#Rufus Raucous

[scrappedtogether]

Relationships in Scooby Doo (22/∞) ~ Phylidia & Rufus

[romancemedia]

The first clue in the mystery of Rufus Raucous Ghost (1x07)

[bouwrites]

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 37

Interlude: Bridging Frigid Seas

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

12th of the Harpstring Moon, 1181

Veery,

I trust you are well. When Lysithea and the others told me that Edelgard had you at her blade when they were pushed back, I admit I feared the worst. Even now, though I trust Anna’s word and the rumors of your… interesting exploits with her on your way out of Fódlan, I find myself wondering if I am not truly just writing to no one.

Do not feel like you need to hurry a response, though. Knowing you, and remembering your tales of your homeland, I am not expecting a letter from you anytime soon. Still, Anna told me that she would get this to her sister – and whenever you drop by, she will get it to you.

Much has happened since you were captured, and I am sorry to say that it is not all good news. You remember our alliance with Faerghus and the church? Not long after the Empire took Garreg Mach, Grand Duke Rufus, the regent in the Kingdom, was assassinated. Apparently, Dimitri is the one that killed him.

I will be honest; I do not buy it. Even so, Dimitri is the one that got the blame. As I write this letter, he is imprisoned, awaiting his execution. I wish there was something I could do for him, but with my hands full managing the Alliance, and myself being an Alliance noble, I can only leave it in the hands of Duke Fraldarius and hope that he finds some way to bring the truth to light.

Naturally, the Kingdom is fractured. A woman named Cornelia, highly regarded in the Kingdom for some time now, is leading what she is calling the Faerghus Dukedom and completely ceding to Edelgard’s rule. Our Lions are still fighting, but most other major families in Faerghus have handed control over to Cornelia, and by extension Edelgard. This means that Edelgard now controls half the Kingdom without even invading. It is too convenient, so I can only assume that she has something to do with framing Dimitri. Her, or her friends.

But you do not need to hear about everything going wrong here. You will be happy to hear that, aside from the terrible news I have already shared, everyone is doing alright. Most of us have gone back to our families, and we are all keeping in touch.

That means you, too. I said I do not expect a response soon, but you better get back to me. Words by your hand will go a long way in easing my heart. I thought you dead for over a month, after all, and you know that doubt does not fade so easily.

Your friend and brother,

C

P.S. I know you are terrible with time, so do remember to look at the dates on these letters. I worry that they will be the only way you will know what year it is.

24th of the Blue Sea Moon, 1181

Veery,

I am calculating how long it takes a letter to reach Albinea from here. Today is my birthday, you know, which does not mean much to you, but for us is an important milestone. With everything happening, the idea that I have survived another year is more worth celebrating than ever.

I wish you were here to enjoy the grand feast I’m throwing. You would slip out after eating your fill, I know. You could never stand such a raucous evening in full. But even so to not see you at all is like missing a piece of myself.

But I will not complain. You are home and safe from this war, which is more than I can ask for. The peace of mind I have knowing that you are out of Edelgard’s reach far outweighs your empty seat at my table. Stay alive, stay flexible, and keep dreaming. I will ask nothing more of you.

Speaking of you, though, are you making friends up there? I’m imagining you trying to get back to your regular life and failing miserably as either the humans or agell (or maybe both?) immediately drag you into more nonsense just like us Deer used to. I am not too far off the mark, am I?

If I am not, give them a chance, will you? It is not a request or order, but just a friend’s advice. I know what you are thinking about, and as I have told you before, Catherine would have ruined any attempt to speak to the people. Things turned out badly, but it was none of your doing. You are much more charismatic than you think you are. Or, perhaps, than you want to be.

But if you are making friends up there, or see opportunities to make friends, give it a try. I know I would not have made it this far without you and the Deer. Even if you do not believe you will get anywhere, do not give up on our Arcadia. As soon as I am done here in Fódlan, I will come up to help you break down the walls between us in Albinea, too.

We may be separated and facing terrible odds, but we are the Golden Deer, and we are family. We will see each other again, and when that day comes, I will greet you as my brother and your people as humans should have always greeted the agell.

I miss you, my friend.

C

25th of the Ethereal Moon, 1181

Veery,

One year ago, we made a promise to meet at the monastery five years from that date. Somehow, I suspect that the millennium festival will not be happening anymore. It is four years out still, so I suppose it is possible, but with Edelgard’s war continuing even now, I do not find myself hopeful.

Of course, you would prefer there be no grand celebration. Unless your time back home has changed you, knowing there will be no millennium festival must be a great relief. I am not you, and the festival will be sorely missed by me, but I am choosing to take solace in the simple fact that a small class reunion will be a far more comfortable atmosphere for you, my brother, than the biggest festival in Fódlan’s history.

On this day, I reflect on our time together and eagerly await the moment we meet again. In my head, I know that you will not respond to this letter. Anna told me that you had not yet stopped by to receive the other ones, and with winter upon us I know that you will not do so at least until the snows have begun to thaw. In my head, I know this, but in my heart every day without word of you fills me with dread.

I did not write this before, and I know it does not matter if I had, since you have yet to read those words regardless, but I may have stretched the truth somewhat in my first letter to you. I did not want to burden you, especially after sharing the news of Dimitri, and I did not want you to feel at all guilty for going home while we are at war. But, my friend, the truth is that I am struggling.

All our Deer may be living as best they can in these difficult times, but what I neglected to tell you is that Teach is missing. She vanished during the battle at Garreg Mach. Rumor is that she fell off a cliff, but no attempt to find her has been successful. Most assume she is dead.

I know better. There is no way that Teach will die to something like that. Still, her loss cuts keenly. That she is not at my side hurts in the same way that you being so far hurts, and yet with her I do not even have anything but my own gut to tell me that she is alive.

As time passes, I must face the truth. I will not believe it. Not yet. But I must accept that I must fight this war, at least for the time being, without Teach. And though I know that you will not respond to this letter in many moons, if at all, I beg for some sure sign that you yet live.

I do not believe you will die any more than I believe that Teach will, and yet my heart is burdened still. If, by chance, Teach is never found, I absolutely cannot lose you, too.

You are my family. I love you. So, do not die so far out of my reach.

Your friend and brother,

C

17th of the Red Wolf Moon, 1182

Veery,

Are you alive? It is winter once again and still I receive no word. Anna tells me that her sister has not seen you since you left them. I know that Albinea is your home, and that you know how to survive it, but what am I meant to think when we approach two years of silence and the last sure sign of you was under Edelgard’s axe? I know well your desire for solitude, and how quickly you can forget the passing of time, but two years is a bit excessive, my friend.

And yet the truth is that I am just complaining because I can. I know that you will write back to me sooner or later, and I will endeavor to continue waiting patiently. I would say there is no rush, but you are not reading these, so I know you are not simply unsure how or when to reply.

Know this, Veery, though I miss you greatly, I do not need letters to know in my heart that you are doing just fine. You have faced doubt and moved forward in far worse odds than I do now, and I follow your example. Faith is just about the last thing any sane man will accuse me of, but for you, and in you, and in Teach as well, I have plenty.

That is why this letter is not to beg you for a response or to let me see you once again. I know that, when the time comes, you will read these. The true purpose of this letter is to update you on the state of things here.

My grandfather is dead. As far as it concerns the war, little changes. I have been the effective leader of the Alliance since the war began, so luckily, my grandfather’s passing does not significantly affect our resistance.

Personally, I wish I could say as much. I cannot say I was particularly close to my grandfather, or even that I liked him much, but I did respect him. He was desperate for an heir, and I was his only choice. I am under no illusion that he liked me any more than I did him. All the same, he made a choice to take me in, one he did not have to make. Not just to name me heir, but to treat me as someone worthy of inheriting his title. He was a wise man who thought beyond conventional borders. I knew this day was approaching, but even so I am sad to see it come.

I suppose losing him has me thinking about you and Teach again. Other than that, we are in a stalemate, as we have been almost since you left. The only other thing of special note that does not include me complaining about Alliance politics is that I officially own my family’s Relic now.

The sacred bow, Failnaught. Knowing what it truly is, is disturbing, but its power is undeniable. I truly wish I never had to use it. I can feel it wear away at my soul every time I draw an arrow. Without context, I have no clue how I would feel about it but knowing what I am wielding makes this price seem justly taken.

I do not know how to put it into words. The best I can do is that it is like a river cutting a canyon into me. Every arrow and the stream washes away a little more of something deep inside of me. Is it safe to use this Relic, even bearing its matching Crest? History says it must be. Generations of our parents have wielded these weapons for their lifetimes, and not all were during peacetime. Still, it is unsettling.

I wonder if what is being worn away from me is being claimed by the Relic. Or perhaps reclaimed? Could this thing be shearing away at my Crest itself? Taking back the power that we humans stole from it?

Those are questions for Hanneman, I suppose. Not you. I do so miss talking through wild theories with you, though. And do not worry. I may be waxing poetic about this Relic business, but the effect is not as severe as I make it sound. Besides, I am the head of the Alliance. I am not doing most of the fighting myself, anyway. Not yet.

And if this does concern you, perhaps you can come back and try your heart-resonance thing with me? Maybe you can feel my Crest. I honestly do not remember if we ever tried that before.

Your friend and brother,

C

3rd of the Great Tree Moon, 1183

Veery,

Holst asked after you. I did not know that you left such an impression on him. You did only meet the once, right? I guess he expected you to be back by now. I told him that that was always unlikely. Of course, I have the knowledge that going home to stay was always your goal.

I think about you often. Tell me if I am wrong, but you told me that your reason for wanting our dream in the first place is simply so that you can live without fear. I suspect that you may already have reached your goal. The world may not have changed, but you have. You are not the scaredy-cat you were when we first met. If that is the case, then it should not be surprising if we never see you again.

That is just not acceptable, though, so I am afraid that I am going to have to hold you to your promise. Remember the Ethereal Moon, 1185. That is when the millennium festival is meant to be, and the date that all of us Deer reunite. I am counting on you being there. You, and Teach. I will try to end this war before then, so you do not need to worry about the fighting. And once this war is over, you also told me that you would let me bring you down here for the winter. I fully intend to make good on that promise, as well.

