dwarf woman and a goat. No one dares ask how the goat is involved.

Feredir

The second son of Thranduil and Gwend. He is approximately twenty years younger than Thangonnas and is a Captain of the Guard in the same unit as his half-brother, Legolas. Feredir favours his mother more in his looks but his serious nature draws more comparisons to his father. He has not yet settled down, although he has engaged several elleths in courtship over the years. His brother has bedded every single one of them to date. Feredir is not impressed and actively tries to avoid Thangonnas.

Ceven

The youngest son of Thranduil and Gwend. He is only sixty years of age, although he appears to be about twelve. He looks to be another double of his father. He is very quiet, usually because he can’t get a word in edgeways around Thangonnas and has a fondness for playing string instruments. He is also quite sensitive and Thangonnas usually finds a way of upsetting the boy. He has a sharp-mind and very sharp hearing, even for an Elf. Thranduil sees him having a life in politics when he has reached adulthood.

Inariel A wild and spirited Silvan elf, she has dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes. She likes to play rough and win her heart’s desire in contests of strength, skill and prowess. She caught the King’s eye during an archery contest and it took him many months to catch her attention enough to woo her and have her become part of his harem. She enjoys challenging him mentally and physically, and joining him on the hunts he partakes in out in the forest. She is bisexual with a preference towards females, and they have one daughter.

Mirima

Mirima is the only daughter of Inariel and Thranduil. She is of similar age to Ceven, her half-brother. She too is very quiet and likes to play wind instruments. The two can often be found playing together and occasionally perform for their father’s honored guests. Whilst Ceven has the sharper mind and hearing, Mirima’s wit is razor-like. She is the only one known to have rendered Thangonnas silent.

Vinga Vinga is a Noldor elleth who travelled to the Woodland Realm from Rivendell as a student of cultures. She stands out due to her jet black hair and warm brown eyes. She became enamoured with the people and their King after a prolonged stay, and accepted his invitation to stay. She used the experience to become fluent in Quenya, Khuzdul and Westron as well as the various dialects used in Laketown and Dale. She is heterosexual but is willing to play along if the King asks to include another member of the harem. She has a whimsical personality and can often be found wandering outside in the gardens, watching the birds with her two daughters, often speaking in a language other than Sindarin.

Tuigalen

The elder daughter of Vinga and Thranduil. She has her mother’s dark hair but Thranduil’s blue eyes. She is developing into quite a beauty with a passion for gardening. She is seventy-five years of age and almost full grown. She detests her elder half-brother Thangonnas and often speaks of travelling to her mother’s native Rivendell once she is of age.

Areth

Areth is the younger daughter of Vinga and Thranduil. She is her mother’s double and carries her talent for languages. At only forty-five years old, she looks more like a human nine-year old and has a fondness for playing with dolls, creating elaborate personalities and stories with them. She adores Thangonnas and believes him to be the funniest member of her family.

Idhren

Idhren is an exquisite beauty of noble birth. She originally hails from Lothlorien but travelled to the Woodland Realm after her husband’s death. Her sorrowful beauty caught the King’s eye and he invited her to stay as part of his harem. She accepted but as of yet has not fully integrated herself into the harem, despite being part of it for the best part of thirty years. She is often found reading a wide variety of historical books. She is completely heterosexual, refusing to share the King with any other member of the harem. She has one son from her late husband. She and Thranduil have been trying for a child of their own with little success.

Sirveleg

Sirveleg is Idhren’s son by her late husband. He is a spoilt child of eighty years who refuses to socialise with the other children from the harem and often bullies the younger ones out of sight of their parents. He is terrified of Thangonnas and Feredir.

Finnel A quiet and romantic soul, like Dail, she too is Silvan with long red hair and bright green eyes. She met the King whilst visiting with her father, a lesser lord presiding over a small section of Mirkwood. Thranduil encountered her whilst she searched for a romantic novel in the library. He found her in the erotica section, reading a story about threesomes. Unsurprisingly, she became pregnant rather quickly after joining the harem. Whilst she can be mistaken for being quiet, she does in fact have a very passionate side and a taste for experimentation and flirtation when the mood takes her, and identifies as bisexual with no preference. She is also a talented seamstress, often designing clothes for the other members of the harem.

Lothiriel

The only child of Finnel and Thranduil. At twenty-six years, she looks to be about five but already greatly resembles her mother. Unlike her mother, she is loud and is already showing fine leadership qualities along with an inquisitive nature. Thranduil is unsure if this is a good thing. Sadly, as the youngest, she is the most frequent target of Sirveleg’s bullying ways, though she has discovered that sticking close to Feredir keeps him at bay. 

Mae Mae is a young Sindar Elf, full of youthful exuberance with an irresistible smile and a playful personality. She is the latest addition to the harem having been there only fifteen years. She has an amazing artistic talent for music and painting, often found humming a melody or with paint staining her arms. She is heterosexual, discovering quite soon that she did not enjoy bedding other females, although she did try. She is currently pregnant with her first child.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 5

Courtney Marie Andrews

The lockdown continues, and live music has disappeared, replaced by a somewhat antiseptic and unsatisfying spate of live streamed shows mostly one person with a guitar on the couch in their living room.  We salute the courage and the effort but miss bands and audiences and even the chatter drifting in from the bar area.  In the meantime, at least for now, there are still lots of new records vying for our attention.  We present this Dust to catch up with some of them.  It’s an ecletic survey of contemporary classical, vengeful hip hop, psyche, jazz, folk and metal artists, all continuing to try to navigate a very difficult period.  Our writers this time include many of the usual suspects, Bill Meyer, Ray Garraty, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Tobias Carroll and Patrick Masterson.  

a•pe•ri•od•ic—For (New Focus Recordings)

for a•pe•ri•od•ic by a•pe•ri•od•ic

Silence is a rhythm, too, and a•pe•ri•od•ic dances to it repeatedly throughout their second recording. The Chicago-based ensemble has traversed the new music continuum, performing music by composers from Peter Ablinger to Christian Wolff. Sometimes that silence isn’t quite what you want to hear — the COVID-19 pandemic cut short its tenth anniversary spring season one concert too soon — but it proves to be rich loam from which to grow music on this CD. All four of its pieces were composed specifically for the group by individuals who recognize the merit of non-imposing sounds. That knowledge derives in part from the fact that three of the composers also perform with the group, but also from their long-standing engagement with post-Cage-ian and Wandelweiser material. Director and pianist Nomi Epstein’s descriptively entitled “Combine, Juxtapose, Delayed Overlap” feels like a ceremony intermittently perceived through an opening and closing door. Billie Howard’s “Roll” tucks the composer’s whispering violin behind muted French horn and voice, wringing intensity from the effort one must apply to following its retreating sonorities. Vocalist Kenn Klumpf’s “Triadic Expansions (2)” moves in the other direction, sprouting ivy-like from the slenderest branches of sound. By comparison, Michael Pisaro’s stately “festhalten/loslassen” is a veritable riot of unwinding tonal colors. As the decade ticks towards year eleven, rest assured that a•pe•ri•od•ic is searching for the next promising idea.

