#across time... a full body cringe in a certain book club...

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

Püha ja õudne lõhn (Sacred and Terrible Air) chapters 15+16 summary

Chapters index - ask away for any clarification or further details!

15. MOULD

The chapter of the end times. We follow the last days of various secondary characters throughout the six years that go from the beginning of the end – the initial pale onslaught, the nuke – to global entroponetic collapse in 78. It’s a suspended atmosphere. Oblivion and annihilation are almost met with relief. Some, like Anita, come into their own in the end days, finding unexpected wellsprings of inner strength. Gessle’s subversive documentary on Hirst finds a public of fascists missing the nuance. Khan calls his mother for the last time one month after reaching Graad, saying goodbye. He will not return. Katla joins Graad in the war against Mesque; the struggle is futile, but as satire would have it, not even losing a war can take the social democracy out of Vaasa. They even become the first and last city in history to eliminate light pollution. As the world ends, they look at the stars.

The war entwines with the advance of the pale. Its arrival is heralded by fruit going mouldy.

As Ann-Margret Lund dissolves at last, she leaves no memories in the pale, there is no past for her to return to. Katla sinks into the pale.

16. ENTROPONAUT

(Monty Python voice) and now for something completely different. Present (72), Samara, collapsed Nad-Umai region. Zigi, now a washed-out husk of a man, traverses the desolate grey expanses of the near pale. But he is not alone…

21 years ago, Vaasa. In a fit of rebellion, as one does to change the world, a drunk Zigi wrecks a bus stop, fisticuffs a trash bin and throws a brick at the window of the fanciest picket fence house in the suburb: the Lund house. The girls’ father rushes out to punish the vandal and engages him in a long pursuit which, after some slapstick detours, ends with Zigi climbing to the safety of a garage roof. Then, too, he was not alone, a shadowy figure was already egging him on from the roof, inciting violence...

Present. Zigi’s past and present companion turns out to be none other than the blurred cytoplasm of Ignus Nilsen. The two have a contentious relationship, with the apocalyptic shrike now supporting, now inspiring, now suicide-baiting his ward. Zigi is trying to flee from the world. This pains Nilsen, who, despite everything, loves the world deeply. Their bickering takes on the ideological tones of a confrontation between communism and nihilism, a central tension of the book. At one point, Nilsen’s impassionate defense of communism, in its most fundamental aspect of belief in your fellow human, appears to make the pale retreat from their spot. This makes Zigi panic. The pale rolls back. Nilsen accuses the Lund girls of having been bourgeois, all girls are bourgeois, but Zigi shuts him up: they weren’t. He does not know what they were thinking, but it was something else.

Zigi threatens to make Ignus disappear if he won’t reveal something from his erstwhile, bloody retreat to Samara: why on earth did he take the Harnankur model with him? But Nilsen admits that all he says – all the tales of Mazov and his gentle soul, of the amphetamines-fueled birth of Samara SRV – can’t reach any further than what Zigi already knows...

[that-little-zebunny]

Closer Than You Know

HBC 24 HOUR SUPRISE DRABBLE CHALLENGE: FERRIS WHEEL

This is my entry for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​  HBC Summer Loving Challenge. Today’s theme is State Fair.

Pairing: Chris Beck (The Martian) x Wife!Reader

Summary:  He left the space life to be with you and you wanted him to feel being near the stars again in your own ways. WC: 1,020* Warning: Fluff coz Beck is my sweet darling, A litol angst if you look hard enough.

“Come on Chris hurry up!” You said to him as you full him across the sea of people towards the line for the Ferris Wheel. You excitedly clapped your hands when you're able to get in line for the current set to get in.

“You seem very excited for this babe.” Chris smiled warmly as he watched your sparkling eyes that are full of excitement. You can’t wait to get up and give him your surprise. Its your second wedding anniversary and after a full week of thinking what you’ll give him you thought of this. You know how much he misses being up in space watching the beautiful universe and the bright sparkles of every star.

That is why after your wonderful and fancy date you dragged him to the nearest amusement park looking out of place with your red dress and him in a suit. You love how dashing he looks even though you know he is not used to dressing that way.

“I am!!! I have a surprise for you babe come on it’s our turn to go up.” giggling you excitedly went to the ticket booth. “Hi, for two please.” you told the man behind it and paid for the two of you. The man took his time handling the ticket as he looked at you up and down which made you cringe but not until you felt your husband's strong arm around your midsection in a protective embrace looking at the man with serious eyes.

“My wife is beautiful isn't she?” He asked, raising one eyebrow as he stared down the man which made the poor dude pale up.

“E-enjoy your ride.” the man said but more for Chris now which made you giggle. It’s not often you see this side of him.

“I love it when you go all Mr. Possessive of me.” you winked at him as he assisted you from getting up the cart. As expected your sweet darling blushed as he realized he did it in public.

“I...I don’t like the way he’s looking at you but that can’t be helped because you're gorgeous, especially tonight in that red thing.” he said shyly which made you blush as you try to hide your wide grin. It always catches you off guard when he acts like this but you are not complaining!

Now that you are both secured inside the cart you excitedly rummaged your purse to get a certain box. Once you found it you stealthily hid it behind you when Chris was looking down at the amusement park’s retreating view.

“It’s weird to see myself go up slowly.” He said. “When we were going to space we usually only have the view above but never below.” he said. You smiled lovingly at him. He had sacrificed the life he worked hard to get just to be with you.

You hugged him enjoying the warmth of this body heat as your cart goes higher and higher. You waited until you're almost on top when you held his cheek to make him look at you and kissed him sweetly. Chris’ eyes closed his arm guided you to sit on his lap to kiss you deeper which made you moan but you have to focus on your plan. More kissing later. Leaving his delicious lips you put on some space between you and pointed at the stars.

“I know this is not much but here is my gift for you babe.” you held his hand and kissed his knuckles. He looked at the direction you pointed to and in there he can see the open space the sky is bare to his eyes and stars sparkles beautifully.

“It’s beautiful Y/N…” he said, his voice stammering.