Whatever the case, the Gonerils were in Derdriu for a while as the new year came. Spring is upon us now, and Hilda is the same as ever. Everyone is the same as ever, really. The war takes its toll on all of us, but no one will be unrecognizable when you return.

Marianne stopped by as well, and she confided in me about her secret. I understand now why she seemed to like you, compared to a lot of us, and why you had that theory before. I should not write too much about her secrets just in case this letter is intercepted somewhere. (Although, with these going through Anna, I sincerely doubt that is possible.) Still, I did want to mention this; the implications of this are amazing. I desperately wish I could talk to you about them, though I did have an awfully long, candid conversation with Marianne herself, so I cannot complain.

It is really amazing how Marianne has changed. She is still the same old Marianne, but so much more content. I think she is really taking yours and Hanneman’s words to heart. She has grown a lot, and I look forward to seeing her grow even more.

Anyway, I will keep waiting for you to finally talk to Anna and get these. I just could not help myself but write to you again after speaking with Marianne and Hilda recently. Winter is over, so the time that you might visit Anna is drawing near once more. I wish I knew more about when exactly the cold begins to recede up there in Albinea. I can only imagine that the harshness of your winters lasts a bit longer than ours.

Oh, and when I am not juggling the round table down here, I continue studying my Albinean. Unfortunately, there is no teacher or records here to help me with Ancient, though I am trying my best to retain what you have shared. But I am using everything I can for Albinean, at least. So, if you bring some friends when you come next, you can all laugh at my no-doubt atrocious accent.

Your friend and brother,

C

“Is something wrong, Veery?”

Veery jumps a little, not expecting anyone to approach him, and looks up into Sadi’s concerned gaze. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Oh, uh… not really. I just… forgot about something for too long and now I’m trying to figure out how to face it.”

Sadi’s lips quirk upwards, her blue tail swishing playfully behind her. “Does it have something to do with those papers in your lap, by chance?” She sidles up to him, kneeling at his side to peek at the papers before screwing up her face in distaste. “What are they? This is human script.”

“Letters from a friend in Fódlan. Claude.”

Sadi arches her brow. “You went into a human town again?”

Veery shrugs. “I did. I’m glad I did. I didn’t even realize that it’s been two years until I read these.” He sighs. “I really need to write back to him, if only so that he knows I’m still alive.”

Sadi groans, shaking her head. “I still don’t know how to feel about this, Veery.”

“About… talking to the humans?”

She nods. “I have yet to meet a human that wouldn’t kill me on sight. I can’t say I’ve never thought about finding some common ground with them but going into their towns seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“Humans are… complicated,” Veery says. “But they’re not that different from us. We have weirdos, so do they. You’ll find just as many humans willing to give us a chance as you will agell willing to give them one. More, actually, because there’s just so many of them.”

Sadi hums thoughtfully. “I suspect that you’re right. Even so, there aren’t many agell who would give humans a chance. You’re a strange one, living as close to them as you do, and even you keep a safe distance most of the time.” Eyes distant and breath wistful, she sighs. “What did your friend write about?”

“Mostly just updates on how things are going. Fódlan is at war, and he’s the leader of one of the nations there, so he has his hands full.” Veery frowns at the letters in his lap. There is a lot of information here, but one stand-out is Dimitri. Executed? “One of my friends is dead. I… wasn’t as close to him as a lot of the others, but…”

Sadi knots her brow. “I’m sorry. It’s… strange to me to mourn the loss of a human, but I am sorry that you’ve lost your friend.”

“It’s alright.” Veery sighs heavily. “There’s no way this war ends without losing friends. I’m prepared for it.”

“Right. The antagonist is your friend, as well.”

Veery nods. “Anyway. I need to figure out what I’m going to say to Claude. You should get back to the celebration.”

Sadi snorts. “It seems you are more interested in talking to humans than your fellow agell. Are they truly that much better company?”

“I don’t know,” Veery says honestly. “I haven’t spent that much time with agell to compare. I have put off talking to Claude for two years, though, so I feel he deserves a… somewhat prompt response now that I’ve finally read his letters.”

“You have all year for that.” Sadi chuckles. “Whereas it is not every day that we all gather together.”

“That’s true,” Veery admits. “I just… I miss them. My friends in Fódlan.”

Sadi frowns. Her countenance turns serious again, and thoughtful. “Will you go back to Fódlan?”

Will he? Veery is happy here in Albinea. He’s not so afraid of the humans, and he’s living alone as he always wanted. This, right now, is life at its best. The best he dares imagine. All the same… “Yes.” He can’t lie now. “I promised Claude that I’d go back for a… class reunion, of sorts. I don’t know if that will come before the end of the war, but I’m going either way. And, once the war is over, I may go south more regularly. Avoid the winter and use the time to see my friends.”

“Huh.” Sadi taps her chin. “And you truly believe that is feasible? These humans will not turn on you?”

“I trust them as much as I trust anybody,” Veery says, knowing that it’s not as firm an answer as the question truly deserves. “Claude in particular is the person that I trust the most.”

“The one who dreams of this Arcadia of yours,” Sadi hums. “Heh. I don’t believe that humans and agell can ever coexist, but… I would like to be proven wrong. It is a good cause to fight for.”

“It is,” Veery agrees. “If anyone can pull it off, I believe Claude can.”

“A human cannot build a world inclusive for agell,” Sadi says firmly, almost derisively.

“No,” Veery says. “Not alone. But Claude is willing to listen us. He can build a world that has space for us if we take part in its creation. That’s just another reason why I believe in Claude’s Arcadia over Edelgard’s.”

Sadi hums and closes her eyes. “To think that history is being formed right this moment in a continent across the sea…”

“It’s strange to consider,” Veery says with a small smile. “Isn’t it?”

“Very strange,” Sadi agrees. She shakes her head sharply. “Come. I will not let you sit here all day, you know. Hoarvug will miss you terribly if you hide away.”

Veery scrunches his nose. “Hoarvug can use his nose if he really needs me. I hope he does not.”

“Ha! Come, anyway. We should honor the sun, before it decides to slip away prematurely.”

Veery sighs. He doesn’t really want to enter the crowd, but… it is smaller than the crowd at the ball back at Garreg Mach. Plus, it is just for today. Veery has most of the rest of the year to be… relatively on his own. Caub and his family cut into that alone time a lot, but he still has a surplus of it, all things considered.

He puts his letters away and allows Sadi to lead him into the celebration proper. It’s still strange to actually take part in this, but it isn’t so bad every now and then.

“Hold a moment, Veery. I would speak with you before you go.”

“Hm? Do you need something, Sadi?”

Sadi’s eyes are fierce as she stalks up to Veery, with Hoarvug on her tail, eyeing her and Veery curiously. “Yes,” Sadi says. “I want proof. You are going to meet a human to send your letter to your friend, yes? I want to come. I would like to see with my own eyes a human who speaks to an agell as an equal.”

Sadi… come with him to see Anna? Veery has to take a moment to think. There isn’t any particular reason why she shouldn’t meet Anna if she wants to. It might be more difficult to get through town, but Sadi is definitely clever enough to get through unseen, or escape if not. “Anna doesn’t speak Ancient,” Veery says. “But if you want to come, I won’t stop you. Will you be coming, too, Hoarvug?”

Hoarvug scowls. “Meeting with a human? Bah… You are both crazy.”

Sadi chuckles. “Maybe. But we’ll be entering a human settlement. Don’t you find that exciting?”

“An assault on the humans?”

“No fighting,” Veery says sternly. “I’m just going to sneak in, give Anna my letter, and sneak out.”

Hoarvug crosses his muscled arms in a pout. “I am not some soft taguel,” he says. “You should not approach the humans either, Sadi.”

Sadi rolls her eyes. “Veery is taguel, or do you not remember?”

“Veery is not taguel!” Hoarvug laughs. “He is as true as agell come! His strength proves him beyond his odd tastes.”

“So, you admit that simply observing the humans doesn’t make you any less agell,” Sadi counters. “I would argue that you should learn all you can. An enemy you know is much easier defeated, don’t you think?”

“But much less thrilling to fight!” Hoarvug says. “Ah, I suppose you’re right. If Veery became this strong from observing the humans, imagine how strong I’ll get! And even if they like you, going into town is dangerous. I guess I can come along and keep an eye on my battle-brother.”

Veery pauses. “Really?” He looks between the two, both grinning eagerly, and frowns. “I admit, I can’t fathom why you want to do this so badly. I thought you hated the humans.”

“I do!” Hoarvug agrees immediately. “But you’ve bested me and proved yourself worth listening to. I will follow where you lead, for we are bonded in Chaos’ own crashing waves!”

Sadi smirks at Hoarvug, shaking her head before speaking to Veery. “I’m… interested. Let’s leave it at that, for now. I’ll tell you more, perhaps, if this goes well.”

“Huh.” Veery can’t say he understands Hoarvug very well, and Sadi obviously doesn’t give him an answer at all, but that’s no terrible thing. “Well, so long as you don’t try to kill anyone when we’re there, I guess it doesn’t matter what your reasons are.”

“You have my word. On my honor,” Sadi says. “Hoarvug, you promise, too.”

Hoarvug huffs. “Of course.” He sighs. “On my honor. I will not kill anyone… who does not attack me first.”

Veery chuckles. “I’ll take it. Let’s get going. It’s not a short distance.”

And it is not. Travelling with companions again reminds Veery of marching across Fódlan with the Deer. It’s nostalgic, but at the same time it reminds Veery why he prefers solitude. Dealing with people is far more stressful than simply making a journey all on his own.

Hoarvug reminds Veery a little of Caspar, and it strikes a sharp pain through his heart to be reminded of it. The vivacious, scrappy, cheeriness of his friend, someone he could grapple in the dirt with and laugh with. Someone who has a very clearly defined sense of right and wrong, no matter if others understand it or not. Hoarvug would probably hate Caspar, Veery thinks, but because they are so similar. They’re both too forceful to stand someone who matches them in that regard but believes so differently.