Bill Meyer

 Agallah — Fuck You The Album (Propain Campain)

Fuck You The Album by Agallah

This is a personal vendetta album. After more than 25 years in the game, Agallah has got to settle the score against the whole world. To say he just has a chip on his shoulder would an understatement. Thirteen songs of pure hate with the title quite properly reflecting its content. In his fight, the rapper strips down all the artistry, including the production. Known for making beats for other hip hop acts, Agallah here not only uses barely serviceable beats, he doesn’t even makes pretense he needs beats. Almost all the tracks work as a capellas. His gruffy voice and arrogant flow don’t need sonic support. And what support can you expect from the world full of phonies, liars, actors, pretenders, cowards and fair weather friends? “Stop pretending, my career is not ending,” he almost screams on “Telling Lies To Me.” If this CD feels like a dinosaur in 2020, then it says that it is not something wrong with this album but with the world.

Ray Garraty

 Courtney Marie Andrews — “Burlap String” single (Fat Possum)

Old Flowers by Courtney Marie Andrews

As the eponymous song of 2018’s May Your Kindness Remain amply demonstrated, Courtney Marie Andrews’ pipes are not to be fucked with. But while that was perhaps the most vivid depiction yet of her abilities, the Phoenix native’s delivery can be just as powerful on a muzzle. Such has been her approach thus far with what we’ve heard from Old Flowers, originally slated for an early June release but since pushed back to July (or beyond, who knows). The post-breakup lyrical territory was initially revealed with first single “If I Told,” but it’s the gently loping “Burlap String” I’ve had on repeat for much of the past month. Ever ended a relationship with someone and regretted it? Lush piano and a sighing slide guitar tell you Courtney has without her ever having to utter a word, and much of the song is an illustration of the internal conflict that lingers long after you’ve made the call. I’m inclined to write out the whole second verse here, but it’s the end of the third that lingers as Andrews evokes barely holding back tears: There’s no replacing someone like you. That ensuing pause runs bone-deep, its implication clear — no amount of Mary Oliver can save you from yourself.

Patrick Masterson

 Dennis Callaci — The Dead of the Day (Shrimper Records)

Some albums could be said to hum. In the case of the latest from Dennis Callaci, that’s meant literally: many of the songs on his new album The Dead of the Day feature warm clouds of feedback or droning organ notes. It’s a companion piece to his recent book 100 Cassettes, which features thoughts on musical icons throughout the year. This album’s focus is more insular: some of the songs have a drifting, improvised feel to them. But Callaci also taps into some terrifically subdued songwriting veins here — “Broadway Blues Pt. II” recalls the haunted dub-folk of Souled American, and Franklin Bruno’s piano lends a propulsive dimension to the ruminative title track. And on “Scoreless,” Callaci teams with his Refrigerator bandmate (and brother) Allen Callaci for a song that slowly builds from acoustic foundations to something modestly grandiose. Contrary to what its title might suggest, this album feels very much like a document of one man’s life.  

Tobias Carroll

 Cameron / Carter / Håker Flaten — Tau Ceti (Astral Spirits)

Tau Ceti by Cameron / Carter / Håker Flaten

Tau Ceti is a planet that is hypothesized to be similar enough to Earth that it could potentially support similar life forms. The three musicians that recorded this tape may come not come from the same system, but they fall into a harmonious orbit around a common circumstance — they were all in the same swanky studio, Halversonics, on a particular winter day in early 2019. One supposes that whatever they were rotating, they move towards the source of heat, since Tau Ceti builds slowly from chill acoustic exploration to a fuzzed-out solar flare. As they progress, abstraction burns away and velocity increases. It’s a gas to hear Ingebrigt Håker Flaten and Lisa Cameron lock in behind Tom Carter’s increasingly gritty sound-bursts.

Bill Meyer  

 Tim Daisy — Sereno (Relay)

Tim Daisy - Sereno :: music for marimba, turntables and percussion (relay 028) by Tim Daisy

Sometimes the timing of even the most tuned-in drummer is foiled by external circumstances. Sereno was supposed to signal the end of an intense phase of solo practice by Tim Daisy. His intentions for 2020 included making an album of duets and writing music for two ensembles. But at press time he, like everyone else, is hunkered down with his family, and everything he had planned is on hold.  

Daisy’s stint as a primarily solo artist coincided with a reconsideration of identity; he wasn’t just a drummer, but a multi-instrumentalist and an orchestrator of electro-acoustic sound. Sereno is split between three elegiac marimba solos that showcase Daisy’s instinct for deliberate melodic development and five much denser constructions for imprecisely tuned radios, playing and skipping records, and Daisy’s strategically reflective drumming. If this record is the only new music that Daisy puts out this year, it leaves us with plenty to think about.

Bill Meyer

  Kaja Draksler & Terrie Ex — The Swim (Terp)

On the surface, this looks like quite the odd couple. Terrie Ex Is a Dutch electric guitarist in his mid-60s who still goes by his punk rock name. He’s a ferocious improviser whose scrabbling instrumental attack incurs intensity from any ensemble that doesn’t want to get bowled over, and he knows more Ethiopian tunes by heart than anyone on your block. Kaja Draksler is a Slovenian pianist exactly half his age whose recent projects include a fast-paced, idiosyncratically balanced trio with Petter Eldh and Christian Lillinger, and an octet for which she sets Robert Frost poems to a combination of chanson, Baroque chamber music, and thorny free improvisation. But neither got where they are by letting fear deter them from a musical challenge, and both of them have a fine awareness that one way of understanding their respective instruments is that they are pieces of wood with wires attached. Given that common understanding of music as a combination of coexisting textures and assertive actions, they work together quite well on this CD, which documents a performance that took place at London’s Café Oto in 2018. Scrape meets sigh, jagged fish-hook pluck meets sparse wire-damped drizzle, instinct meets intuition, and when the disc is done, it’ll seem quite sensible to dive back in and swim the whole length in reverse.