“There’s more…” you nervously said as you picked up the rectangular box you had been carrying the whole day not knowing how to show it to him but now...this moment seems like the perfect time. “I-I have...uhm Christopher Beck, my dear wonderful husband, thank you so much for being true to your vows this two years of our marriage and for doing more and loving me so much. I love you with all my heart and…” you handed him the box. “ and I am so happy to complete this family with you. Open it babe.” you looked up at him and saw that his eyes are full of tears.

With shaking hands he pulled the ribbon on the box and opened the lid. He gasps as he stares at the content of your gift and then looks up at you and back on the box.

“Y/N...this...this-” he swallowed and took the pregnancy kit from the box. You are starting to be nervous as he is just staring at the two lines in it.

“Babe?” you asked nervously.

“It's...there are two lines…?” he whispered and you nodded at him smiling. “I’m going to be a f-father?” he cried harder now as the news seemed to start to sink in to him. “I’m going to be a father!” he shouted at the top of his lungs towards the night sky as if talking to the stars. That made you chuckle. “Yes babe. You’re going to be a dad.” you peck at his lips.

“This is the best gift ever babe...I may not be near the stars anymore but being with you is like staring at the most beautiful celestial being the stars that I love the most is closer thank you know and now that we are going to be a family...it's everything I dreamed and more. You and our baby...you are my universe, my everything...I love you so much.” he said and brought your face down to his and kissed you with everything he got. Your child is going to be the luckiest kid because he has Chris Beck as their father. The sweetest, smartest and bravest man you’ve known. And just like the Ferris Wheel life has its up and down but you’re very much prepared to face them as long as you have your family.

Sebastian Stan and characters: (Join My Taglist)

@nano--raptor​ @marvelgirl7​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @jobean12-blog​

[oneweekoneband]

Why Did It Take Me So Long To Notice That The Word Is “Fury” Not “Furry”?

Hello again. While I must admit to mild surprise at Dinosaur Jr.’s absence from the constantly growing roster of artists covered on OWOB, I should also state my attempted approach to writing about a band with no lack of wordage already available on its behalf. Though potentially futile, I will be trying to write something that benefits a cross-section of readers, from the unfamiliar but curious to the currently dismissive therefore purposely detached to the self-appointed superfan. All of this being stated, please understand that “attempted” carries one hell of an implied emphasis.

As covered in the previous post, I’m an active writer with many years in the trenches, though at least a half-decade in between my first toe-dips into this endeavor and the formative teenage moment when exposure to two Dinosaur Jr. albums (1987’s You’re Living All Over Me and 1991’s Green Mind, their second and fourth, respectively) combined to transform a fervent interest in underground music into a terminal, all-consuming obsession that almost seems to have dictated, in some way, shape or form, each lifting of a finger since. 

I’ve had a fair amount of writing published on the subject of this band, but most of it appeared during the first half of my now 18 years in this racket, barring the entries about several Dinosaur Jr. albums did make it into my second (and most recent) book, which carried the subtitle of 500 Essential American Underground Rock Albums 1981 - 1996 and a title that I absolutely hate so it shall not be revisited. On that note, attacks of full-body cringe have become as reliable as Christmas upon revisiting older writings, therefore I did not in order to guarantee no points or angles reiterated. But for what it’s worth, at some point in the early-00s, I did a long and embarrassing tribute to You’re Living All Over Me for the Perfect Sound Forever website as my first piece of writing on the band. Then once the spotlight was aimed backwards and topically in 2004-2006 for that period’s two-tiered reissue and reunion activity, I wrote a bunch of features about the Homestead and SST years (plus the early run of reunion shows) for several outlets. I interviewed both Mascis and Barlow, twice each if I remember correctly, and essentially felt like I said everything there was to possibly say about this band whose music more or less put me on a personal and professional course that continues to this day. I don’t feel like that anymore.

Two things to take into account before we move on: First, none of the subsequent entries will be this long, or at least that’s the plan. Secondly, this week will feature very little writing on the four albums of new material Dinosaur Jr. has released since the original lineup of J. Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Emmett Jefferson Murphy III (almost exclusively known as “Murph” but I find his full given name to be amusing) reunited in 2005…will be of the unflattering comparative variety. However popular it might be to jump to black-and-white, definitive conclusions, do not take this to mean I consider these albums to be bad or boring or anything of the sort. But do know that they are, despite what the rest of the world seemingly believes, inferior when placed against what I will be trying to push into your ears and lives going forward. And understand that Dinosaur Jr.’s major-label era (1991 - 1997) will be explored in a nooks-and-crannies fashion (meaning, we’re going to get into Mike Johnson’s discography), as I feel there’s a nice chunk of amazing music hidden in there that has been largely overlooked or misunderstood.

I am about as obsessed with music as I am the non-fiction ghetto in which I operate.  Therefore it might or might not behoove me to do something no one outside of this little world should waste their time with, and that would be lot of overthinking about a couple of crucial elements of artistic criticism and appreciation that appear to be under constant attack these days: context and nuance. There is no such thing as good-to-great creative nonfiction or journalism that lacks or misuses either, and the most difficult to translate of the two is, of course, context. 

These days it seems every talking head (or every record-store loiterer or live show barnacle) of similar vintage to myself should be wearing a t-shirt or rocking a bumper-sticker that says, “Ask Me What It Was Like Before The Internet!”. This is something for which I harbor a visceral and distinct distaste if not great embarrassment. Any historically-precise party line of assumed profundity is going to fail at transmitting the intended impact for two reasons. First is the obvious neutering of any meaning or relevance when beating a cultural audience over the head with something, year after year, generation after generation. The second is more problematic, as I’m not certain that being present during its heyday or for a following period of linear influence is necessitated so as to provide fundamental context needed to understand how or why a band was groundbreaking or brain-rearranging or whatnot. 

For example, Dinosaur Jr. was four albums and seven years active once its music entered my life in earnest. Still, when it comes to blanket mantras of the reality-removed like, “This Was Before The Internet!” or “We Didn’t Have Cell Phones” battle stories, usually issued as some delusional badge of struggle or evidence of authenticity, we’re talking something that means far less than is assumed to a recipient without the same experiential history. I usually cringe when I witness someone else trying to get this across to a younger generation, though I have yet to figure out myself how to do it effectively. 