Oh, Caspar. Veery cannot help but wonder how he is doing. They are enemies, or were for a time before Veery was removed from the war, but they are also friends. How is Edelgard taking two years of war without getting her way? How are the Eagles who side with her?

Useless musing is all this is. Veery would do well to stop dwelling on it.

Instead, he tries to enjoy the company of his fellow agell for what it is. He is much more accustomed to people after his time in Fódlan, like a callus growing from constant wear and use, but two years alone softens that callus. He is still unsure how to act, how to behave, with two older agell following him so closely.

But they are kind to him. Sadi worries over him like a mother when she is not falling into her own silent thoughts or bickering with Hoarvug. (It’s kind of annoying, but Veery is not sure how to tell her that he’s just fine without someone checking that his paws aren’t sore.) Hoarvug himself is boisterous, complaining often about travelling so close to the humans but otherwise chattering happily about ways to get stronger. At one point, they sniff a bear, and Sadi has to scold Hoarvug out of tracking it down to fight it.

Veery mostly just watches quietly, speaking only when necessary, observing these two who decide that they want to see peaceful humans for themselves.

This is a… proof of concept, of a sort, and not even initiated by Veery. He knows that Anna will not purposely cause trouble. He may not know this Anna as well as Fódlan’s Anna, but both are consummate professionals with sharp eyes who will not endanger anyone without cause. Sadi and Hoarvug, though… promise Veery that they will behave. Veery can only believe them.

Progress does not come without taking the first step towards it. Arcadia is Claude’s to make, but if such an opportunity lands so nicely into Veery’s lap, the least he can do is change two or three hearts. That is why he even now returns to teach Caub what he knows about magic, and eventually about fighting, and that is why he decides that he is going to have to trust both sides, at some point, and risk bringing them together.

The agell and the humans. Claude will find some way to break down those barriers, as well as those mountains between even factions of the humans. Veery believes this with all his heart. But Veery also promises to support Claude, and he will continue working towards Arcadia when he can.

For that reason, Veery smiles as he leads the two other cats south.

Anna is based in a town further south than Caub’s family, who reside further up the eastern coast much closer to where Veery lives. (Insomuch as he lives in any one location at all. The truth is that he’s fairly nomadic, venturing into the western flatlands and back, crossing mountains and vales for little reason other than that he enjoys being on the move.)

That means that Sadi, Hoarvug, and Veery need to travel from the top of Albinea to the bottom to reach their destination. It sounds much more impressive than it is, though. Veery makes half the trip every few months for their regular gatherings, and the other half if he actually remembers to visit Anna. It takes a few days of travel, and that only because of the rough terrain and the fact that they move casually, with no rush to arrive, but even travelling through Fódlan’s proper roads takes longer to get across the place.

It’s certainly a less eventful road trip than the one Veery has with Anna, but that is definitely a good thing. What’s important is that they are all hale and hearty when the human port town finally comes into view.

“I will never understand why humans pack themselves into those boxes of theirs.” Hoarvug frowns, looking at the town.

“Those are their dens, Hoarvug,” Sadi says quietly. “Yours is smaller.”

Hoarvug snorts. “True, but I do not live inside my den. It’s just a place to lay my head.”

“Human dens serve more purpose, usually,” Veery says. “It’s also typically where they eat, so they have more space inside. That’s not always true, though. At Garreg Mach, the student’s rooms were just for sleeping and studying, so they had space for a bed and a desk and little else. Houses like these will usually have multiple rooms within, only one of which is reserved for sleeping.”

“They should just go outside,” Hoarvug says.

“Oh, I agree. They gave me a room at Garreg Mach but I might’ve slept in it once at most. It’s so warm down there that I usually just spent my time under the stars. Still, humans find the walls comforting.”

Hoarvug makes a face. “How very human to cage oneself and call it comfort.”

Oh, if only he knew. How many humans so happily follow whatever those arbitrarily in charge of them demand? How many look desperately for some higher power to dictate their purpose? It’s… frankly disgusting.

But it’s humanity. Veery knows better than to assign his own feelings onto another individual, much less another whole group of people. “It’s not that different to a big den, in theory. Being surrounded by something that’s theirs makes them feel safe, not caged.” Veery sighs. “Anyway, Anna’s shop is near the water. Let’s get closer.”

The three creep around the edge of town until they’re close to the coast and Anna’s shop is only a short distance away. Good. So long as they aren’t seen emerging from the forest, they should probably be fine. Veery tugs the hood of his cloak up, watching to see that Sadi follows suit without complaint.

“Hiding our ears…” Hoarvug mutters. “Disgraceful.”

“We don’t hide because we’re ashamed, Hoarvug,” Veery says gently. “We hide because we know better.”

“That does not change the fact that you are asking us to pretend to be human,” Hoarvug counters, scowling. “I am proud to be agell. I do not like the idea of hiding what I am.”

“You’re welcome to wait,” Veery says. “I find the idea of staying out like the humans want us to damages my pride more than hiding my ears and tail, personally, but if you are not willing, I can ask Anna to come out here.”

“There’s no point in that,” Sadi says. “We can’t understand her, anyway, so it’s not as if we’ll be having a proper introduction. I just want to witness your interaction with her for myself. My pride will not stop me from doing so.”

Hoarvug sighs. “Ah, Sadi is right, of course. I will come.” He pulls his hood over his head, though he frowns all the while. “I will suffer this to see what has my battle-brother so enraptured by these furless weaklings.”

“If you say so.” Veery shrugs. “Though, I’m not sure what you’re expecting.”

“Let me worry about my expectations,” Sadi says.

Hoarvug laughs. “I will look into this human’s eyes and measure their worth myself.”

“…Sure.” Veery shakes his head. “Let’s go, then. There aren’t many people around. We should move quickly.”

He leads them, thankfully undisturbed, through the town to Anna’s shop and through the door. Anna is with a customer, but eyes Veery when he enters and quickly waves him into the back room where she keeps her “secret shop” and keeps talking to the customer to distract them as Veery herds his companions into the room with him.

They aren’t waiting long before Anna comes in, grinning. “Veery! After so long with no sign of you, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she says in Albinean. “And with friends, too!”

Veery smiles awkwardly. “They didn’t believe that a human is actually friendly with us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! The more the merrier!” She giggles, then turns to the other two. “I’m Anna, as I’m sure you know. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Sadi and Hoarvug both eye him uncertainly, so Veery explains. “She just introduced herself to you.”

Sadi hums. “I got that much from hearing her name. Ah, whatever.”

Veery chuckles. “Sorry, Anna, they don’t speak human languages. She’s Sadi, and he’s Hoarvug, but you don’t need to worry about them. They’re just here to see for themselves that we get along.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anna says, waving him off. “Let’s get you sorted, then, hm? How can I help you today?”

“I could use parchment, and a quill and some ink.”

“Writing back to Claude?” Anna snickers. “It’s about time. He must be worried about you.”

Veery nods. “I feel bad for leaving him waiting all this time. I just… forgot that this is an option.”

“Of course, you did.” Anna sighs. She quickly pulls out some paper and something to write with and sets it down at a table, shuffling away a bunch of papers and books that were already there. “Here, you can use this. And don’t worry, you have more than enough from your work with my sister to cover the cost of sending it.”

Typical Anna. Considering this is the only time Veery digs into those funds at all since he gets to Albinea, he will be very surprised if he can’t afford it, though. Not that Anna doesn’t know perfectly well that Claude will cover the shipping expenses if Veery can’t.

Anna grins wolfishly and leaves him alone, telling him to just give her the letter before he leaves before leaving him to his own devises to tend her shop again.

Sadi almost immediately tests the door to ensure that it is unlocked. “Hm. She trusts us here alone with her wares.”

Veery shrugs. “Well, I helped her sister a little. She knows I’m responsible enough to trust around the stock. By the way, don’t touch anything. Besides the fact that it’s rude, Anna’s secret shop has… well it can have all sorts of things that you probably don’t want to get into. Claude buys ingredients for his poisons from Anna’s shop, and that’s just the start of the things you can find here.”

Both agell wrinkle their noses. “Poison,” Sadi huffs. “A coward’s weapon.”

“Oftentimes, yes. In the end, it’s just a tool, though. Using it doesn’t define someone, but how they use it does.”

“Wisely said,” Hoarvug hums. “And you still trust these poisoners and… peddlers of poison?”

Veery does not hesitate to say, “Absolutely. Anna is very discerning about who gets access to her secret shop. The normal wares aren’t like that. And Claude…” Very laughs, shaking his head. “I spent too long curing Claude of all the poisons he tested on himself to worry about him using them cruelly.”

“Tested on himself?” Sadi sighs. “Is his brain addled? …No matter. It seems you were right about the humans. There are those who greet you warmly, who seem to want to help you.”

Hoarvug grunts. “That Anna lady… she’s a warrior. I looked into her eyes and saw ruthlessness. Yet, she greets my battle-brother as a friend. Ha! You are right, after all! Not that I had any doubt. Your strength speaks for itself.”

Veery grins. “Yeah, Anna can be scary if she needs to be. You do not want to cheat an Anna.”

Sadi smirks. “I’m sure. Why don’t you write your letter. We’ll just wait quietly.” Her smile falls a little as she says, “I do not want to stay here any longer than I need to. Anna may be friendly but being trapped in this room is… unpleasant.”

Hoarvug eagerly agrees, so Veery placates them both and gets to work on his letter. This shouldn’t take long.

[sunfish999]

I am a major simp for rufus raucous from whats new scooby doo. and daphne but that one’s obvious. look at mans😳😳

like it should b illegal to look like that ahahhahahhs

[snakefoxcloud]

MR WACKY PANTS JUST GREETED THE LADIES AND GENTS AND POINTED TO SHAGGY AND SAID YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE I-

[myaimistrue]

ethel’s. a bobbyrufus fic written for day 3 of content creator celebration! the prompt was “hunters.”

warning for internalized homophobia and major repression (i promise this is a happy story)

read below the cut or on ao3 here!