Bill Meyer  

 Errant — S/T EP (Manatee Rampage Recordings)

errant by errant

Errant is the one-woman project of Rae Amitay. Some listeners of metal music may be familiar with Amitay’s work, as vocalist for death-grind-hybridists Immortal Bird and as drummer for the folk-metal act Thrawsunblat. For Errant, Amitay has created songs and sounds that have little in common with those other bands’ aesthetic extremities. “The Amorphic Burden” may prompt you to recall the melodic black metal that Ludicra was making toward the end of that band’s storied run, or the sludgy drama of Agrimonia’s most recent record. In any case, Errant’s sound skews toward more luminescent atmospheres. Production values are largely pristine; Amitay wants you to hear clearly every string and cymbal strike. It makes sense. She plays a bunch of instruments well, and that’s part of the point: that one woman is producing all the sounds, and all the affect. She ends the EP with a cover of Failure’s “Saturday Savior,” and it’s the least interesting thing on the record. But even there, she presents the listener with something worth hearing. Her clean vocals are lovely, disarmingly so. What may be most impressive about this early iteration of Errant is the extent of Amitay’s talents, and how those talents allow her to encroach on the hyper-masculine territory of the “one-man” act.

Jonathan Shaw  

 Field Works — Ultrasonic (Temporary Residence)

Ultrasonic by Field Works

Stuart Hyatt’s latest compilation in the Field Works series is an absolute beauty — and timely given it’s being released during a pandemic whose origins may be linked to bats. The field recordings that the contributors used to create the music on Ultrasonic come from the echolocation of bats, and the approaches tend towards rhythmic or atmospheric. At the rhythmic end of the spectrum we have Eluvium’s majestic opener “Dusk Tempi,” akin to his work on Talk Amongst the Trees. Mary Lattimore’s glimmering harp patterns are fitting accompaniment to the chittering bat sounds on “Silver Secrets.” And Kelly Moran’s prepared piano on “Sodalis” sends the listener down a hall of mirrors, chased by gorgeous bass tones. At the more abstract, atmospheric end of the spectrum we have Jefre Cantu-Ledesma’s radiant “Night Swimming.” Christina Vantzou blurs the line between the sounds of modular synthesis and bat sonar on “Music for a Room with Vaulted Ceiling.” And on Sarah Davachi’s “Marion,” the listener is immersed in a luminous halo of nocturnal overtones. Wherever the artists venture, this is a varied yet consistently evocative collection.

Tim Clarke  

 FMB DZ — The Gift 3 (Fast Money Boyz / EMPIRE)

The Gift 3 was initially set to be released in December 2019 but was postponed until now. DZ’s “Merry Christmas, pussies!” on one of the tracks doesn’t sound so odd, though, because the whole world has plunged into a constant holiday. The new album continues two trends. It carries on the “ape” theme from the previous album Ape Season. “Ape Activities,” “Keep It on Me” and “No Features” are the grittiest tracks from a disc where the prevalent mood is a sick worry. DZ made it out of the hood but had to be on the lookout as the enemies are out to get him. The other trend is that The Gift 3 continues the ideas of The Gift series. The songs have a usual verse-hook structure, are poppier and more relaxed than on Ape Season. DZ, thankfully, doesn’t try to sing anymore but hires some singers on choruses. The hardest track here is “High Speed” with Rio Da Yung Og where Detroit/Flint duo spit vicious lines.

Ray Garraty

  Hala — Red Herring (Cinematic)

Detroit multi-instrumentalist Ian Ruhala wears his heart dripping from his sleeve on “Red Herring” his latest record as Hala. Skipping from the yacht rock of “Making Me Nervous” to the country blues of “True Colors” via power pop, The Kinks and Tom Petty, Ruhala manages to create a thread with deceptively simple melodies and the sincerity of his delivery.  There’s more than a touch of Kevin Barnes in the voice and the delight in throwing genres at the wall to see what sticks and, like Barnes, some of it fails to adhere. The pleasure here is in the sense of eavesdropping on the process and reveling in unexpected flourishes that refuse to be ignored.  

Ruhala writes a smooth love song and isn’t afraid to turn up the guitar or address politics on standout “Lies” - “I’m eating breakfast with the fascists/Oh man they stand about ten feet tall/My mouth is bleeding at their proceedings/They get their courage through a plastic straw” It may not be Guthrie but he makes it work through a leavening wit and a mid-tempo vamp straight from the solar plexus. “Red Herring” suffers somewhat from its stylistic roaming but a fundamental big heartedness and willingness to reach makes it an enjoyable trip.  

Andrew Forell  

 Las Kellies — Suck This Tangerine (Fire)

Suck This Tangerine opens with a loose groove and a grime smeared highlife guitar line, the voice enters with ironic invitations over choppy Gang of Four chords. In the new one from Las Kellies, Argentinian duo Cecilia Kelly and Silvina Costa sling taut bass lines and slash guitars over mutant disco rhythms for 12 tracks of slinky indie dance. Drawing on elements from Leeds, London and the Bronx, Kelly and Costa add dubby space and South American humidity to their sound, to elevate the album beyond the sum of its influences.  

Kelly handles guitar and bass, wielding the former like a cross between Andy Gill and Viv Albertine and unfurling loose funky serpents with the latter. Costa swings between ESG and The Bush Tetras and incorporates an array of hand drums that deepen and enliven the rhythmic pulse. There is a palpable and joyful chemistry between the two evidenced by their easy interplay and enhanced by the production that gives clarity and elbowroom to each instrument. If the lyrics can tend toward the perfunctory, they are delivered with a winking insouciance on put downs like “Close Talker” and “Rid Of You”.  Suck This Tangerine is a worthy addition to the growing collection of feminist post-punk inspired albums we’ve been dancing to of late.  

Andrew Forell  

 Mint Mile — Ambertron (Comedy Minus One)

Ambertron by Mint Mile

Silkworm, the band, may have ended in 2005 with the death of drummer Michael Dahlquist, but its legacy of slow, gut-socking heaviness, mordant wit and muscular guitar lives on, first in Bottomless Pit and now in Tim Midyett’s new band Ambertron. Midyett’s voice and clangorous baritone guitar is instantly recognizable, of course, to anyone who loved Silkworm, but the band diverges somewhat with the pedal steel played by Justin Brown of Palliard, weaving eerily though the slow buzz and moan of “Likelihood.” Jeff Panall, from Songs:Ohio, plays the hard, heavy drums that undergird these songs, giving them structure and forward motion. Other players include Matthew Barnhart from Tre Orsi and Horward Draper from Shearwater. Greg Normal of Bitter Tears contributes a mournful bit of trumpet to “Fallen Rock,” and Chicago alt-country mainstay Kelly Hogan takes the lead in “Sang.” The music is raw and morose; even dense strings can’t quite lift the gloom in “Christmas Comes and Goes,” a song as raw as late November in Chicago. And yet there’s a sort of resilience in it, a strength that comes through persistence. “If we could only find a way to bank the time we had together,” sings Midyett in “Giving Love,” his hoarse voice full of ragged loss, his guitar raging against it all and not quite beaten down even now.