Conversely, there are examples of past underground rock prescience (well beyond the legendary trio of albums released by Dinosaur Jr. between 1985 and 1988) such as Mission of Burma, Black Flag, NEU!, Brian Eno’s “Third Uncle”, The Feelies, The Embarrassment, Can, This Heat, The Fall, mid-period Sonic Youth, Husker Du’s SST years, Black Sabbath, Slayer, mid-80s Swans, and Miles Davis’ 1970 - 1975 output, to name but a few, that occurred long before I developed anything close to refined taste or the ability to let music have an impact on a deep emotional and intellectual level. Or, for that matter, the ability to breath air outside of the womb in some of those cases. 

Still, once properly blown away, I could easily wrap my head around how each example was way ahead of the curve, or scared the shit out of most listeners who came in contact with it in real time. Of course, it helps if the music in question resides in the exclusive canon reserved for that which is genuinely timeless. If it falls short of timeless it sure as hell better be a high quality, well-aged specimen of music that’s nonetheless easily identifiable as being from a certain era of yore. Much of material released by Dinosaur Jr.’s during the band’s first two phases of activity, which together span 1985 until 1997, fits into one of those two categories.

My first meaningful introduction to Dinosaur Jr. essentially played out in similar a similar fashion to formative life-altering moments spun by many writers, musicians, and fans of my generation or older. I suppose a warning should now be issued that you’re about to read yet another account of someone taping episodes of MTV’s 120 Minutes. I had a habit of setting the recording time to the shittiest quality of six hours and fitting three episodes of said show onto my parents’ VHS copies of HBO and Cinemax films like The Cotton Club and Bill Cosby’s Himself. Some time after its parent album (You’re Living All Over Me) was released, on a Christmas night when I was in my early teens, the video for “Little Fury Things” ran between a Michelle Shocked number and The Cure’s infuriatingly awful “Let’s Go To Bed” (that goes for the video and the song). At first I focused on other future life-alterers like the clip for The Fall’s “New Big Prinz” and Sonic Youth’s iconic “Teenage Riot” video, as Dinosaur Jr.’s idea of a video and that song were just too fucking dark and ominous for my young teenage mind. 

But because I had to fast forward or rewind through multiple Christmas-special live-in-the-studio tomfoolery from hosts They Might Be Giants along with crap that was somehow already “not for me” like Fishbone, Camouflage, Translator, and the not-that-bad-but-long-as-hell video for Love And Rockets’ “Dog End Of A Day Gone By”, I eventually came around to the three minutes and change that was the “Little Fury Things” video….like a moth to flame. I still have the very VHS tape I used to play and rewind repeatedly while my parents were at work during the day, blasting it through the shitty speakers of our 27” Sony Trinitron and running all over the floorplans of the three houses (well, one house and two apartments, if we’re to split hairs) I lived in during my high school years. The beginning of the video goes blank for a few seconds because I accidentally hit “record” on the remote amidst some furious bouncing all over the couches and chairs.

I seriously doubt there’s a song I’ve listened to, on my own accord, more times than this one and it still delivers a palpable, albeit much different due to time passed, charge as it plays at this very moment. The sonic dichotomy that makes this track exciting- powerful noise/distortion married to a huge, highly emotive pop hook-happens to be another dragon I chase to this day and in general has been one of the crucial elements of forward movement undertaken by post-hardcore, proto and first-gen indie-rock, punk rock, shoegaze and underground metal over the last 30 years. Because I still run into music obsessives, mostly younger, who are unaware of Dinosaur Jr.’s legacy and historical place as a paramount force of innovation, influence and well-aged listening excitement, I’ll close this entry with the aforementioned video despite it visually communicating far less than it does musically. 

Much has been written (years ago by myself and more recently in Nick Atfield’s 33 ⅓ book on the album it opens) about attempting to decipher or assign one’s own meaning and words to what is probably a bunch of lyrical nonsense. I think that’s organically symptomatic of anything that hits with this kind of power and non-cheesy melancholic punch. A personal fave, however, would have to go to the one-off “Hallelujah, the sunlight brings the red out in your eyes” line that opens the gate for an instrumental mid-section of riffs (where a guitar solo might normally be).

“Little Fury Things” official video from 1987′s You’re Living All Over Me

And here’s a couple of clips that hopefully illustrate how insanely loud and air-moving Dinosaur Jr. Mach I must have been as a live band, especially considering the average age of the members was 20 to 22.

1986 at UMass…

Germany, 1988, full set. Pretty good sound given the age/era.

[kc-anathema]

30. 26. 36. 31.

30. 26. 36. 31.

Disclaimers: Don't own these vampires, Anne Rice does. I make no money off of this.

Spoilers: Queen of the Damned

Warnings: Adult situations, slash

Other Info: Taken from my 60 Things You Won't See in the Vampire Chronicles, numbers 30, 26, 36, and 31, in that order. To see the list, and use any ideas from there, I offer them freely, head over to my website at (shameless self-promotion)

"No!" Lestat practically yelled, glaring at his fledgling. "Why on earth would I buy you more books? Do you think I love being ignored while you've got your face stuck between two dusty pages?"

Louis sighed and looked up at him. "But Lestat, I spent all I had on my autographed copy of To the Lighthouse! I need a hundred fifty for this new one, and I only have twenty on me. Everything else is tied up in stocks, and all the copies of the new Virginia Woolf anthologies will be sold out by the time I get ready money."

"Good!" Lestat snapped as he headed upstairs. "You have plenty of books as it is, and you haven't even read all of them!"

"I refuse to read those abysmal romance novels you slipped into my library!" Louis growled. "They're less than trash and utterly predictable!"

"And how did you come to that informed opinion? Have you read any?" Lestat asked, turning around curiously.

"That's beside the point!" Louis argued. "I need new books, Lestat, or do you want me to go through eternity without reading material? Don't answer that!" he yelled when Lestat grinned at him.

"I am not going to buy more books for you to escape into," Lestat said. "You spend too much time avoiding life as it is. You want new books? Go to the library!" And with that he went into his room and shut the door on the matter.