As with most of their disagreements, Bobby knows from the start that no matter what he says, Rufus is going to get his way.

“Why would we stick around here any longer?” He says anyway. Bobby’s never been fond of the crammed-togetherness of cities, and Chicago is no different; he’s already itching to get back on the open road. “The hunt’s done. We can leave.”

“C’mon, Bobby.” Rufus gives him an easy grin. His teeth glint in the light of the parking lot fluorescents. “We never get over this way. Let me have tonight.”

“I’m tired.”

“Just one drink,” Rufus says. “There’s a bar I used to go to that I think you’d like. I’ll pay.”

Bobby scowls. “I’d like to get a move on.”

Rufus claps Bobby on the shoulder, and he’s getting in the front seat, the bastard. “Don’t worry, friend. It won’t take too long.”

So Bobby, because he can’t ever refuse Rufus anything, gets in the passenger seat and goes along for the ride.

It’s not too long before they reach the bar. It’s an out-of-the-way sort of place, tucked down a side street in what seems to be a quiet part of the city. A neon sign out front reads Ethel’s in bright purple, and Rufus breaks into a brilliant smile when he sees it.

“Ah, home sweet home.” He grabs Bobby’s wrist, so close to holding hands that Bobby considers wrenching his hand away—but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. “You’re gonna love this.”

Bobby’s not sure what he was expecting, but knowing Rufus, he thought it might be raucous, with loud music and gyrating bodies on a packed dance floor. But the inside of the bar is pretty much like any other midwestern bar Bobby’s found himself in over the years. Low lighting, quiet conversation, a pool table and a long wooden bar. It could be any place Bobby’s had a drink before.

He follows Rufus to the bar and sits down beside him as Rufus chatters about the place. “God, I used to come here all the time in my twenties,” he says with delight. “I got into so much trouble here.”

“Hey there, gentlemen.” The bartender has an earring to match Rufus’s, but instead of a stud or a hoop, a feather hangs there (Bobby tries not to stare). He smiles at them both warmly. “Can I get you anything?”

“We’ll both have a scotch. Whatever’s your best,” Rufus says and cuts Bobby’s protests off by saying, “I brought you out here—I’m paying. And don’t get that grumpy look.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Bobby says.

Rufus knocks their shoulders together. “Mm-hm.”

The bartender laughs as he pours their drinks. “You two are sweet.”

Bobby blinks. He glances over at Rufus, who is expertly avoiding his gaze. He glances around the room and sees a lot of men standing close. He sees two young guys holding each other close in the corner, the hands of one slipped in the back pockets of the other.

“Did you take me,” Bobby hisses, “to a gay bar?”

Rufus turns innocent eyes on him, which hasn’t worked since the first five minutes they knew each other. “What do you mean?”

“He thinks we’re a couple.” Bobby gestures at the bartender, who seems to be hearing this and is doing a pretty shitty job of keeping his amusement to himself. “And there are two guys kissing over there.”

“Well, good lord, Bobby. What should we do? Call the priest, see if he’ll perform an exorcism?” Rufus snips. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Bobby looks down at the bar, chastened; he keeps his head down as the bartender sets down their drinks.

“I just meant—” his voice falters. “I don’t know. You shoulda told me.”

“Bobby,” Rufus’s voice has gone softer, and he takes hold of Bobby’s elbow with a sure hand. “Would you have come here if I had told you?”

Bobby’s not a liar, so he stays quiet. He’s horribly aware of all the eyes that could be seeing the two of them right now, bent close and touching like the rest of the men in this bar. 

“I wanted to show you that it isn’t how you think it is,” Rufus says.

Bobby closes his eyes, and hates himself for telling Rufus what his dad used to say about people like them, the perversion of it, the way it should make any good man feel revolted, disgusted. Is this so bad, Rufus had asked him then, their faces inches apart in the darkened motel room, sweat cooling on their skin. Me and you. Is it really so bad? And God fucking help him, Bobby had shaken his head. He had nosed in to kiss Rufus again.

“It can be like us,” Rufus says quietly. “It can be like these guys in here. It doesn’t have to be wrong. It can be easy, and happy. And good. Jesus, Bobby, it can—” Rufus smiles and squeezes his elbow. “It can be real good.”

Bobby looks at him for a long moment, rare sincerity shining in his eyes, the kind of sincerity Bobby’s only seen in him since they’ve started… whatever this is.

“Alright. I’ll… I’m working on it.” Bobby finds himself saying. He takes a long sip of his scotch, and Rufus looks at him like he doesn’t know how he got so goddamn lucky. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating.

“Did I ever tell you,” Rufus begins, because he knows Bobby well enough not to linger on any of this, “about the time I lost my wallet here and ended up hunting it down all over the city?”

“I don’t think so.” Honestly, it wouldn’t matter if he had. Bobby just wants to sit here and listen to the familiar sounds of Rufus telling a story. 

“Oh! Well, let me set the scene. I was about twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, and I…”

Bobby tunes him out, a little, after that. He lets the rise and fall of Rufus’s voice soothe him, and he thinks about things. This bar, full of men who act like there’s nothing shameful about what they’re doing. Rufus, who has kissed Bobby more gently than he’s ever been kissed, who taught him to kill monsters and brought him here tonight. He thinks about his dad, dead in the ground and still whispering in his ear. 

Bobby takes another sip of his scotch for some liquid courage. Then he reaches out and takes Rufus’s hand, laces their calloused fingers together.

Miraculously, Rufus doesn’t falter. He keeps talking, but he smiles brilliantly, and he squeezes Bobby’s hand tight.

[sortasirius]

Reception

AN: thanks Chad you inspired me my brother. It’s a fix it, shocker lmao

The ceremony itself is quiet, peaceful, intimate, with only the most important people in attendance. Standing in front of a clear blue lake near the Roadhouse, Dean and Cas get married in the most perfectly unconventional venue, Heaven itself.

They wear suits at Ellen’s insistence, their ties matching each other’s eyes, and Jo and Charlie try to make Dean wear a flower crown; they get delayed by twenty minutes while they try and clip it into his hair.

Dean can’t help but lose his breath when he sees Cas already waiting for him at the start of the aisle, grinning from ear to ear and holding out his hand for Dean to take. He looks so...perfect, so exactly what Dean’s always wanted, and he’s his.

Bobby is the one that marries them, with the friends and family that they had lost surrounding them, people that Dean had always thought were far too good for him, but he might be coming around to the idea that he might deserve them, at least a little bit. He tries to hide the way he gets choked up when he reads his vows to Cas, and doesn’t even pretend to stop crying when Cas reads his to Dean.

Words would never be enough to describe how he felt when he looked at Cas, or the way he felt when Cas looked at him, but there was something about this moment, a moment surrounded by the people they loved, that made the words mean more than they would on any other day.

Pamela produces two handmade rings to exchange, and the rough metal feels at home on his skin, the same as Cas’ own, in a way.

The sun shines on their faces as they kiss, and Dean feels, for the first time, like this could really be what Heaven is supposed to be.

The reception is, predictably, loud and raucous, with karaoke and pool and too much alcohol (not that any of them get hangovers, but they can still get plastered). Ash stands on top of the pool table and recites the Gettysburg Address word for word while he balances a bottle of beer on his head. Ellen teaches Benny to mix drinks behind the bar, and Jo and Charlie destroy Kevin and Jack at a game of poker. Bobby and Pamela are reminiscing about some hunt or another with Rufus...it’s all so serene, in spite of the chaos, just exactly what Dean had always dreamed of.

He does ache, a little, for Sam, even knowing that he and Eileen are living their lives on earth, making a difference that only Sam could, he still misses him. But hey, that’s what how renewals are for right? He knew Ash would never miss a chance to have a party anyway.

Dean and Cas end up slow dancing to Led Zeppelin in the corner, away from the loud laughing and chattering of their family. Dean can’t quite believe this is all real, this is all happening, and this is all his. He huffs a happy sigh, letting his forehead rest in the crook of Cas’s shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin though the starched fabric of his dress shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” Cas whispers, tracing the back of Dean’s neck with a long finger.

Dean struggles, for a minute, to find the words. How does he express this? All these things that are bubbling inside him, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad?

“I never thought I’d get this,” he whispers back, lifting his head to meet Cas’ eyes, “And to have it this way, with everyone, I just-”

He falters a little, but Cas doesn’t rush him, he never did.

“I still feel like I can’t take it, like it’s something that I want but can’t actually have. I look at all this, at you, and it’s what I’ve wanted for years, but I keep feeling like I’m going to wake up in Hell with Alastair standing over me or something.”

He shudders reflexively at the memory. He suddenly can’t meet Cas’ eyes.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be bringing the happiest day of our lives down.”

Cas lifts his chin, making their eyes meet.

“I’m with you through everything. Anything and everything, you know that right?”

Dean’s mouth twists in a smile as warmth blooms through his chest. He pulls Cas towards him, kissing him gently in the dark corner of the Roadhouse, letting his hands curl in Cas’ dark hair. They’re both a little breathless when they pull apart, and Cas’ bright eyes mirror his own.

“Right back at ya,” Dean smiles, glancing over at Benny and Charlie shotgunning beers with Ash, “You wanna go join them?”

“Yes,” Cas leans in to kiss him again, “But only if we get to do more of this later.”

Dean winds his arms around Cas’ waist, breathing into him, letting the impossibility that he and Cas were linked by bands of metal around their fingers forever, not needing to worry about death or Hell or Purgatory or the Empty.

“Oh hell yeah, more of this later please.”

Cas laughs as Dean presses his lips to the exposed skin on his neck, and Dean falls very much in love with the sound.

Dean and Cas sit at the bar for the rest of the night, listening to stories they had heard a hundred times and would hear a million more, surrounded by family, and holding hands under the shiny bar, their rings clinking together every so often, reminding them both of the weight of this day, the importance of the other, the beauty of the future.