Jennifer Kelly

 Gard Nilssen’s Supersonic Orchestra — If You Listen Carefully the Music Is Yours (Odin)

If You Listen Carefully The Music Is Yours by Gard Nilssen´s Supersonic Orchestra

Perched atop his drum stool, Gard Nilssen sits where styles converge. He’s supplied the controlled boil that drives the free-bop combo Cortex, laid down some heavier beats with Bushman’s Revenge and exemplified long-form lucidity with his own trio, Acoustic Unity. In 2019, the Molde Jazz Festival recognized his versatility and forward perspective by anointing him the artist in residence. Besides showcasing his ongoing projects and accompanying heavy guests from abroad, most notably Bill Frisell, he got to put together a dream project. This 16-piece big band, which includes members of Cortex, Acoustic Unity, and the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, is it. With the assistance of co-arranger André Roligheten, Nilssen has taken some of his trio’s sturdy melodies and turned them into frameworks for boisterous but subtly colored performances. With three basses and three drummers, this could have been either a mess or an uptight game of “you first,” “no sir after you.” But the rhythm crew shifts easily between swinging unisons and refractory elaborations. Roligheten often plays two saxophones at once in smaller settings, and one suspects that he has a lot to do with the rich colors that the horns paint around the featured soloists.

Bill Meyer  

 Matthew J. Rolin — Ohio (Garden Portal)

Ohio by Matthew J. Rolin

The ghoulish image on the j-card belies the sounds encoded upon this tape. Matthew J. Rolin is a relative newcomer to the practice of acoustic guitar performance; the earliest release on his Bandcamp page was recorded in late 2017. But he’s catching on fast. Switching between six and twelve-string guitars, he serves up equal measures of ingratiating lyricism and immersive surrender to pure sound. Opener “Red Brick” slots into the former category, with a heart-tugging melody that keeps doling out turns that’ll keep you wondering where it’s going and backtracks that’ll ensure that you never feel lost. “Brooklyn Centre,” on the other hand, grows filaments of string sound out of a pool of prayer bowl resonance centering enough to make you cancel your mindfulness app subscription due to perceived lack of need. Rolin develops ideas situated between these poles over the rest of this brief set, which runs just shy of 28 minutes and definitely leaves one wanting a bit more.

Bill Meyer

 Nick Storring — My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell (Orange Milk)

My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell by Nick Storring

What Jim O’Rourke did for the music of Van Dyke Parks and John Fahey on Bad Timing, Nick Storring does for Roberta Flack’s on My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell. The Canadian composer may not have O’Rourke’s name recognition or past membership in a very famous rock band going for him, but consider these parallels. He’s a handy with quite a few instruments, he’s an inveterate assistant to other artists across disciplinary lines, and he functions with equal commitment and fluency in a variety of genres. For this record, his first to be pressed on vinyl (albeit in miniscule numbers), Storring uses the lush string sound of Flack’s 1970s hits as a launching point for deep sonic immersions that are considerably more emotionally oblique than their inspirations’ articulations of loneliness and surrender. When he goes melodic, the cello-led tunes seem to reach for something that they never touch, and when he goes for slow-motion density, the music imparts an experience akin to watching the sort of cinematic experience where you can’t tell if you’re seeing a really slow take or the film has frozen at a single frame.

Bill Meyer

 Sunn Trio — Electric Esoterica (Twenty One Eight Two Recording Company)

Electric Esoterica by Sunn Trio

Sunn Trio, from Arizona, makes sprawling, multi-ethnic psychedelia that juxtaposes the scree and groan of heavy improvisational rock with the otherly chords and rhythms of the Middle East.  Opener “Alhiruiyn” slicks a trebly sheen over its surging, rampaging improvisations, more in the vein of Black Sun Ensemble than Cem Karaca.  But “Majoun” layers antic percussion and tone-shifting bent notes in a limber evocation of the souk.  “Roktabija The Promulgator” blasts a strident, swaggering surf riff, about as Arabic as “Miserlou” (which is, in fact, Arabic).  “Khons at Karnak” buzzes with hard rock aggression, but shimmies with belly dancing syncopation.  Because of the name, the preoccupation with non-Western cultures and the Phoenix mailing address, you might think that Sunn Trio is aligned somehow with Sun City Girls, but no.  All kinds of weirdness lurks in the desert out there, lucky for us.  

Jennifer Kelly  

 Turbo, Gunna & Young Thug — “Quarantine Clean” single (Playmakers)

Despite the subject matter’s potential (ahem) virality, “Quarantine Clean” slipped out almost unnoticed in early April and is the kind of muted performance Young Thug doesn’t get enough credit for (while, curiously, his followers often get too much derision for). For all of Thugger’s hyperfluorescent hijinx over the years that have produced earworms like, say, “That’s All” and “Wyclef Jean,” there’s another side that shows up in stuff like “The Blanguage” and “Freaky” where he lets the words do the work; that’s the subterranean sonic world we’re living in here as he opines on God’s role in the pandemic and why he’s lost so much money but still has to pay for his parents’ penthouse (which: welcome to the revolution, pal). Thug’s acolyte in slime Gunna, meanwhile, does most of the song’s heavy lifting with duties on the first verse and chorus, but it’s pretty hard to tell the two apart, such is the slippery restraint both opt to exercise here. The real star, then, is beatmaker Turbo, whose buoyant anchor melody is complemented by what sounds like a lilting flute. It’s a light touch from all parties, a mellow mood well suited to our time of collective party-eschewing shelter. Run that back in prudence.

Patrick Masterson

 Various Artists—Ten Years Gone (A Tribute to Jack Rose) (Tompkins Square)

Ten Years Gone : A Tribute to Jack Rose by Various Artists

A decade on from the too early passing of the great American Primitive/blues/raga player Jack Rose, Arborea’s Buck Curran gathers friends, collaborators and younger artists inspired by Rose for a gorgeous tribute to the master. Mike Gangloff, who played with Rose in Pelt and Black Twig Pickers, leads off with a plaintive, sepia-toned fiddle lament (“The Other Side of Catawbwa”), while next generation experimental droner Prana Crafter closes with an expansive, space folk reverie (“High Country Dynamo”). In between, old friends like Sir Richard Bishop evoke Rose’s full-blown orchestral guitar playing (“By Any Other Name”) while young pickers like Matt Sowell take up the trail forged by Dr. Ragtime. Isasa from Spain and Paulo Laboule Novellino from Italy attest to Rose’s global appeal. It’s mostly guitar, but not entirely; Helena Espvall from Espers contributes a brooding, reverberant “Alcantara” on cello. Curran’s own “Greenfields of America (Spiritual for Jack Rose)” is slow and thoughtful, letting long bent notes ring out with liquid clarity; it’s a hymn and a prayer and a testimony to the wide influence of an artist gone too soon.  