Louis sighed explosively and stomped downstairs. Go to the library, he says. He knows damn well I've already read the entire collection there. What I need is ready money, but how am I going to get that? As he headed into the dining room, he passed the long mirror in the hallway, then stopped and backed up, staring at his reflection.

Lestat always called him Beautiful One. Was he really? His skin was almost alabaster, his black hair shimmered like a rainbow in the proper light, and the green of his eyes reminded him of emeralds. His body wasn't all that awful...yes, he was thin, but he wasn't terribly gaunt. Louis supposed other people might find him attractive. Could he...?

"No," he whispered. "I couldn't. Never in my entire life could I actually..." The mental picture of all those Virginia Woolf anthologies flying off the shelves of the bookstore made him cringe. "For Virginia Woolf, I would do anything," he said firmly, and he went off to a nightclub Lestat had once dragged him to.

Smoke filled the air of the large room, lining the runway with a soft layer that made it look like a cloud had settled on the floor. Track lights in a fiberglass covering was all that kept the edges clear so no one could fall off. Aside from the colored lights in the ceiling, the room was fairly dark. An occasional flash of light at the tip of a cigarette came out of the shadows, but nothing else.

Louis watched nervously from behind the curtains as other men paraded down the runway, one at a time in several minute bursts. They seemed so professional, so confident as they performed. He ran his fingers through his perfectly brushed hair one more time, nervously waiting for his turn. He had studied their moves and was certain he could do them just as well, maybe adding a few of his own, but still...

Suddenly the last man before him finished his routine and came back down the runway, heading for the changing rooms in back. Louis steadied himself and took a deep breath. The lights went down and he stepped into place. The announcer, hidden in the shadows, came alive on the microphone.

"Now, presenting our newest feature, the prettiest thing to come out of New Orleans, Louis Love!"

Louis almost ran back inside when he heard that awful nickname, but he had to have that book. The rhythmic music started as the pink spotlight hit him, coloring his skin a beautiful cream color, and he strode out firmly down the runway, smiling when he heard startled gasps from the crowd. He could practically hear their thoughts of unbridled lust as he gently swayed his hips back and forth, mesmerizing them with each twist. He reached up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop behind him. Now he really started to undulate, easily kicking off his shoes. Once those were off, he used the pole at the end of the runway to guide him down slowly, running his fingers through his hair again as he closed his eyes, laying down on the floor. He undid his pants, making sure everyone could see, and then friendly hands in the dark helped pull them off, leaving him mostly naked in front of all these men. Only the pink lights kept his deep blush from showing. He really wanted to run out...Woolf, damn it, Woolf, he kept telling himself.

He edged close to the end of the runway, within arms reach of the mortal crowd, just like the other men had told him, and suddenly he felt fingers and hands on him, stuffing dollar bills in his small brief. He worked the entire runway, giving the crowd quite a show, and only when the music started to fade did he start to withdraw. There were small groans of disappointment, but he only blew them all a lingering kiss and vanished back into the curtains.

Louis ran back to the dressing room which looked much like a locker room, dodging past the other dancers and heading to a secluded corner where he opened up his own locker. One of the workmen there brought his clothes back for him, and he changed as fast as he could, still shy about being seen naked. He quickly counted his earnings, awed by how much he'd made in six minutes.

"There's enough here for a dozen anthologies," he gasped. He put it all away and brushed his hair.

"Louis, that was amazing!" the manager cried, coming over to him. "They're chanting your name out there!"

Louis blushed again and looked down at the floor. "It...it was nothing, really."

"Nothing? I can't believe you haven't done this before. Please say you're gonna come back and do this again!"

"I can't promise anything," Louis said softly. "I'm surprised that I did this at all. I'm usually very reserved. I just needed the money now, that's all."

"Well, I can't force you, but you'll always be welcome on this runway," the manager said. "Just let us know so we can advertise for it."

Still blushing, Louis thanked him and headed out, making his way to the back where he'd parked his car. There was only one light at the door for the entire lot, leaving the rest completely dark. Black clouds drifted across the full moon. He hurried across the large parking lot and tried not to let his imagination wander.

Can't think about all those urban legends Lestat loves to tell me, he told himself. Don't think about the maniac with the hook hand, or the man without a face, or ghosts and goblins or killers with axes...I am a vampire, after all, I'll be all right--

Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't stop moving, but he soon realized he couldn't hear this person's thoughts. His most violent nightmares flashed before his eyes, and he quickened his pace. The footsteps kept up, then increased just enough to come closer. Louis hurried along faster, and then steps sped up, too. Louis was about to break into a run for his car when the person behind him put on a burst of speed and came right up next to him. A strong hand fell on his shoulder, and he screamed, nearly collapsing in a fit of fright.

"Louis, what's the matter with you?!" came a very irritated voice. Another hand joined the other to catch him and hold him up.

Louis turned and sighed in relief. "Oh, Lestat, I thought...I thought...damn it, you scared me!"

"You're a vampire, for crying out loud!" Lestat snarled. "You can probably kill anything for miles around, although lately...Louis, what is wrong with you? What on earth were you doing in there?"

Louis' mind raced for an excuse for his presence in that night club. "Um...I was here to meet someone..." he started, not knowing what else to think up.

"And you just decided to do a little runway dancing on the spur of the moment?" Lestat gasped. "The Victorian prude writhing almost naked for all the mortals to see? Who would believe it?"

Louis' eyes opened wide, reflecting Lestat's entire face. "You...you ...you saw me?" he whispered in a tiny voice.

"Yes, Louis, I saw you, and so did at least a hundred humans! You mean you didn't recognize me when I helped get your pants off?"

Louis was close to collapsing again. He couldn't breathe well.

"And then to see you parading your barely covered rear around as men stuffed bills into your shorts...what, you'll allow strangers to do that, but not me?" Lestat was shouting now and shaking Louis back and forth. "Why on earth did you want to do that? You obviously didn't want to!"

"Hey, what're you doing?" someone yelled from the door. They both turned and saw the manager with four or five other men coming out towards them.

Louis looked up into Lestat's face. "Don't hurt them, Lestat, please don't."