[whatabouthockey]

Rufus Raucous from Scooby Doo looks like a vague drawing of Jamie Benn

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 370AD – Thagaste

Notes: Yesterday I posted a St. Augustine-based chapter, but then I had a read through the confessions of the man himself and realised that I had fluffed significant things such as his age (16, not 14), the town he was in (Thagaste not Madaurus) and the time the incident happened (night, not midday). So I deleted it and now, I have written the more historically-accurate version :)

370AD – Thagaste

The crescent moon was high in the star-smeared sky and the streets were deserted.

The silence was broken by a crash of pottery, echoed by raucous laughter.

“Out!”

A door opened onto the street, a slice of lamplight pouring out onto the pale flagstones. Four young men piled out through the doorway, a tangle of brown, olive and pale limbs, all of them flushed with drink and mirth.

“You lose valuable customers, Gaius!” One of the young men bellowed, swaying where he stood. He considered the clay cup in his hand, then hurled it to explode on the doorframe, dregs of wine dripping down the pale stone. His friends burst into fits of laughter.

The innkeeper appeared in the doorway, face black as thunder. “You son of a sow!”

The young man clasped his hand proudly to his chest. “And the finest sow in all Thagaste she is too! Unlike yours!”

When the innkeeper stormed towards them, cudgel in his hand, the young man’s friends tugged him, still jeering, and they reeled off down the street.

From the shadow of an insula doorway, Crowley watched them, grinning. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his work, but it didn’t hurt when it took no effort at all and young Augustinus of house Aurelius was about to give him the easiest night of work imaginable.

He slipped out onto the silver-painted flagstones, winding his way after them as the four boys tottered onwards, singing filthy songs about some random woman’s breasts.

“What now?” The red-haired lad in the group demanded, leaning heavily into Augustinus’s side.

Augustinus threw his arms wide, his friend staggering. “More wine!”

“No more taverns,” the olive-skinned boy complained.

Augustinus’s dark face creased in annoyance. “Futuo!” He swung around. “My house has wine. We can get wine there.”

Crowley meandered after them. “Why limit it to your house?” he asked the young man as they wandered out of the town and towards the house of the Aurelius family. He felt the prickle of speculation in the lad, barely more than a boy. “It’s not like anyone could stop you, is it?”

“We could have grapes,” the fourth of their group said. He was a round-face boy, pink-cheeked. “Can we have grapes?”

The vineyards spread across the fields flanking the road, leaves and fruit shining in the moonlight. Augustinus considered them. “They’re not ripe yet.” He waved grandly. “But one day, we will make the best wine with them.”

“Fah.” The red-head snorted. “Not wine yet.”

Crowley glanced around, then chuckled to himself. Sometimes, the classic temptations were the best. “What about that?” He nudged Augustinus’s attention to the wall on the other side of the road. A tree was visible over the lip of the wall. “Looks ripe to me.”

The young man turned, looking up.

The leaves rustled in the warm evening breeze, whispering around the plump swells of fruit that hung heavily on the branches. It wasn’t quite the lush red of the apples of Eden, but you worked with whatever material you had and right now, Crowley had pears.

“Bet they’d hate if you took them.” He coiled around the boy, his voice low and enticing. “Can you imagine the look on his face? And if you’re sneaky, he’ll never know it was you.”

Augustinus’s dark eyes glittered. “We could have pears, Marcus.”

The round-faced boy squinted at him. “From a vineyard?”

Augustinus answered by veering over towards the wall. “Pears,” he replied, waving upwards.

The trio exchanged hazy, drink-addled looks. “But… but that’s not your house,” Rufus said, swaying gently.

“So?” Crowley prompted with a serpent smile. “Pompous old man. Why should he tell you what to do?” He leaned a hair’s breadth closer. “Wouldn’t it be fun?”

“It’s probably bad,” Marcus added, though he was staring wistfully up at the pears.

“So? I think we should have pears!” Augustinus laughed, groping for the cracks between the rocks of the wall, hauling himself unsteadily upwards. His sandaled feet skittered on the stone and two of his friends hurried forward, boosting him up, encouraged by his boldness.

It wasn’t the highest wall in the world, but for a sixteen year old several jugs into his cups, it probably felt like scaling Everest. Crowley watched as he finally flopped, hanging like a folded cloth, over the top of the wall, his legs dangling down.

“Can you get them?” Rufus demanded in what he must have assumed was a whisper.

“Ngh.” Augustinus’s legs kicked feebly and there was the wet sound of someone being sick on the far side of the wall.

“Eugh! Augustinus!”

“Missed the pears!” The boy’s voice floated back, sounding considerably damper. It took him a few more minutes and some kicking and flailing to haul himself up onto the wall. He swung one leg over and sat, swaying in the moonlight.

“Where are the pears?” Marcus demanded petulantly. “I want one!”

Augustinus peered down at his friend, then reached out and grabbed a pear, tugging it off the branch. He considered it solemnly, then twisted on the wall and lobbed it straight at Marcus’s head, with surprisingly good aim for someone who was almost cross-eyed with drink.

“Ow!”

“You wanted it!” Augustinus crowed. He leaned down, offering his hand to Rufus. “Come on. There are too many for me to get on my own.”

His friend reached up and grabbed his wrist, scrambling up the wall to join him. “How many are we taking?”

Augustinus grinned, a flash of brilliant white in his dark face. “All of them.”

Crowley chuckled, leaning back to watch as one little temptation blossomed, turning four rude young men into thieves and vandals.

 __________________________________

 It was a lovely night, but one wouldn’t have thought so by the state of the poor woman, kneeling before the makeshift altar.

The beads of her rosary rattled through her fingers, her eyes closed, tears spilling down her cheeks as she recited her prayers, the beacon of her faith glowing fiercely. She was well-reputed already for her piety, but Heaven had far greater things in mind for her.

Aziraphale approached, reaching out to lay his hand lightly upon her head.

The blessing cast a divine glow around her and her prayers stuttered, almost as if she felt it. Her tears dried and a rapturous smile spread across her handsome dark-skinned face. Her name would be remembered, her piety and faith rewarded.

One day, eventually, she would be a Saint.

Aziraphale smiled, watching her, the bliss of the blessing washing away a little of her fear and grief. The seeds were there already. He had just offered them a little light to help them grow.

Silently, he withdrew from the house, slipping unseen by the other humans. Most of them were asleep, but there was a guard sitting at the door, a lamp beside him and a surly look on his face. Not keeping dangers out, Aziraphale realised, but waiting for someone.

Technically, he could have carried himself back to the centre of the town on a whim, but it really was a very lovely night. The stars speckled the sky, barely a cloud in sight to obscure them, and the air was warm and clear.

“No harm in walking a little,” he murmured, as he slipped through the gate and set off down the shining silver road that led back into Thagaste.

Around him, the landscape rolled in gentle slopes, the hillsides woven with vines. It was a shame it was too early in the season. The budding clusters of grapes were only small, but there was promise of a generous harvest. He scanned the broad expanse of the fields. A few weeks more, and if he happened to pass by in time to try them while bringing another blessing or–

Or Crowley?

Just a little way to the side of reality, the demon was sitting on a rock beside the road, sprawled back and gazing up at the sky.

“Coo-ee! Crowley!”

Crowley whipped around, momentary panic written on his face. He spotted Aziraphale and huffed with relief, a grin curling his lips. “Angel!” He sat up a little straighter on the rock. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Aziraphale waved a hand in the direction of the Aurelius house. “Just a blessing. You?”

“Not much.” Crowley shrugged expressively, rucking up his toga – it was awfully like the one he wore in Rome, which seemed very inconvenient so far out in the empire. Aziraphale had elected a simpler tunic, though he added a rather nice cape. It was very stylish, he thought.

“What do you mean not much?” he inquired.

The demon waved a hand dismissively. “You know. Temptation here, temptation there.” He flashed his widest grin. “Maybe I was just following you around to see what damage I could do when you were finished?”

Aziraphale gave him a mostly patient look. “Oh, really. You’re doing no such thing. I saw you stargazing.”

Crowley made a face at him. “S’not a crime.”

“Well, no.” The angel fiddled with his fingers. “Are you heading back into the–”

A stifled but very human grunt made him turn, puzzled.

As far as he could see, there was no one but him and Crowley.

“What do you suppose…” He looked back at the demon, who was staring up at the high wall behind him. Aziraphale followed his line of sight and spotted a pair of bony brown hands appear over the top of a wall on the opposite side of the road. The hands were followed by a black-haired, dark-eyed face and Aziraphale stared in dismay. Oh he knew that little one. Just as he’d visited Monica before, he had seen the boy too. “Oh, Crowley, you didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Crowley said, looking wounded. “Just because some daft human is climbing walls in the middle of the night doesn’t mean it’s anything to do with me.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to comment, but above them, the head and shoulders tipped over the top of the wall, then the young man gave an alarmed yelp as the brick he was leaning on gave way and he dropped – headfirst – towards the rocky ground.

Aziraphale’s hand moved before he could think, cushioning the impact and saving the boy from a nasty head injury. “Oh my dear!” He brushed by Crowley, bustling towards the boy. “Are you all right? That was quite a tumble.”

The young man rubbed his bruised head and squinted up at him. “OH HELLO GOOD MAN! IT IS VERY LATE FOR YOU TO BE ABOUT! I DID NOT EXPECT TO SEE YOU.”

Aziraphale blinked. Perhaps he hadn’t been fast enough. “There’s no need to shout, dear boy,” he said, gently helping the young man to his feet. He glanced anxiously at Crowley, who was muffling laughter in his hand. “It’s not funny, Crowley! He might have hurt himself!”

“He’s a teenager, angel,” Crowley choked out. “S’what they do. Bloody stupid, reckless things. Might have knocked some sense into him.”

The angel glowered at him. “You are such a terrible person.”

Young Augustinus swayed against his hands and Aziraphale recognised the scent of more than one kind of wine. No wonder his blessed mother was praying again, if he had been out and misbehaving. Honestly, sometimes it made you wonder if all the work was going to be worth it in the long run. Free will made no guarantees, even for one elected for divine influence. “Ah. A little too much to drink?”