Jennifer Kelly

 Emily Jane White — Immanent Fire (Talitres)

Immanent Fire by Emily Jane White

Emily Jane White gets tagged as a folk singer, but on this, her sixth full-length, the Oakland songwriter brings a fair amount of goth-tinged drama. Taut string arrangements and big booming drums lift “Infernal” well out of the woman-with-guitar category, and White sounds more like PJ Harvey or even Chelsea Wolfe than a sweet voiced strummer. Immanent Fire sticks, topically, to environmental concerns with track titles like “Washed Away,” “Drowned” and “Metamorphosis.” A foreboding creeps through the songs, pretty as they are, even piano lit “Dew” asks “Does poison drop like the dew?” Arrangements, by Anton Patzner, the composer, arranger and violinist of Foxtails Brigade and Judgment Day, give these cuts weight and heft, punctuating eerie melodies with thick swathes of strings, rumbling percussion and keyboards. The disc culminates in “Light” which begins in a whisper and climaxes in drum-shocked, orchestral swoon. Soothing background music it is not.

Jennifer Kelly

 Z-Ro — Quarantine: Social Distancing (1 Deep Entertainment / EMPIRE)

An unexpected seven-track EP bears an expected title from a Dirty South legend. Z-Ro’s usual topics — trust and loneliness — gain a new meaning in the time of social distancing. To keep away women who only want his money is a necessary precaution now. To be at the corner at the party is a rule for survival. Z-Ro is on his ground counting his dough alone in the house. Earlier he did it so no ‘shife’ (the title of one of the tracks) friends could rob him, now it’s just to obey quarantine rules. The first half of this EP is a bit muddled by unnecessary intros and reggae tunes but the second one hits hard. As always with Z-Ro, the hardest content takes the gentlest form (“Niggas is Hoes” especially is almost a pop song). On the final track “Life of the Party” Boosie Badazz drops by, giving his verdict on the pandemic: “Fuck Corona!”

Ray Garraty

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 23

AO3 link here

It starts with England for their thirtieth anniversary. He surprises her with the tickets three weeks in advance, mid-August, so that she has enough time to arrange to be away. She’s been back since the end of the war, but mostly on business and they’ve never been together. Now Peggy takes him to what was once her house, sketching with hands and words the way things had been, the way that they still are in her memories, although the reality has changed so much. He had done the same as they went past now-demolished tenements and renovated schoolhouses back in Brooklyn. They walk arm in arm down London streets they once strode down in uniform, side by careful side, and marvel at how different it all has become.

After that, they chose somewhere new every year: Spain, Japan, Brazil, Morocco. They try to find native guides in each destination, someone to show off the hidden treasures that tourists don’t usually know about or take the time to see. Steve puts together albums to show the kids when they come home. As he flips through the pages, he notices that they have automatic positions that they assume for pictures together, wherever they are in the world.

They have been in Russia for a week before they go to Volgograd, and even then Steve delays. They go to a few museums, take a city walking tour, visit the Eltonsky Natural Park and its surprisingly lovely salt lake, and Peggy is wondering how much longer he is going to put it off when he asks her if she would like to do some shopping after lunch.

“Certainly,” she says, finishing off the last of the medovik she had ordered for dessert. “And it seems the perfect time for it: to be honest, I’m not sure that even I could tour another war monument.”

They pick up some general souvenirs for the kids - pretty little pottery dishes, elaborately painted Matryoshka dolls, lovely and delicate Orenburg shawls - at the various shops along the street. They are each carrying a weighty bag by the time they reach the music store.

“Good afternoon,” a woman’s voice calls in Russian from deep in the crowded shop, and a moment later she steps out to rest her hands on the counter. Her face is young but a bit careworn, a few silvery strands already sneaking into her hair, although it is hard to tell whether it is from age or simply the propensity for redheads to begin getting white hairs early.

“Can I help you?” she asks, looking between Peggy and Steve.

Peggy steps forward. “Good afternoon. We are visiting from America, and were doing some shopping in your neighborhood.” Her Russian is, as she would say with just a bit of satisfaction, quite serviceable. The woman smiles.

“We do not see many tourists here, so I am happy you were able to visit. Are you shopping for something special?”

Before Peggy can answer, there is the light, sharp sound of heels tapping downstairs and a small girl, red hair pinned back from her face, enters behind her mother.

“Mamochka, are you certain I don’t have my dancing class today?” she asks winningly, barely glancing at the strangers in the shop.

“Yes, Natashenka,” says the woman, with that mix of fondness and real weariness that Steve knows well. “I am certain that you don’t have your dancing class today, because it is Wednesday and you dance on Monday.”

“Ah.” The girl purses her lips, standing on her tiptoes and taking a few steps back and forth, running a finger along the counter.

“But Wednesday,” continues her mother, “is the perfect day to practice the violin, hmm?”

With a charming smile: “Are you sure? Maybe Thursday would be better.”

“Wednesday and also Thursday would be just fine for me,” and Steve stifles a laugh at the pout on Natasha’s face before she sighs and moves back among the rows of instruments and sheet music.

“I apologize,” says the woman, turning back to Steve and Peggy. “What were you looking for?”

“Our daughter plays the piano,” Peggy lies. “And we wondered if you might have some traditional sheet music for us to bring back. Folk songs, perhaps.”

“I’d like to explore the shop, if you don’t mind,” Steve says, knowing that his Russian is more formal and less fluid or practiced than Peggy’s. It doesn’t seem to matter; he is waved back as the two women fall into conversation.

The shop is narrow but fairly deep. There are thick carpets on the floors, handheld instruments along one wall - strings hanging or propped on stands, woodwinds in little carved nooks, a few brass items and an accordian interspersed between - and drawers along the other, presumably for sheet music. He follows the tentative plucking of violin strings back until he finds a little rehearsal space with music stands and a small upright piano. Little Natasha stands in the center with her shoes off, toes curling in the carpet as she rests the instrument on her shoulder.

“Hello,” he says, his voice pitched not loudly enough to disturb, but not softly enough for a secret either.

“Hello,” she returns, eagerly letting her bow rest against the floor as she turns to him, ready to be distracted.

“Would you play something for me?” he asks. “It can be anything you like.”

“I don’t know how to play songs I like yet,” she says, drooping a little. He smiles. He remembers a preference for - simultaneously - classical music and female fronted punk, but he doesn’t think that’s what this girl has in mind.

“Then maybe just something you’ve been practicing? I’d like to hear you.”

She takes a deep breath in and plays a simple but lively piece. Even he can hear the mistakes, but it’s pretty and more than he could ever attempt. The melody continues rising, not quite hitting a crescendo before she pulls the bow away and says, “That’s all I remember.”

He puts down his bag to clap politely. “That was very good,” he says. “I’m sure your mother is very proud.”

She makes a face. “She says that I could be better, that she started practicing when she was even younger than me. But she also says that Papa was born with a violin in his hand, and I don’t think that can be true.”

“I suppose you come from a very musical family,” Steve says, trying to blank his face although he suspects that a smile is still playing around his mouth.