"And why shouldn't I?" his lover asked. "They've insulted you."

"Who the hell are you?" the manager asked angrily, finally coming close.

"It's all right," Louis said quickly, trying to defuse the situation before Lestat killed all of them. "He's my boyfriend."

"Doesn't give him a right to smack you around," one of the blondes said.

"He wasn't," Louis argued, standing up straight. "I nearly fell, and he caught me."

"Then why's he screaming so much?" a red head asked, glaring at Lestat, challenging him nonverbally.

"My voice carries a long way," Lestat said in a low and threatening voice. "Believe me, I am not screaming."

Louis heard the danger in his lover's voice. Lestat was getting angry at this interruption.

"Louis, if he's hurting you--" the manager started, but Louis shook his head.

"It's just his way, he doesn't hurt me," Louis insisted. He put his hand in Lestat's, and to the humans it looked like he needed help from falling. They didn't know it was also to hold Lestat back from lashing out impulsively. Louis could tell that they didn't believe him. "Look, did you see any marks on me when I was dancing? He doesn't hurt me. He's just exuberant, that's all."

Finally, and with several grumbles, the humans dispersed with a few last offers of help, "if you ever need it," and went back inside. Louis was relieved that they were safe now, but Lestat didn't seem cooled down at all. If anything, he looked even more infuriated.

"Lestat?" Louis asked hesitantly. "Do...do you want a ride back home?"

"It's because of that stupid book, isn't it?" Lestat snarled. "You lowered yourself just for that."

"It's not stupid--" Louis started, but Lestat slapped him, cutting him off. It didn't hurt, it just stung a little. Lestat hadn't meant to hurt him, only quiet him. Still, tears filled his eyes anyway.

"You are so damn paranoid," Lestat said slowly.  "Do you really think that everyone is going to rush to a bookstore to buy an over-priced book about a boring and convoluted author? Did you absolutely have to have it now? You are even more childish than I am. Can you see just how insane this is? Degrading yourself for a book that will probably end up on the sale shelf in a week? Don't you have any of the patience you constantly tell me I lack? You can't tell me you enjoyed stripping. They may not have noticed, but I could. You were so close to crying and running off that I thought I might have to carry you out of there."

Louis opened his mouth to argue, then slowly closed it when he realized Lestat was right. He put his hands to his face and started to cry, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Lestat sighed and put his arms around Louis, hugging him close. He gently stroked his dark hair and rocked him back and forth.

"Shhh...it's all right, don't cry. No harm done..." he whispered, giving him a little kiss on his forehead. He could tell that Louis was in no condition to drive. "Come on, I'll take you home." Lestat guided him to the passenger side and eased him in, closing the door behind him. He got into the front seat and started the engine. After a few minutes, he put his hand on Louis', and he smiled when he felt his lover's fingers curl around his own. They rode in silence all the way home.

The next day...

"Lestat!"

"Lestat, wake up!"

Lestat opened his eyes as he was roughly shaken across the bed. "What...I'm up, I'm awake, what's so damn important?"

Louis sat down on the edge, a frantic look on his face. "Look at this!" He shoved a newspaper up at Lestat, who testily grabbed it and held it at a readable distance.

"Oh...my...how did they...?" he whispered in shock.

The paper he held was the National Enquirer. On the front cover was a photo of Lestat helping Louis into his car the night before. He opened the paper up and found more photos, some of them from the parking lot and some of them showing Louis dancing inside the club.

"I don't know!" Louis cried. "I didn't see anyone taking pictures, I never would have done that if it was going to be publicized!"

"Legendary rocker Lestat de Lioncourt was seen escorting a male stripper to his car early Thursday morning," Lestat read quietly. "Rumors are flying, not only that Lestat has been seen at all, having long supposed to be dead or in hiding, but also that he is homosexual or related to this stripper. Witnesses reported that he was very harsh with the stripper, known only as Louis Love, so much so that they were afraid that Louis was being abused. 'Yeah, Louis said he was his boyfriend,' one witness, exotic dancer Golden Stud, says. 'He said Lestat never hurt him, but Lestat slapped him near the end, then drove him home. The guys and me are real worried about him. He seemed so fragile when he was here.'"

Louis slumped forward and groaned. "If the rest of the coven sees this...I've never been so shamed in my entire life."

Lestat smiled and kissed him. "Louis, relax, I'm sure no one else has seen this. With any luck, it'll all blow over in a few days." He pulled Louis towards him and started to rub his back, calming him down. "Come on, who in the coven actually reads this tripe?"

The phone suddenly rang. Louis glared at it as if it was a deadly viper. Lestat paused, but then reached over and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, 'Stat, s'me, Daniel. You seen the Enquirer lately?"

"Daniel, if you say one word to anyone--" he started hissing, but Daniel just laughed.

"Don't worry, I won't. I found out from Armand, who found out from Marius, who found out from Sybelle and Benji, who found out from Jessica, who was talking Khayman out of a convenience store naked again."

Louis, who could hear the conversation, all but screamed and ran into the closet, locking the door behind him.

Lestat growled menacingly into the phone. "Daniel, Louis is very upset by all of this, and it's cruel to rub this in his face. How dare you hurt his feelings like that! You know how fragile he is, and yet you want to make him cry! You call yourself his friend?"

Across the phone line, Daniel started to apologize profusely, close to crying himself. It was easy to manipulate his emotions when he was only half sober. Lestat just rolled his eyes and slammed the receiver down. He went over to the closet and knocked on the door.

"Louis? Louis, are you okay?"

"I'm not coming out!" Louis sobbed. "I can't believe he did that! It's so unfair and mean!"

"But Louis--" Lestat tried.

"No!" Louis answered, and Lestat could almost see him furiously shake his head. "No, I'm staying in here!"

"Would you like me to throttle Daniel or blow up the Enquirer headquarters?"

The closet was quiet as Louis thought it over. "No," he sniffled. "I want to be alone."

Lestat lowered his head. "All right. I'll be downstairs if you want to talk." He took the newspaper with him so Louis wouldn't see it, then went to the living room to finish reading the article.