Augustinus gave him the look of a young man very resolutely sure that he did not seem drunk. “I am quite well, thank you very much, good sir.” He bobbed his head. “Thank you for your concern. It is very… er… good.” He groped about in a pouch on his belt. “Let me give you a gift of thanks.”

“Oh, really, that’s not necess–”

Augustinus shoved a plump, ripe, golden-green pear in front of his nose. “A pear!” he declared, then beamed. “For you, my helpful friend.”

“How generous,” Crowley gasped out. He seemed to find the drunk boy unreasonably entertaining, even though the boy didn’t even seem to notice him.

It was quite a lovely pear as well, freshly picked from the look of it. “I oughtn’t.”

“You ought,” Augustinus insisted, pushing it into his hands. “For your journey home.” He flashed that luminous smile again. “And I will definitely be going home too and not falling off walls or taking anymore pears or anything.”

Aziraphale looked down at the pear in his hands, then back at the boy. “Well, if you’re sure. I do like pears.”

Augustinus nodded, then glanced up and flapped a hand urgently.

“What is–?” Aziraphale started to raise his head.

“Probably nothing,” Crowley wheezed, bracing a hand against the wall.

“Moth! Big one!” Augustinus insisted. “That’s all. Not anything.” He caught Aziraphale by the arm, steering him towards the road. “It’s very late, good sir. Have a safe journey.”  

“I think that’s a hint,” Crowley said, finally gathering himself enough to wander after them, though his mouth was still twitching. “Want some company back to the town?”

Aziraphale eyed the young man, who stared back at him earnestly, his hands clasped in front of him, the picture of drunken virtue. “Do you think he’ll be able to get home safely?” he asked the demon, beyond the human’s hearing.

“Yeah,” Crowley knocked the boy on the shoulder as he passed. “Hasn’t got far to go, has he? I don’t think he’ll be climbing any more walls, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale agreed. He gave the boy a smile. “Thank you for the pear, young man. It was very kind of you.”

Augustinus raised a hand in something halfway between a wave and a salute. “S’all good, sir. Very good.” He beamed, showing all his teeth. “Have a good night, sir.”

Crowley chuckled. “Come on, angel,” he said. “Let’s leave his lordship to stagger home.” He set off down the road and Aziraphale gave the boy one last careful look before turning and trotting after him, his pear held snugly in his hand.

“He seemed a very polite young man, didn’t he? I mean, aside from the inebriation.”

“Mm.” Crowley’s lips were twitching again. “He had his moments.”

“And we can hardly be the ones to criticise him, I suppose,” Aziraphale added.

After all, they certainly indulged themselves often enough. Speaking of which…

“You don’t happen to have a knife, do you, Crowley?”

The demon gave him a wary look. “Why?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I thought we could share the young man’s gift. If you would like?”

The expression on the demon’s face softened. “It’s not a very big pear, angel.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said firmly, “I didn’t even have a small pear until now, so even half of this is more than I had before, which means it’s only fair that we both get a share.”

The demon laughed. “You are such an angel sometimes,” he said, but he still produced a knife from somewhere on his person. “Go on then.”

And as they walked back to Thagaste in the moonlight, they shared the fruit between them.

[scrappedtogether]

Different person from other anon but I also had a crush on Rufus omg I thought I was alone in this!!! can we make Rufus raucous the next tumblr sexyman

Hi, Anon! This is so funny! I’m glad we’re not alone in this. 😂 I’m not sure how far we’d get in a campaign for him but he’d definitely have my vote.😅🤭

[romancemedia]

Top 10 What’s New Scooby Doo Episodes (1/10)

Riva Ras Regas 

The gang wins a competition to go to Las Vegas to meet teen pop sensation Lindsay Pagano, but they soon end up trying to uncover the mystery of a deceased magician named Rufus Raucous, whose ghost has risen from the grave to haunt the theatre that Lindsay is performing at.

[searchingwardrobes]

Natural Opposite: Re-post of 2/16

Many thanks to my beta, @distant-rose, as well as my artist @optomisticgirl. You can check out her chapter art here: Chapter Two I love the way she captured the craziness of Comic-Con when our OTP first meet!

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be added to my tag list) @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @followbatb @onceuponaprincessworld @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules

Chapter Two: Anywhere But Here

“So we’re on our way to San Diego,” Emma said into the camera, forcing a stage smile onto her face. She also used a peppier voice than she normally would. She had been dancing since she was in her early teens; she knew how to act. Yet even her decade’s worth of stage experience couldn’t mask all of her nerves. She kept gnawing on her bottom lip and rubbing her palms up and down her jeans as she glanced out the tinted windows of the limousine.

Emma looked back into the camera and chuckled. “Now I know how the celebs feel when they meet us! I have no idea what to expect.”

“I think that’s enough for now,” the camera guy told her flatly as he lowered his equipment to his lap.

Emma sagged against the leather seats in relief. One thing she would need to get used to if she wanted to win the mirror ball trophy was the constant presence of the cameras. They called it “reality television,” but this was Emma’s second show like this. She knew better. On So You Think You Can Dance, they told Elsa she didn’t seem excited enough when she came out of the auditorium with her ticket to Vegas, so they made her do it over again. On Dancing with the Stars, the pros knew to turn it on or dial up the drama whenever the cameras were present. Elsa and David had both warned her how draining it became as the season wore on. And here she was, weary on day one.

But Emma chalked it all up to this scheme of Regina’s. Since when were both the celeb and the pro in the dark? Emma had a notoriously prickly personality, and Regina knew it. This little meeting could go sideways fast. At least with Leroy, she had time to prepare herself.

The limo pulled around to the back of the convention center and parked near a door marked “security entrance.” A young woman with a lanyard around her neck with an official SDCC tag greeted Emma and the camera crew, who had already started filming again. She guided them inside and down a hallway so dark, Emma had to push her sunglasses on top of her head. The woman stopped right at a door with a star taped to it. When Emma read it, her jaw dropped, and she turned to stare in surprise at the camera crew.

“Have fun,” the woman said almost enviously as she scurried away.

Emma blinked rapidly. “This, this doesn’t make sense.”

If Regina had wanted a reaction, she was certainly getting one. The star on the door read “Cast of Neverland.” It was ABC’s biggest hit show. And actors on hit shows didn’t do Dancing With the Stars. They just didn’t. Emma’s mind raced as she approached the door. She could discount the show’s lead right off the bat. Killian Jones, who played Captain Hook, was the hottest thing in Hollywood right now. His face graced every magazine; both the legitimate ones and the tabloids. No one that popular did a show like DWTS. It would hurt their career more than help it, or at least, that was the assumption.

She thought maybe it could be Robbie Malcolm who played the show’s villain, Peter Pan. Teen actors, even popular ones, could get away with competing on the dance show, and it even helped some of their careers. But everyone knew that he had just been cast in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie; no way did he have time to do the show. So that narrowed it down to one of the minor actors. Rufus Black, who played one of the lost boys, or maybe Christopher Rogers who played Mr. Smee. But did those minor cast members even attend Comic Con?

“Ms. Swan?” one of the crew asked tentatively.

“Right,” she said, shaking her head and turning the door knob. “Hello?” she called tentatively as the door swung open.

A raucous cheer rose up as Emma walked through the door. Of course. They knew one of their cast members was meeting his pro dancer today. Emma’s gaze traveled over the group in the green room, her eyes landing on a group of teenagers in one corner. There was Robbie Malcolm and the three actors who played the Darling children. John and Michael Darling! She had forgotten about them. Surely one of them was her partner. She took a step tentatively towards them.

“Which one of you is my partner?” Emma asked. She didn’t have to force enthusiasm this time. A partner from a hit show was a huge advantage, even if the actor was thirteen or fourteen years old.

The boys blushed and shoved one another. Robbie Malcolm clapped a hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “They wish!” he chuckled.

“I hate to disappoint you, lass, but your partner would be me.”

Emma felt the color drain from her face as she turned to face the man who owned the deep, British accent. Killian Jones sauntered towards her, looking unfairly handsome in skinny jeans and a sky blue shirt. Her first thought was that his eyes really were as blue as they looked in photographs. Then he had the audacity to wink at her. She should have known.

“I was hoping it would be you,” he said to her with a waggle of his eyebrows. And before she even knew what was happening, he took her hand, bent, and kissed it.

Before Emma remembered the cameras, she rolled her eyes and snatched her hand away. “So you’re an old-fashioned gentleman, huh?”

He smiled a dazzling smile that should have been illegal. “Oh, yes. I’m always a gentleman.”

Great. She would be spending the entire season dodging this playboy’s pick-up lines. Regina better not expect her to flirt back. The last thing Killian Jones needed was for his ego to get any bigger. Emma wasn’t one to follow celebrity gossip, but even she knew that the man had a reputation.

Emma crossed her arms and glowered at the man in front of her who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Until one of the crew cleared his throat loudly. Emma dropped her arms to her side and forced a friendlier expression on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the young woman with the clipboard returned.

“We gotta move,” she told everyone, “your panel is starting.”

Killian turned to her with a lopsided grin and a tiny nod, “See you on stage, love.”

Emma shook her head, confused. “No, genius, we have to rehearse. Or did they not spell that out for you?”

He only grinned wider at her surliness. “They told me you were a feisty one. “ He reached out and fiddled with a lock of her hair, then leaned closer. “I know I will be in your capable hands all season, Ms. Swan. I was referring to the exclusive announcement of my dancing partner. For the fans?”

“Mr. Jones!” the woman behind them called.

He winked one last time and left her in the now empty green room, feeling completely turned upside down.

“Ms. Swan,” the woman called, “you need to come, too.”

In a daze, Emma followed the woman back down the same dark corridor. As they walked, the sound of frenzied screaming grew louder and louder. Emma and the SDCC worker caught up to the cast of Neverland, the camera crew following them. They all gathered at the bottom of a set of risers. Two of Emma’s camera guys followed the clipboard lady around the curtains so they could film from in front of the stage. The hostess of the panel discussion was whipping the crowd into a fervor, asking if they were ready three or four times. Emma rolled her eyes again.