“Mama says that music comes to us like water comes to the Volga.” She sets the violin on the piano bench and perches up on her tiptoes again. “But I have a secret.” She tilts her head in question, wondering if he is trustworthy, and he crouches automatically, tilting his head in receptive return.

She leans in a little before she whispers, “I want to be a dancer, not a musician.” She does a little pirouette, girlish and clumsy and eager, her arms out and toes barely avoiding being tangled in the carpet pile. She faces him again with an enormous smile, a little mischievous in a way that is familiar, free in a way that is not.

Steve thinks of the restraint in Natasha as he knew her, the deliberation taken with every action, even with her joy. He swallows against the pain in his throat.

“I think that you will be a very excellent dancer,” he says. “But music is good for learning too. My children did not learn about music from me, and needed to learn on their own.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Four.” He takes a photo out of his wallet and shows her. “My daughters,” he says, pointing. “And my son. And my grandsons. And two husbands and one wife.”

She looks at the smiling strangers in the picture then back up at him. “Why do you talk like that? Your words are so strange.”

“I’m American. I usually speak English. I haven’t spoken Russian in a long time.”

Natasha considers this, then declares magnanimously, “For a Russian, you do not speak very good Russian, but for an American you are excellent.”

“Thank you.” Steve laughs, and stands to his feet once more. “A friend taught me.”

He had not asked her to do it, but in those years of partnering on missions for SHIELD and then later, after Tony had stepped away and Clint had left and Bruce was locked in his lab, when it was just the shattered two of them helping to keep some sort of order...He never questioned when or why she started her little lessons, just took them in. He had trusted Natasha, had admired and fought beside her, had mourned her, mourns her still in some ways, but there was so much he had hoped to understand about her and never can.

The little girl who will never be Natasha Romanoff slips her hand into his. “She must have been a very good friend. I would not have so much patience.”

“She was,” Steve says, gently squeezing her small fingers, “a very good friend.”

The information he had to find her had been so limited. Red hair. Russia. “Natasha, daughter of Ivan,” Clint had reported to them, and despite its source, Steve trusted that more than he did whatever information had been fed to Zola. He assumed that Natalia Alianovna Romanoff was a Red Room created background, but even that couldn’t be certain.

“Less common names would have been quite helpful,” Peggy had said each time she watched Steve pore over SHIELD-provided records of births in Russia. Later, once they had narrowed things down and moved on to the photographs snapped by agents in the area on other assignments, she reminded him carefully that they did not know whether she had been born somewhere rural or at home, without complete records, with a different name, if her parents had perhaps never been in a position to meet at all. But Peggy also never stopped him or told him to give up or refused to transmit his requests. She would have done the same for a missing agent, an untraceable friend.

(There were so many factors and it was still quicksilver confusion, even after all this time, especially after all this time - the changes and their ripples. Twenty-five years ago, he had the SHIELD clipping bureau on a standing assignment for local Iowa birth announcements, ten years ago for circus advertisements. Now he’s moved on to crime blotters, and in the surrounding states too, but he hasn’t found a trace of Clint or his brother. He doesn’t know if they’ve disappeared or if he just hasn’t come across them.)

And then the Volgograd file had been delivered.

She was a year younger than had been claimed, not quite three in the picture he saw and more daughter of Alyona now, considering Ivan had been killed in a car accident before she could walk. Living in an apartment above the family music store, living in a world where the Red Room would never come knocking, where she would grow up entirely different from the person he had known. He had recognized her immediately.

He had told Peggy for several years that he hadn’t needed to see her, that he knew that she was safe and that was enough.

And then she suggested Russia. And suddenly he did want to see.

They are slightly quieter than usual but only slightly as they return to their hotel to deposit their bags, as they find a restaurant for dinner and chat over their meal (lamb-filled dumplings called beriki for Peggy, a delicious but less adventurous beef stroganoff for Steve), take a short walk and return to their hotel to get ready for bed.

Steve can’t sleep. He lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling until he finally whispers, “Peg? Are you awake?”

Though she’s turned over on her side and burrowed beneath the blankets, she answers immediately and with surprising lucidity. “Well, I was wondering how long you would take.”

“What do you mean?”

She eases over onto her other side to look at him even in the darkness. “You were going to ask me once again if I think that you’ve endangered the world further by shifting the circumstances that resulted in your friends becoming heroes. And I would remind you that people can have perfectly average and non-traumatic childhoods and still find courage within themselves when called for it, and also point out that fortunately, shifting the circumstances has created less of a need for a band of enhanced crime-fighters and will hopefully continue to do so. And then you were to have some sweet and honorable realization about human nature being good at the core and not needing the crucible of damage for that to come out, and you would tell me that I’m correct and kiss me and then finally be able to fall asleep.”

He laughs. “We’ve done this before, huh?”

“Several times,” she says dryly, but not without fondness.

“It’s hard for me to really take it in,” he says, turning toward her too. His voice is serious again. “I keep wondering if I’ve taken away these amazing people who could have been, who could have protected the world if we had made a mess of things.”

“Or,” she points out, equally serious now, “you’ve simply allowed them to be amazing in different ways, and to suffer less as they work toward it.”

He thinks of Bruce, in school even now, still brilliant, with a mother and stepfather he apparently goes to visit over breaks. Steve had glimpsed him once while visiting Drea in Boston. They had passed each other at the Public Gardens entirely by coincidence, Bruce grinning at a friend as they went down into the subway station in a way that Steve almost didn’t recognize, not noticing the man staring at him. He thinks of Sam, still a kid now. Military recruiters don’t come to high schools anymore. He remembers Natasha today, loved and loving, unbounded.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he says. “Thinking of them out in the world, but that I’m the only one who will ever know the versions of them that I did. It’s hard to carry the reality of it alone, even if I think they’re better for it.”

“It’s always been hard, the things we carry, but worthwhile, I think. And necessary.”

He kisses her. “You’re probably right,” he says, stroking a thumb along her temple and brushing the hair back gently from her face.

“Hmm.” She turns back over, settling against him. After a moment she says, “Perhaps someplace warm and relaxing for next year?”

“We’ve tried that. You always say that you want to relax but then end up solving a local murder or getting rid of a corrupt police chief,” Steve points out.

“Well, precisely,” she says, and he laughs and puts an arm around her and allows himself to try for sleep.

More chapters here

[the-marx-brothers-will-live-on]

Arthur "Harpo" Marx (born Adolph Marx; November 23, 1888 – September 28, 1964) was an American comedian, actor, mime artist, and musician, and the second-oldest of the Marx Brothers. In contrast to the mainly verbal comedy of his brothers Groucho Marx and Chico Marx, Harpo's comic style was visual, being an example of both clown and pantomime traditions. He wore a curly reddish blond wig, and never spoke during performances (he blew a horn or whistled to communicate). He frequently used props such as a horn cane, made up of a pipe, tape, and a bulbhorn, and he played the harp in most of his films.