He had almost finished the entire paper when Louis came out of hiding, miserably plodding down the stairs and falling into a soft chair. His eyes were red from crying, and his handkerchief was covered in blood.

"Are you all right?" Lestat asked softly.

Louis nodded.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Louis shook his head.

Lestat looked back at the article, something about an alien having Elvis' baby.

"Do you think I'm addicted to books?" Louis suddenly asked.

Lestat crumpled the paper up and tossed it in the trash. "Yes, I think so."

"Oh." Louis sniffled a bit. "Why?"

"You escape into them. You use them like other people use drugs and alcohol. You don't want to deal with some parts of life, so you run away into a book."

"I see." Louis glanced out the window. "But...I've never felt like...like I'm running away..."

"I think it's more of a habit than really running," Lestat said, draping himself sideways over the couch he was in. "Did you do anything but read and ride when you were mortal?"

"No. Not really." Louis smiled abruptly. "I used to love riding."

"Why don't you do that now?" Lestat asked. "At least it would get you back in the real world."

Louis shook his head with a sigh. "How would I get a horse in such a tiny backyard? Besides, animals get skittish around me now."

"There must be something you've always wanted to try," Lestat prodded him on. "Something you'd like to take up for awhile."

"You mean like a hobby?"

Lestat nodded. "Yes. Something that doesn't involve reading."

"Painting?" Louis suggested.

"And seclude yourself in a studio instead of a library," Lestat smirked. "No, something interactive."

Louis smiled and looked down. "I don't want to do anything in a large group."

"I could get you a private tutor in something," Lestat offered. "Or we could do something together. At least it should get you active again."

"No concerts," Louis said quickly.

"I promise," Lestat grinned.

Two weeks later...

"Louis, be careful with that!"

"Lestat, you have to stay still! How am I supposed to practice when you won't fight back?"

Lestat jumped away again, just barely out of Louis' reach. "Chere, you're going to stab me if you aren't careful!"

Louis lowered his fencing foil and put his hands on his hips. His hair was tied back so it wouldn't fall in his eyes. "It's not going to hurt you. I don't think it'll even scratch you. I think you're just making yourself scared."

"You and a sword coming at me does not make me feel at ease, Louis."

"Lestat, you promised to do this with me."

"Oh, I knew you were going to bring that up," Lestat groaned. "Well, at least you didn't want to wear that silly white gear and the face masks."

Louis smiled and raised his foil, steadying himself on the wet grass. "I only wish it hadn't rained earlier. This ground is so slippery."

Lestat slowly stepped forward, making a few thrusts and parrying the ones Louis made, cautiously stepping forward like the private tutor had showed them. He didn't want to hurt his fledgling or even accidentally cut that smooth skin.

Louis lunged unexpectedly, and Lestat stumbled backward. His heel slipped in the watery mud, making him fall flat in the mud. Unbalanced by the lunge, Louis toppled forward and landed on top of Lestat.

"Are you all right?" Louis winced, rubbing his head.

"I'm fine, what about you?" Lestat asked. He made no effort to rise.

"Well enough, considering how hard your body is," Louis grumbled. He tossed his foil aside where Lestat had dropped his. "I don't think I'm coordinated enough to move so gracefully."

"Maybe we shouldn't try when the ground is soggy," Lestat smiled. He put his arms around Louis and kissed him. They rolled to the side, and now both of them were muddy.

"You're getting our clothes dirty," Louis whispered.

"Maybe we should take them off," Lestat said. He worked on Louis' clothes while his fledgling returned the favor, and with two pairs of vampire hands they soon tossed their clothing aside. Now quite nude, Louis tried to keep Lestat on the bottom so he wouldn't get too dirty. Only his hands and feet got covered in mud.

"Trying to stay clean, hmm?" Lestat giggled.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness," Louis replied.

Lestat didn't answer. Instead he rolled again and pinned Louis beneath himself, pushing him a bit into the mud.

"Lestat!" Louis protested, laughing as he did. "Let me up!"

"Not yet, chere, have a good roll first!" Lestat let him sit up, then wrestled him back into the mud.

Louis grabbed a handful of the black, wet dirt and smeared it all over Lestat's chest. "If I'm going to be dirty, so are you!"

Lestat kissed him again, using the diversion to lay Louis down and cover him partially in mud. It took some concentration, but he managed to mentally pull mud out from under Louis' body and make him sink farther in, until Louis was soon laying at a steep angle. After a moment, the weaker vampire glanced around, surprised at his position, then cried out in shock as Lestat brought all the displaced mud back on top of him. Soon all that was left above the surface was his spotless face and his hair.

"Lestat, let me up," Louis ordered, unable to get out with Lestat on top of the mud.

"Oh, I don't think so," Lestat said, stealing a kiss. "At least, not yet." He forced several kisses from Louis, caressing his mouth with his tongue, tasting his teeth and cheeks. "Mmm...you taste so good..."

Louis was going to answer, but Lestat silenced him with another kiss. He tugged the band from Louis' hair, letting the dark strands spill onto the mud.

"Lestat, it'll get muddy!"

"So? We'll take a shower soon enough." Lestat took a lock of Louis' hair and started to tickle his face with it, irritating his lips and nose. Louis tried to shy away, but he could only move his head a few inches either way. "You know, this would make a wonderful paint brush."

"Don't you dare," Louis growled affectionately, hoping he would.

Lestat took the longest bit of hair and dipped it in the mud, swirling it around to get a good amount on the tip, then started to paint it on Louis' face. He drew spots on Louis' cheeks and made a zigzag line on his forehead. He got impatient with that, though, and put his fingers in the mud, trailing them along Louis' skin to give him a very dark face. He kissed him again, smearing his own face. "Would you like to come out now?"

Louis nodded as best as he could, and Lestat helped dig him out. When all the mud was aside, leaving a gaping hole in the ground, Louis took Lestat's outstretched hand, then pulled him down with him. Lestat yelped in shock as he hit the mud. He flung handfuls of it at Louis, who was virtually covered with it already, and Louis pushed giant amounts onto Lestat, turning the golden hair black.

"You look like me now," Louis laughed loudly.