“First up is everyone’s favorite evil teenager. The most villainous, sadistic version of Peter Pan. That’s right – it’s Robbie Malcolm!”

Fans cheered loudly, several teenage girls screaming, “I love you!” at the top of their lungs. Rose Moore, who played Tinkerbell, was announced next. Then the hostess really laid it on thick.

“And now, the man who brings the house down every year. Everyone’s favorite pirate. The devilishly handsome KILLIAN JONES!!!!”

Emma watched him jog lithely up the riser steps and wave to the crowd as he found his place beside Rose. At least he’s coordinated, she thought wryly. The rest of the cast was announced (Emma vaguely wondered if it hurt their feelings that they didn’t get as many rousing cheers as the first three), and then the hostess started asking questions collected on twitter. Emma had never actually watched the show, so she couldn’t really follow everything and quickly got bored. It was the story of Peter Pan turned on its head, that was all she knew. Hook was the hero while Pan was the villain. And Tinkerbell was Hook’s love interest. Emma would have to be living under a rock not to know that. “Captain Fairy” shippers went insane over the fictional couple.

“Killian, I have to ask,” a breathless fan asked from a microphone set up at the back of the ballroom, “are you and Rose a couple in real life? You have such amazing chemistry.”

This was something else a person would have to live under rock not to know. The two actors were constantly posting selfies from set and hitting the night life together around LA. Emma craned her neck to see Killian Jones’s answer.

“We do have chemistry,” he said, turning to Rose and lifting her hand for a kiss just as he had done with Emma earlier, “but alas, we are just friends.”

Emma rolled her eyes again. The man was full of it!

“Speaking of chemistry,” the hostess segued, “I heard a rumor that you’re going to need some on the dance floor, Killian?”

The crowd obviously didn’t get it yet, although there was a wave of excited whispers.

“That’s right,” Killian said, leaning into his microphone, “I will be doing the next season of Dancing With the Stars.”

The audience went absolutely wild with the news, and it took the hostess a few moments to calm them down. “Wow, that’s exciting,” she enthused, “and do you know yet who your partner will be?”

“Yes, I do,” Killian replied, flashing that dazzling smile of his, “as a matter of fact, she’s right back stage.”

Emma started fidgeting with nervousness as the crowd once again went wild. She wasn’t a very big name yet on DWTS. Elsa would have been an exciting partner, or Ruby, or Ariel. But Emma? She hoped the crowd wouldn’t be too disappointed when she made her appearance.

“You guys want to meet her?” the hostess asked, practically bouncing with excitement. The crowd cheered in the affirmative. “Okay, then, let’s bring her out!”

Emma was almost blinded by the flashbulbs going off when she walked on stage. She managed to smile and wave despite the spots dancing before her eyes. The panel hostess yelled her name over the raucous cheers of the crowd. The sound relieved Emma even as it pounded in her ears. Killian rose from his chair, and Emma accepted his friendly hug with an equally friendly smile. Killian then took a step back and bowed to her.

“Shall we dance?”

If the cheers from the crowd were deafening before, they were about to burst her eardrums now. She played along, tilting her chin and smiling down at Killian flirtatiously as she accepted his hand. She may have botched their initial meeting, but Regina would eat up her performance now. Killian placed his other hand at her waist when he rose. Emma took a mental note of all the things she needed to fix about his frame, but she kept the smile plastered on her face. The crowd was chanting, “waltz! waltz! waltz!” She could only guess it had something to do with the show.

Killian turned to the audience, “She’s a pro, so I don’t need to tell her the one rule, do I?”

The audience chanted back almost in perfect unison, “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing!”

Killian began a simple box step, and Emma was pleasantly surprised at how he led her around the tight stage. He had at least learned the basics of a waltz on Neverland. Maybe this partnership wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But then he pulled her close, and Emma almost gave a small shout of surprise. The audience hooted. Then Killian Jones dipped her.

Smirking down at her, he said, “I’m ready to get whipped into shape, pro. Don’t be afraid to, you know,” here he winked, “really get into it.”

Emma took it back. She was going to kill Regina.

[mockingjayne12]

I Will Be Back One Day

(Lyatt / Timeless Fic)

Lucy can feel the bed sink before she hears him, lost in her thoughts. The small frame not nearly big enough for both of them, but it's not their first time sharing this space. A sly grin appearing crooked on her mouth as she thinks of how many nights as of late that she's found herself crawling into his bed or he into her's.

Her raucous laughter echoed throughout the bunker just a few nights ago as they'd moved just an inch in the wrong direction, and she'd found herself tangled in the sheet, tumbling out of the bed, landing hard on her ass, completely naked. Her stunned face had been met with one of genuine worry from a pair of blue eyes staring down at her, before the shock had waned into a laugh that infectiously gathered him into joining her.

They'd rested side by side on the cold floor, her hair splayed out against the concrete, her smile reaching her eyes, before she'd curled into him, her hand landing on his chest. The syncopated beat of his heart, filled the empty space of their laughter, until finally, she found herself quieting, her head settling where her hand had just been, his lips burying in her hair, incoherent whispers.

"I got you something," she finally made out, lifting her chin, until she could just barely make out the hue of blue peeking out between his lashes.

"I told you, you didn't have to get me a gift," she'd teasingly narrowed her eyes. He laughed, but there was an edge of nerves sprinkled in now, less carefree than just moments before.

"It's your birthday," he'd said, with a half grin, and a jerk of his head, as if there was no way she was getting away without getting a gift.

Slowly getting up with a grunt, he'd brought her with him, the sheet haphazardly hanging off of her, her hair askew, and she'd attempted to tame it, giving up when her fingers refused to comb through the knots.

Wyatt reached for something on the table by his bed, the planes of his body eliciting a strain of muscle in his back with his stretch, and Lucy found herself biting her bottom lip, a slight blush tinting her pale cheeks at the thought of her tongue having just traced the same path her eyes were following.

"Is this the gift?" She'd teased, and she could feel the smile on his face before he turned around, having grabbed what he needed. The nerves seemed to still be present, a certain kind of dance his eyes did, as if in avoidance of her own. But the look on his face seemed to answer her question.

I'm already yours. You already have me.

The box he holds out is small, the kind that very expensive jewelry comes in, and she finds herself holding her breath. Because for as well as things are going, they certainly weren't there yet. They aren't even telling people about their late night visits, although she has a feeling no one is fooled. She can feel the panic welling up, starting in her stomach, worming its way to a stuttering intake of air.

"Just open it, Lucy," he'd said with a shake of his head, having guessed the turmoil she was creating within herself, perhaps the breath she'd refused to let out alerting him to the panic she'd felt.

"Oh my God…" she'd started, but her words had been quickly lost upon opening the box to see what was inside.

"What are you smiling at," he says, mirroring her own grin before sinking lower onto the bed, resting on his side so that he's staring down at her, once again.

Her fingers trace the gold, her ankles crossing, as if the simple gesture will make more room for him. She can feel his breath hitting her, a gentle calm washing over her that she often found when he was around. A confidence that had grown within her on missions, that carried over even when he wasn't around.

With a heavy sigh, she turns so that she's also resting on her side, her elbow propping her up so she's eye level with him, her hands abandoning their task, as if asking to absorb all the memories of the past into her consciousness, soaking them in with the love that she'd so protectively hidden inside.

"I'm glad you like your gift," he murmurs in the space between them, his fingers from his free hand coming to trace the small loops in the chain that hangs around her neck. The pads of his fingers lingering on her collarbone, before slowly moving down, until he holds the gold locket between them.

"I can't believe you found it," she whispers, her eyes quickly flickering to the movement between them. The history, literally, resting between them not lost on her.

"It wasn't easy," he laughs with a raise of his brow, and she knows the story. She'd always wondered what he'd been doing on their missions, how he'd often slink off when they weren't looking, always when he was more than sure she was okay. A new disguise, a new search, forever tracking the remnants of a mistake that he didn't regret but whose actions had led to the loss of so much that day. They'd slowly been trying to piece their lives back together, regain what they had lost. It had started with Rufus, and had slowly continued with the locket resting between them.

Leaning in, a content sigh escaping her lips, as she reaches out, running her hand across the stubble on his cheek, finding her way to his hair, resting on the back of his neck. A gentle tug, until his lips met her's. An impatient longing met with fervor, flushing her cheeks with heat, and eliciting a moan of a thank you as they break.

Burying her head in the crook of his neck, his hand finds the small of her back pulling her closer, his thumb dancing across her hip bone, a path he'd blazed across in the previous weeks.

"How am I ever going to top that for your birthday?" She utters into his neck, the vibration of her lips against his skin, reverberating back at her, shivering down her spine.

"Eh, I don't need anything," she feels whispered into the crown of her head, a smile followed, ghosting across her skin. The implication that he already had everything he could want silently felt.

Her fingers coming to wrap around the locket.

"Sorry, I couldn't give you the real thing," he gestures down. And she knows he means her sister. "But I didn't want you to have lost everything."

Her finger dusts over the clasp, everything she'd had before him having been lost. The people she'd held so dear, clung to as her salvation, taken from her by time.

Opening the locket, she looks at the picture of her and her sister, a single picture of just Amy tucked beneath. Tracing over the smiling faces. Across from it, a new picture.

The choice to have taken her guard and reposition it to include him within, no longer fighting the effort, instead choosing to also protect him.

It had been months of getting to know each other again, faltering with trust, and building something stronger this time around, that had ultimately left them in a better place. Their nights no longer about assuaging guilt or quiet trepidation, but rather igniting an ember that refused to die, that surpassed that of just heat, but fire that had been tended to, cared for in a way that ensured it would last. The result, flames lapping at the surface, as they snuck in each other's beds at night. A crackle radiating throughout the bunker, engulfing them into a quiet glow wherever they were.

He catches the contents of the locket, and he squints, not sure he's seeing what she's showing him.