Harpo was born on November 23, 1888, in Manhattan. He grew up in a neighborhood now known as Carnegie Hill on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, on East 93rd Street off Lexington Avenue. The turn-of-the-century tenement that Harpo later called (in his autobiography Harpo Speaks!) "the first real home I can remember" was populated with European immigrants, mostly artisans—which even included a glass blower. Just across the street were the oldest brownstones in the area, owned by people like David L. Loew and William Orth.

Harpo's parents were Sam Marx (called "Frenchie" throughout his life) and his wife, Minnie Schoenberg Marx. Minnie's brother was Al Shean. Marx's family was Jewish. His mother was from East Frisia in Germany, and his father was a native of Alsace in France and worked as a tailor.

Harpo received little formal education and left grade school at age eight (mainly due to bullying) during his second attempt to pass the second grade. He began to work, gaining employment in numerous odd jobs alongside his brother Chico to contribute to the family income, including selling newspapers, working in a butcher shop, and as an errand office boy.

In January 1910, Harpo joined two of his brothers, Julius (later "Groucho") and Milton (later "Gummo"), to form "The Three Nightingales", later changed to simply "The Marx Brothers". Multiple stories—most unsubstantiated—exist to explain Harpo's evolution as the "silent" character in the brothers' act. In his memoir, Groucho wrote that Harpo simply wasn't very good at memorizing dialogue, and thus was ideal for the role of the "dunce who couldn't speak", a common character in vaudeville acts of the time.

Harpo gained his stage name during a card game at the Orpheum Theatre in Galesburg, Illinois. The dealer (Art Fisher) called him "Harpo" because he played the harp. He learned how to hold it properly from a picture of an angel playing a harp that he saw in a five-and-dime. No one in town knew how to play the harp, so Harpo tuned it as best he could, starting with one basic note and tuning it from there. Three years later he found out he had tuned it incorrectly, but he could not have tuned it properly; if he had, the strings would have broken each night. Harpo's method placed much less tension on the strings.[citation needed] Although he played this way for the rest of his life, he did try to learn how to play correctly, and he spent considerable money hiring the best teachers. They spent their time listening to him, fascinated by the way he played. The major exception was Mildred Dilling, a professional harpist who did teach Harpo the proper techniques of the instrument and collaborated with him regularly when he had difficulty with various compositions.

In the autobiography Harpo Speaks! (1961), he recounts how Chico found him jobs playing piano to accompany silent movies. Unlike Chico, Harpo could play only two songs on the piano, "Waltz Me Around Again, Willie" and "Love Me and the World Is Mine," but he adapted this small repertoire in different tempos to suit the action on the screen. He was also seen playing a portion of Rachmaninoff's "Prelude in C# minor" in A Day at the Races and chords on the piano in A Night at the Opera, in such a way that the piano sounded much like a harp, as a prelude to actually playing the harp in that scene.

Harpo had changed his name from Adolph to Arthur by 1911. This was due primarily to his dislike for the name Adolph (as a child, he was routinely called "Ahdie" instead). The name change may have also happened because of the similarity between Harpo's name and Adolph Marks, a prominent show business attorney in Chicago. Urban legends stating that the name change came about during World War I due to anti-German sentiment in the US, or during World War II because of the stigma that Adolf Hitler imposed on the name, are groundless.

His first screen appearance was in the film Humor Risk (1921), with his brothers, although according to Groucho, it was only screened once and then lost. Four years later, Harpo appeared without his brothers in Too Many Kisses (1925), four years before the brothers' first released film, The Cocoanuts (1929). In Too Many Kisses, Harpo spoke the only line he would ever speak on-camera in a movie: "You sure you can't move?" (said to the film's tied-up hero before punching him). Fittingly, it was a silent movie, and the audience saw only his lips move and the line on a title card.

Harpo was often cast as Chico's eccentric partner-in-crime, whom he would often help by playing charades to tell of Groucho's problem, and/or annoy by giving Chico his leg, either to give it a rest or as an alternative to a handshake.

Harpo became known for prop-laden sight gags, in particular the seemingly infinite number of odd things stored in his topcoat's oversized pockets. In the film Horse Feathers (1932), Groucho, referring to an impossible situation, tells Harpo that he cannot "burn the candle at both ends." Harpo immediately produces from within his coat pocket a lit candle burning at both ends. In the same film, a homeless man on the street asks Harpo for money for a cup of coffee, and he subsequently produces a steaming cup, complete with saucer, from inside his coat. Also in Horse Feathers, he has a fish and a sword, and when he wants to go to his speakeasy, he stabs the fish in its mouth with his sword to give the password, "Swordfish." In Duck Soup, he produces a lit blowtorch to light a cigar. As author Joe Adamson put in his book, Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Sometimes Zeppo, "The president of the college has been shouted down by a mute."

Harpo often used facial expressions and mime to get his point across. One of his facial expressions, which he used in every Marx Brothers film and stage play, beginning with Fun in Hi Skule, was known as "the Gookie." Harpo created it by mimicking the expression of Mr. Gehrke, a New York tobacconist who would make a similar face while concentrating on rolling cigars.

Harpo further distinguished his character by wearing a "fright wig". Early in his career it was dyed pink, as evidenced by color film posters of the time and by allusions to it in films, with character names such as "Pinky" in Duck Soup. It tended to show as blond on-screen due to the black-and-white film stock at the time. Over time, he darkened the pink to more of a reddish color, again films alluded to it with character names such as "Rusty".

His non-speaking in his early films was occasionally referred to by the other Marx Brothers, who were careful to imply that his character's not speaking was a choice rather than a disability. They would make joking reference to this part of his act. For example, in Animal Crackers his character was ironically dubbed "The Professor". In The Cocoanuts, this exchange occurred:

Groucho: "Who is this?"

Chico: "Dat's-a my partner, but he no speak."

Groucho: "Oh, that's your silent partner!"

In later films, Harpo was repeatedly put in situations where he attempted to convey a vital message by whistling and pantomime, reinforcing the idea that his character was unable to speak.

The Marxes' film At the Circus (1939) contains a unique scene where Harpo is ostensibly heard saying "A-choo!" twice, as he sneezes. It is unclear, however, whether he actually voiced the line, or if he mimed it while someone said it off-camera.