"Just wait 'till I get you in the shower," Lestat smiled mischievously.

There was the sound of a window opening in the house next door. "Shut up! Let everyone else get some sleep, damn it! Can't you two shut up!"

"Stan, go back to sleep!"

"I can't with these two howling and screeching!" The old man peered into the darkness. "I can't see you, but I know you're out there! Shut up, for God's sake!"

"Chere, does God depend on us shutting up?" Lestat asked.

"Darling, you are asking for lightning bolt."

"Spoilsport." Lestat picked Louis up in his arms and started taking him back inside. He turned around before he went in, though. "We're going back in because we want to, not because of you!" he yelled.

"Little smart-ass!"

"Go back to sleep, Stan!"

Louis actually smiled as Lestat carried him up the stairs to the bathroom and put him in the tub. "Make it hot," Louis told him.

Lestat turned the water on, and steam rapidly filled the bathroom. He turned the shower nozzle on and then lay down next to Louis. The hot water rinsed the bulk of the mud off, so Louis picked up a bar of the sweet smelling soap Lestat kept the bathroom stocked with, and gently started to caress his lover's skin with it. The water cleansed it off as fast as he could stroke Lestat, who in turn grabbed the other bar and started on Louis. Louis' eyes drooped as the heated water made him drowsy, leaving him vulnerable to Lestat's advances.

Lestat adjusted Louis' body a bit so that he lay directly behind him, and as tenderly as he could, he pushed his way into Louis. His fledgling moaned and reached his hand back onto Lestat's waist to pull him in further. Their bodies rocked together, Louis' hips pushed forward by Lestat's soft thrusts. They seemed to sway together, and Lestat put his arm over his lover's side and chest, clinging to him. At last Louis gasped in a cold shock despite the hot water coursing over their bodies, and a moment later, his maker did the same.

"That...was good..." Louis breathed. He lay still as Lestat washed him again, cleaning all of the blood away.

"We should practice more often," Lestat laughed in a small voice.

"Is that what we were doing?" Louis chuckled. "We should practice every night." He turned under Lestat so he could look up at him. "Actually, mon amor, I was serious when I said I don't want to continue the fencing. I feel so clumsy."

"Maybe if we didn't practice on slippery, wet grass," Lestat smiled wickedly. "All right. We'll think of something else."

A week later...

"That is a silly idea and you know it!" Louis went down the steps and headed for the living room. "I cannot sing and that's that."

Lestat chased after him and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "And you would have me believe you can't dance, but we both know otherwise, don't we?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. "That's a low blow."

"It wasn't an insult," his maker argued. "Look, I know you can sing. I've heard you sometimes, when you think I'm not home."

"You've heard me?" Louis gasped, close to slipping into shock.

"Yes, and you sound good, really damn good!"

"No, I don't!" Louis hissed. "I can hear my voice and it sounds terrible!"

"Well, it must sound different in your head because you have the voice of a lark!"

"A strangled lark," Louis muttered.

"You sound better than I do sometimes," Lestat said firmly. "You would make a fine singer. We could put a band together--"

"Oh, isn't that convenient for Monsieur Rockstar?" Louis said, dropping onto a couch. "You get to make a big comeback and drag your poor, fragile lover along for the ride."

"No, not drag you along," Lestat replied, sitting beside him even though the couch was only built for one. "You would be part of the band. Hell, you would be the lead singer, I'd be your back up and duet."

"What, no songs for yourself?"

"Mmm...maybe a few," Lestat smiled. "And we could sing together on stage, and you would draw a salary of course."

Louis glanced sideways at him. "If we did this, and this doesn't mean I'm agreeing, but if we did...what kind of music would we play?"

"Techno seems to be popular right now, but we could do ballads and love songs and dance songs, maybe a little heavy metal."

"Literary songs?" Louis asked.

"What do you mean?" Lestat asked, confused by the request.

"I've heard you when you play Iron Maiden once in awhile. I've heard their Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. And Loreena McKennit sings those traditional ballads and poems..." his voice trailed off indecisively.

"If I say yes," Lestat asked, putting hand under Louis' chin and tilting his face up, "will you agree?"

"Do you really think I sing well?" Louis asked. "Or do you just say that out of love?"

"I think your voice sounds better than mine," Lestat said honestly.  "And there is no higher praise in the world than that."

Louis laughed and closed his eyes. "Yes," he said softly.

"Then yes," Lestat whispered, leaning forward to kiss him. "It will take us a bit to scrape a decent band together, and find the right wardrobe..."

"And give me time to work on my voice," Louis nodded. "To where I'm confident about singing in front of people."

"As you wish, mon cherie," his maker said. "And I will need your help writing new songs, and selecting poems and ballads," he added, seeing Louis' look. "Fortunately you have an entire classical library to look through. You can check them now if you like."

Louis smiled, and his eyes lit up as his mood improved. "Lestat..." he murmured.

"Yes, Louis..." Lestat whispered back.

"If you want me to do this for you..."

"Yes..."

"...and I certainly don't mind..." Louis kissed him softly.

"Yes...?"

"Then you need to get off of me."

Lestat blinked and leaned back. "What?"

"My legs," Louis said matter-of-factly. "You're sitting on them."

Lestat looked down, then stared back up and laughed evilly. "You can move tomorrow night."

"And what should I do right now?" Louis asked in as innocent a voice as he could muster.

"Let me give you a few suggestions," Lestat said, gathering his face in his hands and kissing his lips.

Five months later...

"Lestat!"

"Lestat, wake up!"

Lestat opened his eyes as he was roughly shaken across the bed. "What...I'm up, I'm awake, what's so damn important?"

Louis sat down on the edge, a frantic look on his face. "Look at this!" He shoved a magazine up at Lestat, who testily grabbed it and held it at a readable distance.

"Oh...my...did they really...?" he whispered in shock.

The magazine he held was Entertainment Monthly. He and Louis were on the cover, of course he knew that, but when he looked at the page Louis had it opened to, he found an interesting article inside.