Placing his hand atop of her's, he brings the locket closer to find a picture of the two of them, likely the only one to exist that isn't disguised in the past, locked away, worn around her neck in every era of time.

"I don't want to lose you," she answers his silent question. Her body pulled closer into him, his lips whispering against her forehead. Because for all she's lost, he's still there, holding her close. And she's unwilling to let him go, even to the hands of time.

You haven't lost me.

xxxxxxx

helloooooo. the idea of wyatt finding a picture of himself in her locket was prompted to me, and it kind of took an interesting turn, because i had to find a way for her to get the locket back. so this is what occurred.

please review, they make my whole day.

[talesofwight]

Prompt #2: Silenced

“Oh! Look there! A man in a long coat and a scar over his eye. He looks suspicious, maybe we ought to go investigate?” A mild streak of irritation flashed across Rufus’s face as he trudged down the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, surrounded on all sides by hawkers attempting to out-shout one another in order to be heard. Yet the loudest voice of all was the one that didn’t ring aloud, yet somehow still managed to silence the cries of the bustling marketplace around him. It resided in the back of his own mind, at least, at its whim it did. The coiling tendrils of thought squeezing his conscious mind as real as icy fingers ever could.

“Will you not stop?” Rufus intoned back sharply. “I can’t even walk the street without you doing this anymore, can I?” “Come ooooooooon.” The voice droned back, the hints of a whine in the tone. “You keep me cooped up in here all the time. And when was the last time we went out and crushed some ne’er-do-wells? I miss the rush! The thrill! And obviously, a part of you does too -- me.”

Scoffing, Rufus shook his head and kept walking. It was hard to argue that point, after all. Not every person on the face of Hydaelyn has another presence dwelling within them. Much less so do they have a fragment of their own personality take its own sentience. It had taken some time, but slowly, he had adjusted to this new way of things. It wasn’t bad, necessarily. Granted, his other - his ‘darkside’ - had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and could natter incessantly if ignored, but so often many speak of ‘discovering’ or ‘understanding’ themselves. How better to understand oneself than have one tell oneself? It was twisted, to be sure, but it suited him just fine.

“I’m aware of what we feel, thanks.” He begun again, relenting to his other self’s point. “But there’s ever been more to our life than simply running around, beating people up, and killing them if it comes to it. You know that. I do have a life to live. And I can’t do what you want us to do forever. One day, we’ll be too old. The body too frail. What do you think we’ll be like then?” He found his thoughts suddenly expanding well beyond the here-and-now. It wasn’t that unusual for him to consider what his life might be like in some two, maybe even three decades, Halone willing he live that long. “Well, in that case, we could finally settle down, couldn’t we? Enjoy the rest of our days peacefully, together. Just us.” “And what about Hime? Or if I’m with someone else then?” “You are welcome to do as you please. Just as long as you never forget, I know you better than any other ever could. I understand every facet, every chip in your flawed surface. I love you like no one else. A long sigh slipped from Rufus’s lips, his eyes rolling slowly. In more recent times, his other self had become somewhat... clingy, like this. And yet again, in the same notion, he found it hard to argue with himself. Maybe this is what they call ‘self acceptance’? He laughed at the notion. Before he knew it, the spectral grip on his mind was relinquished by the other presence, the raucous noise of the surrounding marketplace coming crashing back into focus. It took him a moment of standing still and blinking to adjust, shaking his head. He quietly glanced down at the metallic replica of an arm where his left used to be -- where the other sometimes dwelled -- and smiled, just a little.

[theloniousbach]

A Listener’s Y/ear in Jazz

WGTE’s Jazz Spectrum’s Best of 2018 list  has been a guide for this week at least and, I suspect, longer.

I’m not ready to offer my own list, but I’ve been listening and exploring enough to have opinions, familiarity with your choices, and favorites.  But these recommendations remain helpful and formative.

I do think they missed one though.  The Sons of Kemet’s “My Queen is a Reptile” is remarkable.  Shabeka Hutchings, the leader of a vibrant scene in London where the rich cultures of the Empire enrich one another, in front of a churning rhythm section of two drummers anchored by a tuba, is raucous, riffy, and fun.

Another list had Tia Fuller’s “Diamond Cut” which has more than a few moments, including several cuts with a Dave Holland/Jack DeJohnette rhythm section, but I won’t lobby for it.  I am seeing Fuller at our venue so I want to know her playing better going into that show (a “workshop” which seems to mean a collection of compatible players together but not a working band) with Sean Jones and Warren Wolf.  She chose to work with Adam Rogers on guitar rather than a pianist and one tune the first time through was a bit too smooth.  But she’s a smart player with some grit, but there are better this year.

I also listened to Jure Pukl’s “Doubtless” during a survey of pianoless/guitarless quartets, not the least of which is that Melissa Aldana is the other tenor player.  It’s worthy of consideration, but I won’t go to the mat to add it to the list.I saw Aldana with her quartet last season and look forward to seeing her with Marquis Hill and Emmet Cohen in another workshop gig at our venue.  I value her playing very much for the invention and the way she fills space with focused tone.  That is, she sounds big without honking.

I will think about women players for a more developed essay but have already homed in on some of those albums and discuss them here.

Allison MIller and Carmen Staaf’s “Science Fair” is a favorite as Miller’s drumming is a prime example of what I’ve noticed at shows of drummers playing accompaniment not just rhythm.  She has a short “Jazz Night in America” video on melodic drumming that helped me understand and frame what’s going on under my nose.  Her tunes are fascinating little puzzles for musicians to solve.   Staaf is a welcome contributor too.  But Miller has also worked in Boom Tic Boom with Myra Melford so her Snowy Egret band was another first one to check out this week.  She has a strong bracing vision, but I’m learning her language and so finding her work increasingly appealing and accessible.  She commands attention but she gives you a way in without compromising or watering down.

Similarly, the Andrew Cyrille/Wadada Leo Smith/Bill Frisell album is rigorous but inviting with layers of conversation.  I’ve found all three somewhat intimidating in the past but I’m growing into the challenges and becoming more familiar with conventions.  I heard Cyrille first with Cecil Taylor who viewed his instrument as 88 drums, so his actual drummer had lots to keep up with.  Here he can be more subtle and his intelligence as a musician is more accessible.  Frisell, it seems to me, has tics and has been a taste that I haven’t fully acquired.  But here his shadings work.  It is probably Smith who makes it work as, though his is the lead voice, he listens empathetically to the others. There are some wonderful duo albums on the list. 

I am surprised at how much I like Mark Turner with Ethan Iverson.  I regret not knowing more of Turner’s tone, fluidity, and taste.  It’s warm and intimate, well suited to the setting with Iverson.  While late to the game with The Bad Plus, I am more fond both of what Reid Anderson and Dave King bring to that band and now the earthiness that Orrin Evans has injected as the new piano guy (so, see Never Stop II from the list).  Iverson here is a good conversationalist (not surprising given the ethic of The BP) without some of the tics or maybe it was just fatigue at the end of The BP.

I wish Charlie Haden and Brad Mehldau hadn’t started with such a slow “Au Privave” on their duo album.  It’s all medium tempo and that mostly works because they are both such masters of the craft.  Perhaps Mehldau was still growing as a protege of Haden’s at the time, but he was always promising.  The rest of the set are tunes to savor, particularly in these thoughtful readings.  But “Au Privave” should be more of a bebop burner.  I will see Mehldau and his trio to wrap up the season and “Seymour Reads the Constitution” fascinates me as he mixes pop tunes old and new (“Almost Like Being in Love” with a vintage Beach Boys song and some latter day Paul McCartney), some under covered jazz composers (Elmo Hope and Sam Rivers), and his own tunes.  It’s quite a trio.

I already knew and treasured the Anat Cohen/Fred Hersch set from its release.  Hersch is our current quintessential pianist with an unerring sense of tunes (that he features at least one Monk compostions a set is telling), including his own which are finely etched puzzles.  It all reflects taste, insight, and a deep game.  Cohen is part of the Renee Rosnes led Artemis (with Allison Miller, Ingrid Jensen, and Melissa Aldana) which has shaped my listening this year.  She and Ben Goldberg have made the clarinet a modern instrument, not just a relic of Dixieland and swing, bringing a wood-y tonality.  The set with Hersch is a smart exchange of musical ideas over some favorites from the canon (“The Peacocks” is exquisite, but also “Jitterbug Waltz”), including Hersch’s contribution.  I get to see Cohen this season and see it as a highlight.

If this year’s releases give us the chance to hear two different iterations of the Fred Hersch Trio separated by 21 years, we get to mark a very special development.  First, the 1997 set—from the first run at the Village Vanguard—is already quite a mature work.  Hersch was 18 years into his New York career by then, so the playing is compelling and fascinating.  Having Tom Rainey on drums shows that Hersch’s vision of the role of the rhythm section was as full partners and his current working band is telepathic.  “Live in Europe” begins and ends with signature Monk excursions with two Shorter compositions too.  I don’t know if I could pass a blindfold test to pick between the two, but that “Swamp Thang” is on the first album and “The Big Easy (for Tom Piazza)” is on the new one would be a place to explore the differences.  Hersch’s rhythm has always been impeccable but I don’t reflexively associate him with the Second Line and that part of the tradition.  But neither of these tunes is forced or artificial.

The absolute highlight though is Frank Kimbrough’s encyclopedic “Monk’s Dreams,” all 70 compositions in one place thoughtfully curated.  It is not though a museum display as the band makes this canon their own.  Rufus Reid and Ray Drummond are masterful, Kimbrough has fresh ears to evoke Monk while having his own voice (his work on the Herbie Nichols Project is similarly respectfully inventive), and Scott Robinson is just amazing on countless horns, mostly reeds but trumpet too.  Hearing him take two solos and two different instruments is stunning.  I sip at this collection so that I hear the compositions and the interpretations as the exquisite gems they always have been.

There are more treasures to explore, even as 2019 brings us new ones.

[solitaria-fantasma]

((Rufus Raucous from What’s New Scooby Doo is an actual Wizard™ and nobody will convince me otherwise.))