In 1933, following U.S. diplomatic recognition of the Soviet Union, he spent six weeks in Moscow as a performer and goodwill ambassador. His tour was a huge success. Harpo's name was transliterated into Russian, using the Cyrillic alphabet, as ХАРПО МАРКС, and was billed as such during his Soviet Union appearances. Harpo, having no knowledge of Russian, pronounced it as "Exapno Mapcase". At that time Harpo and the Soviet Foreign Minister Maxim Litvinov became friends and even performed a routine on stage together. During this time he served as a secret courier; delivering communiques to and from the US embassy in Moscow at the request of Ambassador William Christian Bullitt, Jr., smuggling the messages in and out of Russia by taping a sealed envelope to his leg beneath his trousers, an event described in David Fromkin's 1995 book In the Time of the Americans. In Harpo Speaks!, Marx describes his relief at making it out of the Soviet Union, recalling how "I pulled up my pants, ripped off the tape, unwound the straps, handed over the dispatches from Ambassador Bullitt, and gave my leg its first scratch in ten days."

The Russia trip was later memorialized in a bizarre science fiction novella, The Foreign Hand Tie by Randall Garrett, a tale of telepathic spies which is full of references to the Marx Brothers and their films (The title itself is a Marx-like pun on the dual ideas of a "foreign hand" and a style of neckwear known as a "four-in-hand tie.")

In 1936, he was one of a number of performers and celebrities to appear as caricatures in the Walt Disney Production of Mickey's Polo Team. Harpo was part of a team of polo-playing movie stars which included Charlie Chaplin and Laurel and Hardy. His mount was an ostrich. Walt Disney would later have Harpo (with Groucho and Chico) appear as one of King Cole's "Fiddlers Three" in the Silly Symphony Mother Goose Goes Hollywood.

Harpo was also caricatured in Sock-A-Bye Baby (1934), an early episode of the Popeye cartoon series created by Fleischer Studios. Harpo is playing the harp, and wakes up Popeye's baby, and then Popeye punches and apparantly "kills" him. (After Popeye hits him, a halo appears over his head and he floats to the sky.)

Friz Freleng's 1936 Merrie Melodies cartoon The Coo-Coo Nut Grove featuring animal versions of assorted celebrities, caricatures Harpo as a bird with a red beak. When he first appears, he is chasing a woman, but the woman later turns out to be Groucho.

Harpo also took an interest in painting, and a few of his works can be seen in his autobiography. In the book, Marx tells a story about how he tried to paint a nude female model, but froze up because he simply did not know how to paint properly. The model took pity on him, however, showing him a few basic strokes with a brush, until finally Harpo (fully clothed) took the model's place as the subject and the naked woman painted his portrait.

Harpo recorded an album of harp music for RCA Victor (Harp by Harpo, 1952) and two for Mercury Records (Harpo in Hi-Fi, 1957; Harpo at Work, 1958).

Harpo made television appearances through the 1950s and 60s, including a 1955 episode of I Love Lucy, in which he and Lucille Ball re-enacted the famous mirror scene from the Marx Brothers movie Duck Soup (1933).[19] In this scene, they are both supposed to be Harpo, not Groucho; he stays the same and she is dressed as him. About this time, he also appeared on NBC's The Martha Raye Show. Harpo and Chico played a television anthology episode of General Electric Theater entitled "The Incredible Jewelry Robbery" entirely in pantomime in 1959, with a brief surprise appearance by Groucho at the end. In 1960, he appeared in an episode of The DuPont Show with June Allyson entitled "A Silent Panic", playing a deaf-mute who, as a "mechanical man" in a department store window, witnessed a gangland murder. In 1961, he made guest appearances on The Today Show, Play Your Hunch, Candid Camera, I've Got a Secret, Here's Hollywood, Art Linkletter's House Party, Groucho's quiz show You Bet Your Life, The Ed Sullivan Show, and Your Surprise Package to publicize his autobiography Harpo Speaks!.

In November 1961 he guest-starred with Carol Burnett in an installment of The DuPont Show of the Week entitled "The Wonderful World of Toys". The show was filmed in Central Park and featured Marx playing "Autumn Leaves" on the harp. Other stars appearing in the episode included Eva Gabor, Audrey Meadows, Mitch Miller and Milton Berle. A visit to the set inspired poet Robert Lowell to compose a poem about Marx.

Harpo's two final television appearances came less than a month apart in late 1962. He portrayed a guardian angel on CBS's The Red Skelton Show on September 25. He guest starred as himself on October 20 in the episode "Musicale" of ABC's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, a sitcom starring Fess Parker, based on the 1939 Frank Capra film.

Harpo married actress Susan Fleming on September 28, 1936. The wedding became public knowledge after President Franklin D. Roosevelt sent the couple a telegram of congratulations the following month. Harpo's marriage, like Gummo's, was lifelong. (Groucho was divorced three times, Zeppo twice, Chico once.) The couple adopted four children: Bill, Alex, Jimmy, and Minnie. When he was asked by George Burns in 1948 how many children he planned to adopt, he answered, "I’d like to adopt as many children as I have windows in my house. So when I leave for work, I want a kid in every window, waving goodbye."

Harpo was good friends with theater critic Alexander Woollcott, and became a regular member of the Algonquin Round Table. He once said his main contribution was to be the audience for the quips of other members. In their play The Man Who Came to Dinner, George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart based the character of "Banjo" on Harpo. Harpo later played the role in Los Angeles opposite Woollcott, who had inspired the character of Sheridan Whiteside.

In 1961 Harpo published his autobiography, Harpo Speaks!. Because he never spoke a word in character, many believed he actually was mute. In fact, radio and TV news recordings of his voice can be found on the Internet, in documentaries, and on bonus materials of Marx Brothers DVDs. A reporter who interviewed him in the early 1930s wrote that "he [Harpo] ... had a deep and distinguished voice, like a professional announcer", and like his brothers, spoke with a New York accent his entire life. According to those who personally knew him, Harpo's voice was much deeper than Groucho's, but it also sounded very similar to Chico's. His son, Bill, recalled that in private Harpo had a very deep and mature soft-spoken voice, but that he was "not verbose" like the other Marx brothers; Harpo preferred listening and learning from others.

Harpo's final public appearance came on January 19, 1963, with singer/comedian Allan Sherman. Sherman burst into tears when Harpo announced his retirement from the entertainment business. Comedian Steve Allen, who was in the audience, remembered that Harpo spoke for several minutes about his career, and how he would miss it all, and repeatedly interrupted Sherman when he tried to speak. The audience found it charmingly ironic, Allen said, that Harpo, who had never before spoken on stage or screen, "wouldn't shut up!" Harpo, an avid croquet player, was inducted into the Croquet Hall of Fame in 1979.

Harpo Marx died on September 28, 1964, (his 28th wedding anniversary), at age 75 in a West Los Angeles hospital, one day after undergoing heart surgery. Harpo's death was said to have hit the surviving Marx brothers very hard. Groucho's son Arthur Marx, who attended the funeral with most of the Marx family, later said that Harpo's funeral was the only time in his life that he ever saw his father cry. In his will, Harpo Marx donated his trademark harp to the State of Israel. His remains were cremated, and his ashes were scattered at a golf course in Rancho Mirage, California.