"Lestat de Lioncourt, famed rock star of the eighties, has returned to the music scene with a new album, a new sound, and most of all, a new partner who has occasionally stolen the show out from under the vampire singer. Louis Love, as he is publicly known, is the green-eyed beauty behind the silky voice that's been playing on your radio. Seemingly made for the stage, Louis' skin seems to take on whatever color light that happens to shine on him, making him the only person alive who can look good in green light."

"In fact, this stage presence seems to have been acknowledged by Lestat, who has retreated to backup vocals and lead guitar save for a handful of songs. Lestat readily admits that it is Louis who writes all of the songs. 'He says I'm his muse,' the vampire player says. 'And as long as he keeps these songs rolling, I don't mind this set up at all'."

"It is amazing that Louis is such a versatile singer as well as a great song writer. His voice is the lead in the romantic ballad of Tam Lin, the dance hit Painful Love and the heavy metal song that's fast on its way to becoming a number one single, Fiery Heart. When informed that Weird Al Yankovic was going to write a parody of that called Heartburn, Lestat told us Louis didn't mind at all, instead saying that 'now I know that the songs are popular. I'd had my doubts'."

"Louis Love has never agreed to do an interview, preferring instead to stay hidden behind his music and the microphone. In fact, he's never been seen in the public spotlight before, save for the clandestine photos of his strip act in a New Orleans night club. However, this night club is also a popular gay bar which brings up the question if Louis and Lestat are more than just singing partners."

"Fortunately, the raging controversy hasn't diminished their ticket sales any. Old fans are joining with new fans to make this tour one of the most successful ever. Their next concert, scheduled to be performed in San Antonio, has already sold out, and although the total amount hasn't been released, it is estimated that this tour has made well over the eight zeroes range. If you want a seat at their next concert, you'd better buy them early. There are only a few more concerts left. Otherwise, good luck trying to get their CD. Storeowners complain that they can't keep them on the shelves, due to their broad audience appeal." The rest of the article was a listing of their tour dates and ticket phone numbers.

"See," Lestat said, hugging Louis. "I told you we'd be a hit. With your songs and voice, and my fan base..." he sighed sadly. "My older fan base, which are now heading into their forties...and buying polyester clothing..."

"Lestat," Louis smiled. "Are you feeling over the hill?"

"I'd better not," Lestat replied. "I'm a vampire. We're not supposed to feel old."

"Believe me, you don't look a day over two hundred."

"You cheeky little fledgling," Lestat said, kissing him. "Are you ready go to out tonight?"

Louis nodded slowly. "I can't get over the nervousness. I'm going to turn into Sir Lawrence Olivier, I just know it."

"What do you mean?"

"Before each performance, he had to go and throw up because he was so nervous. He was miserable and he still had to do because he loved the stage."

Lestat put his arms around him and hugged him tight. "That won't happen to you, darling. You're too much of a neat freak to think of doing that while you're in costume."

"Maybe not," Louis admitted. "Are you going to get up yet? You shouldn't sleep in so late."

"I'm fine," Lestat said firmly. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Don't you want me to help you?" Louis grinned, toying with the sheets at his waist.

"If you stay here, we won't get out of bed and the concert won't go on, and that would be bad," Lestat said, but Louis noticed he was very reluctant about it.

"All right, but if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in."

Lestat sighed blissfully as he watched Louis leave the trailer. He'd thought touring would be difficult on him, but Louis seemed to have adapted quite nicely. His fledgling had written volumes of songs that were sure to become hits, and with each concert Louis became more and more at ease on stage. And his voice only became smoother with each song.

Lestat got up and dressed in the stage costume they had chosen. Instead of the theatrics he'd used before, Louis dressed solely in black to match his hair, and Lestat kept to dark blues, with occasional black jeans. The rest of the band was hired on and didn't know their two leads well at all, only seeing them at rehearsals and recording studios.

"We're like a Madonna tour," he mumbled to himself. "The star, and then musicians no one else cares about."

He opened the trailer door and stepped out, nearly bumping into his lover. "Louis?"

Louis turned with a smile and helped him down, wrapping his arms around him as they headed for the backstage of the theater. "I was hoping you would take more than five minutes," he said softly.

"After the concert, chere."

They started checking all of the equipment along with the stage hands and the rest of the band. Once that was finished, the technicians did the last minute work on the lights, sound systems and electrical wiring, making sure that nothing would burst into flames. The mumbling of the audience could easily be heard behind the curtains.

"All right," Lestat said. "We go on in ten minutes."

"Wait!" Louis suddenly cried, sitting down and taking out his notepad.

The entire crew groaned loudly, and Lestat gave an impatient sigh.

"Louis, you have to stop doing this! You're cutting it closer and closer with each concert!"

"Hush!" Louis snapped, scribbling furiously on the paper. The clock ticked by as he wrote fast notes over one page, then turned it over for another, then another, and another...

"Oh, no, it's a ballad," Lestat realized, and there were faint cries of "aw, man, not again," from the crew and the band.

Finally with one minute left before the curtain opened, Louis stood up and slipped the notebook back in his pocket. "Sorry," he mumbled, "but I can't help it if I get all my inspiration just before a concert."

"Just don't do it when we're on," Lestat sighed. "Ready?"

"Mm-hmm..." Louis nodded and took his place at the microphone just before the lights went out and the curtain opened.

The audience screamed in eager delight, and the backbeat started as the spotlight hit the drummer. Soon the back up guitars came in, cueing each spotlight, and then Lestat started the intro to the first song as the light fell on him. Finally Louis started to sing, drawing everyone into the lyrics, and the stage burst into light as smoke poured down the sides into the audience.

As they finished up the first tune, Louis glanced over at Lestat, a bit of nervousness in his eyes. Lestat motioned with his head up at the middle section in the seats to the right. Louis looked over and saw Daniel and Jessica as they waved frantically. With a reassured smile, he lead the band into the next song.

It was titled To the Lighthouse, a dedication to his favorite author. But it sounded good anyway.

The End

30. Lestat won't buy him more books, so Louis takes up stripping.

26. Lestat and Louis on cover of the Enquirer! Louis reportedly won't come out of the broom closet.

36. Louis takes fencing lessons, Lestat is afraid for his life.

31. Louis becomes a singer for a techno band.